Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
I fist-bumped him before changing the station and putting the car in drive. “You tell your brother that rap sucks.”
“No way. That’ll hurt his heart, Miss Drew.”
I laughed because it would. It really would.
I scruffed his hair. “We can’t have that, kid.”
It was a quick two-block drive back to Bellamy’s house. I went to pull into the drive, then pumped the brakes when I saw a pick-up parked where I usually did.
“Daddy’s here!”
Panic instantly washed over me. I pulled over at the curb, staring at the rundown truck. “What? That’s your dad’s car?”
He nodded, reaching for the door, but I grabbed him and pressed the button for the locks. “Let’s wait here.” Then I took out my phone and called Bellamy.
It rang a few times, then connected.
“Hey.”
“Your dad’s here.”
“Shit… Just stay in the car.” The whine of his engine revving came through the speaker.
“When does your mom get off work?”
“Not until later.”
“Should I call the police?”
“Fuck no! Pop’s is there and they’ll take him to jail. Just… I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Why in the hell would they take him to jail? Bellamy’s dad was the one with a restraining order on his ass. “Okay...” I said.
When I hung up, Arlo frowned at me. “Why can’t we go inside?”
“We have to wait for Bellamy, okay?”
“Okay.”
There was a beat of silence, filled only with the angry lyrics coming from the sound system.
I stared at the front of the house, wondering if his Grandpa was okay. I hoped Bellamy was right, and his Grandpa was crazy, because as far as I’d seen, he was just a bit kooky and redneck.
No sooner had I thought that before shouting came from the house.
A salt and pepper man, who looked an awful lot like an aged Bellamy, shot around the carport, blood trickling from his forehead. He clamored into the pickup, and Grandpa sprinted around the side of the house with a golf club raised above his head.
The truck’s tail lights flashed and the engine revved. But before Bellamy’s dad could back out, the old man hurled the club at his windshield. Then picked up a brick from the flower bed border and chucked that at the truck before it peeled out of the driveway.
“Pop-Pop!” Arlo cheered.
I unlocked the door, staring wide-eyed at Bellamy’s bat shit crazy Grandpa as I got out of the car.
The old man leaned over his knees on a wheeze.
“Need to smoke less, Pops.”
“Aw, smoking ain’t got nothing to do with this, Sugar-pie.” He placed a hand to his chest. “I’m just pissed I couldn’t run faster.” He covered Arlo’s ears with his old, weather hands. “Or I would’ve killed the son-of-a-bitch. Then you and me’d be going out to the woods to bury him.” He spit on the ground before uncovering Arlo’s ears.
Okay, he really was crazy.
Bellamy’s car chugged into the driveway. When he got out, he looked pissed as hell.
“I busted the son-of-a-bitch upside the head with his own nine-iron.” Grandpa grinned, placing a cigarette to his lips and lighting it. “Teach that motherfucker to come back ‘round here.” He hitched up his pants and took a hefty drag from his smoke.
Bellamy cast a deadpanned look in my direction. “See. No cops gonna take a nine-iron to someone’s head…”
This was so Dayton I didn’t even know where to begin.
“You think your momma would make some of her famous meatloaf?” Grandpa whacked Bellamy on the back. “Attempted murder sure can stir up an appetite.”
This was insanity, and this was what I’d chosen to immerse myself in.
I guided Arlo inside, and he went right past the hole in the drywall, the upturned coffee table, and smashed picture frames. He just sat down on the couch and turned on the TV like it was any other Tuesday. And that was the point where my heart sunk because the kid thought this was normal.
I knelt and started collecting broken shards of the ceramic lamp.
Bellamy came in, dragging a hand through his hair as he took a quick survey of the damage before he flipped the coffee table back over.
“Do you need to check he didn’t take anything?” I asked, thinking of the envelope of cash in his dresser drawer. “Like...in your room.”
“He doesn’t know about that.” He grabbed a shattered frame, removing the picture before he went to the kitchen to throw the broken wood and glass away.
Arlo was used to this, and so was Bellamy.
I wondered how many times Bellamy saw this shit when he was a little boy, but without a big brother to look out for him. I wished someone would have been there for him, but even now he was still the pillar holding it all up.
When he came back into the living room, I took him by the jaw and kissed him. I didn’t want him to feel like the lone pillar.