Page 41 of One Last Rainy Day
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Cecelia shrieks next to me when I bank on the shoulder and speed back toward the gas station. She was just as confused as I was when I picked her up. I’m still unsure as to why I felt the need to leave the compound and drive straight to her house to collect her. The worst part was calling Sean when I was already sitting in Roman’s driveway. The “I told you” in his tone cut short when I hung up on his smug ass.
Pulling into the gas station, I stop on a dime and glance over. “Need anything?”
She explodes on me, utilizing my new pet name. “Youmotherfucker!”
“Not in the mood for foreplay right now, but how about a Mountain Dew?”
She stares back at me, coiled up and ready to strike, no doubt due to my impromptu driving lesson. “I’ll take that as a no.”
Fighting my chuckle, I exit the Camaro and walk into the gas station. Glancing over the counter, I spot Zach in his invisible cage on the filthy fucking floor, books spread out, as he scribbles out his homework. Every bit of the high from sparring with Sean’s new girlfriend evaporates when I take in his attire.
Making my way over to the cooler, I open it to hear Cecelia asking for the key to the restroom at the head of the store. Thankful her little piss break will buy me some time, I walk up to the counter to stare into the eyes of the attendant, whose nervous gaze meets mine before he glances over his shoulder at his son.
Zach’s posture stiffens as he continues to work steadily on the floor as Tim’s alcohol-laced breath hits me when I set down my drink.
“Need wraps.”
He nods and turns to the display. “What flavor?”
“Cherry or pineapple.”
He glances back at me, brows drawn that I’m not asking for my usual. “I don’t have those.”
“Then why don’t you check your little stock room,” my reply more an order than suggestion. Moving around the counter, Tim again looks back at his son, who doesn’t lift his eyes. As soon as Tim is out of earshot, Zach pops up from the floor while I stare at his threadbare shoes.
“Hey, Dom,” he greets, head lowered. Shame and embarrassment. Two things I’ve lived with for too many years and could recognize in anyone.
Redirecting my inspection, my anger flares further when I see the same tattered backpack next to his books.
“The fuck happened to the shoes and backpack?”
Zach keeps his chin tucked into his chest. “Uh, the shoes were the wrong size.”
“Doesn’t explain why you aren’t wearing theright ones. And the backpack?”
“Dom—”
“Look at me.” His eyes lift, but his neck remains lowered. “Lift your chin, Zach,” I grit out.
When he does, I get a clear view of the finger-sized bruises on his throat. They’re faint but damning. Turning, I walk down the aisle and pin Tim to an endcap just as he walks out of the stockroom.
“Get out,” he wheezes.
“So, Daddy finally found the money I’ve been tucking into his son’s backpackfor years.”
“My son is none of your bus—” I squeeze harder, interrupting his rant until he’s ripping at my hand for air. The only sound in the store coming from the lotto machines. Neither man playing has bothered to look back. Good on them.
Time is ticking, and I know I need to back away, but one look in Zach’s direction—of the fear in his eyes—has me finishing what I started.
“You robbed your own goddamn son, Tim, and for what?”
“It’s none—”
Squeezing tighter, I cut him off. “We’re over that, far past formal introductions and pleasantries. I know you used to run with my brother, and that you know I know that. So, at one point, you had potential, but we both know how you wasted it and have no one to blame but yourself.”
“Dom, you know it’s been hard for me since his mother left—”
