letting Jeff win and make me feel small.
A few more weeks and I’m completely done with Jeff at all. Period.
“Get inside and set up for the night crowd.”
“Are we expecting a big crowd? Atlas coming by?” I ask, keeping my voice neutral.
Jeff’s neck whips around, fast, like I’ve slapped him. “Atlas?”
“You know,” I explain, pretending like this is a normal conversation. “The biker gang.”
“I sure as fuck know what Atlas is, Girlie.” I flinch. Jeff uses bad language all the time but generally not directed at me. I’ve hit a nerve.
“Are you expecting a big crowd?” I walk past him and into the darkened bar. It smells like hot, sour beer with pine-scented deodorizer. The odor makes my stomach burn.
Or maybe that’s the sick feeling of knowing I’m about to be screamed at.
“You stay away from Atlas. Stay away from Chase Halloway.”
“How can I do that and work at the bar?” I ask, pointing out the obvious. “They come in here sometimes. I don’t have control over that.”
“He won’t be around. Chase. I took care of that.”
“You what?”
“Me and Galt have an agreement that you two are bad news for each other. Chase ain’t gonna be around here for a while.” Jeff studies me while he delivers this news. I pretend it doesn’t bother me.
Inside, though, I’m dying.
“Okay. Fine. Why should I care? He was turning into a creepy stalker type, anyhow.” I’m trying to use reverse psychology on Jeff. I hope it works. Maybe if I convince him I don’t care about Chase he’ll drop the subject.
“Creepy sure is right. You know he killed his own mama?”
The bottle of whisky I’m moving from one counter to the other drops right out of my hand and shatters.
He makes a nasty snorting sound, his eyes narrowing, looking beadier than normal. “Yeah. That’s right. Galt Halloway’s kid killed his mom and a guy Galt found her cheating with. Nice. Fifteen-year-old boy blows his mom’s head off because she’s fucking some guy.”
“That’s not true,” I hiss, walking over the shards of wet glass toward him, not caring about my shoes.
“Oh? Just because you don’t want it to be true don’t make it a lie.”
“Chase didn’t kill his mom.”
“A whole lotta people beg to differ,” Jeff replies, shaking his head like I’m stupid.
I don’t believe Jeff. I can’t believe Jeff. There’s no way Chase killed his mom. He told me the truth today out there in the desert. Jeff’s been told a lie. The way he smiles as he tells it is what’s creepy. Not Chase. Jeff’s the one who’s more likely to have killed a mom.
My mom.
Marissa and I don’t talk about it anymore, but we’re pretty sure Jeff killed our mother. We don’t have any proof, and when it happened we were just stupid teen girls in the eyes of the cops who investigated. Jeff was smooth, and able to talk to them man to man. He played the grieving spouse, the out-of-his-mind loving husband who didn’t know where his wife had fallen.
Meanwhile, it was me and Marissa who were out of our minds with true sorrow.
Jeff was never arrested. When they found Mom’s body he cried, but only in public. Never in private.
Doesn’t that say so much?
“I don’t give a shit what a lot of people say,” I snap at him, then break into a run. Screw Jeff. I can’t take the car and it’s sweltering outside, but I spy my bicycle out of the corner of my eye. I’ve stored it by the side of the bar for a long time and only use it when I’m desperate.
I’m desperate now .
Chapter Thirteen
The gears creak with neglect, but the bike works. Tires are fine, and as I pull out of the parking lot I half expect Jeff to grab the back of my shirt and drag me down. The feeling takes me by surprise and sends a full-body chill through me as I pump my legs hard to get away from the bar as fast as possible.
I know he’s not chasing me, but still. He’s mad. I’m madder.
Anything could happen right now.
Screw
A few more weeks and I’m completely done with Jeff at all. Period.
“Get inside and set up for the night crowd.”
“Are we expecting a big crowd? Atlas coming by?” I ask, keeping my voice neutral.
Jeff’s neck whips around, fast, like I’ve slapped him. “Atlas?”
“You know,” I explain, pretending like this is a normal conversation. “The biker gang.”
“I sure as fuck know what Atlas is, Girlie.” I flinch. Jeff uses bad language all the time but generally not directed at me. I’ve hit a nerve.
“Are you expecting a big crowd?” I walk past him and into the darkened bar. It smells like hot, sour beer with pine-scented deodorizer. The odor makes my stomach burn.
Or maybe that’s the sick feeling of knowing I’m about to be screamed at.
“You stay away from Atlas. Stay away from Chase Halloway.”
“How can I do that and work at the bar?” I ask, pointing out the obvious. “They come in here sometimes. I don’t have control over that.”
“He won’t be around. Chase. I took care of that.”
“You what?”
“Me and Galt have an agreement that you two are bad news for each other. Chase ain’t gonna be around here for a while.” Jeff studies me while he delivers this news. I pretend it doesn’t bother me.
Inside, though, I’m dying.
“Okay. Fine. Why should I care? He was turning into a creepy stalker type, anyhow.” I’m trying to use reverse psychology on Jeff. I hope it works. Maybe if I convince him I don’t care about Chase he’ll drop the subject.
“Creepy sure is right. You know he killed his own mama?”
The bottle of whisky I’m moving from one counter to the other drops right out of my hand and shatters.
He makes a nasty snorting sound, his eyes narrowing, looking beadier than normal. “Yeah. That’s right. Galt Halloway’s kid killed his mom and a guy Galt found her cheating with. Nice. Fifteen-year-old boy blows his mom’s head off because she’s fucking some guy.”
“That’s not true,” I hiss, walking over the shards of wet glass toward him, not caring about my shoes.
“Oh? Just because you don’t want it to be true don’t make it a lie.”
“Chase didn’t kill his mom.”
“A whole lotta people beg to differ,” Jeff replies, shaking his head like I’m stupid.
I don’t believe Jeff. I can’t believe Jeff. There’s no way Chase killed his mom. He told me the truth today out there in the desert. Jeff’s been told a lie. The way he smiles as he tells it is what’s creepy. Not Chase. Jeff’s the one who’s more likely to have killed a mom.
My mom.
Marissa and I don’t talk about it anymore, but we’re pretty sure Jeff killed our mother. We don’t have any proof, and when it happened we were just stupid teen girls in the eyes of the cops who investigated. Jeff was smooth, and able to talk to them man to man. He played the grieving spouse, the out-of-his-mind loving husband who didn’t know where his wife had fallen.
Meanwhile, it was me and Marissa who were out of our minds with true sorrow.
Jeff was never arrested. When they found Mom’s body he cried, but only in public. Never in private.
Doesn’t that say so much?
“I don’t give a shit what a lot of people say,” I snap at him, then break into a run. Screw Jeff. I can’t take the car and it’s sweltering outside, but I spy my bicycle out of the corner of my eye. I’ve stored it by the side of the bar for a long time and only use it when I’m desperate.
I’m desperate now .
Chapter Thirteen
The gears creak with neglect, but the bike works. Tires are fine, and as I pull out of the parking lot I half expect Jeff to grab the back of my shirt and drag me down. The feeling takes me by surprise and sends a full-body chill through me as I pump my legs hard to get away from the bar as fast as possible.
I know he’s not chasing me, but still. He’s mad. I’m madder.
Anything could happen right now.
Screw
Similar Books
