Chasing Hadley Page 3

  Watching the two of them together was like witnessing magic. I don’t even care how cheesy that makes me sound. I’ve never seen any other couple have such love glowing in their eyes as when Mom and Dad looked at each other adoringly. I used to want that for myself, that magic and the glowing. After watching the absence of it smother my dad in darkness, though, I’ve changed my mind. It’s part of why I don’t do the whole dating thing. Why I’ve kissed a total of two guys and one was on a dare. The other was a drunken mistake. And I have no plans of upping that number anytime soon.

  Life is easier that way. Relationships are complicated. And complications are distracting. Which brings me to the other part of the reason I don’t date.

  I don’t want anything distracting me from my goals of escaping this life. I’m going to college the moment I’m handed my diploma, and I don’t need anything or anyone holding me back. It’s already going to be hard enough saying goodbye to my sisters.

  “Should we go look for him?” Londyn suggests right as my phone vibrates from inside my pocket.

  “Hold that thought.” I fish out my phone, crossing my fingers the message is from our dad, telling me he’s parked somewhere in town, waiting for us.

  But he can never make things that easy, can he?

  Dad: Just got your message. I’m about to pull into that bar just outside of town on the highway. Meet me there when you’re ready.

  “Oh, hell no.” I strap my seatbelt on and tell my sisters to do the same, knowing if he steps foot in that bar, he won’t be coming out anytime soon, unless I drag his drunk-ass out.

  None of my sisters even bother asking me what’s wrong—our dad is super predictable these days. They simply put on their seatbelts then hold on, knowing they’re going to need to. Because, if there’s one thing I’m good at in this life, it’s driving fast.

  Moments later, I’m peeling out with the gas pedal floored. My heart is pumping as the speed increases. I feel more alive than I have in weeks.

  My mom used to say the same thing, that racing made her breathe freer and her heartbeat swifter. She enjoyed every moment she spent behind the wheel. I’ve been the same way from the moment I started learning how to drive, back when I was ten. Mom let me sit on her lap and steer down our driveway. It was such a rush, and I couldn’t wait until I got my learner’s permit. Although, by the time I did, she was gone, but the magic I experienced the first time sparkled just as brightly.

  Driving has always given me a rush, and when I’m racing, all the shit going on in my life sort of blurs away. Unfortunately, I don’t get to race very often since I have to be sneaky about it. Because, while my dad is a mess and barely pays attention to us anymore, he did set one firm rule.

  Absolutely no drag racing.

  I understand why he thinks we need the rule, since Mom died racing when her car skidded off the road and into a lake. I was there when it happened and can still hear the skidding of the tires and the splash. A lot of people tried to get my dad to put me into therapy to deal with witnessing the ordeal, but he was too engulfed in his own sorrow to follow through with the suggestions. So we had the funeral. said our goodbyes, and all tried to move on with our lives. But my heart constantly feels broken.

  The only time it doesn’t is when I’m racing. That’s what my dad doesn’t understand—that I need to race to keep floating in this shitty pool of muddy, scummy pond water that I’m struggling to keep afloat in. Racing is my only breath of fresh air, my passion, and I’m damn good at it, something I more than prove when I skid into the parking lot of the bar right as my dad is about to walk inside.

  A cloud of dirt kicks up and gusts into the rolled down windows of my car and around my dad as I brake hard. He gapes at us in shock. Then the moment the surprise wears off, sheer lividness flashes across his face as he strides toward the car. I know what’s coming next. He’s going to yell at me, make a scene, threaten to take away my car keys. Wouldn’t be the first time.

  “Give me your fucking car keys. Now!” he seethes as he reaches my door.

  “No—” I start, but he reaches in, shuts off the engine, and steals my keys. “Hey.” I move to snatch them from him, but he stuffs them into his pocket and strides away toward the bar door.

  I dive out of the car and rush after him. “Dad, we don’t have time for this shit. It’s already going to be dark by the time we get to Honeyton.”

  “Well, you should’ve thought about that before you drove like a goddamn lunatic.” He jerks the door to the bar open. “Seriously, what were you thinking? Especially with your sisters in the car.”

  “I was thinking that I needed to get here before you went inside,” I snap. “Because, I knew, if you did, you’d be in there all night and we’d be stuck out in the car, waiting for your drunk-ass to stumble out.” This isn’t the first time I’ve lost my cool with him, and it won’t be the last.

  His face reddens. “I think you’re forgetting who the parent is.”

  “What parent?” I’m fuming mad. Mad at him for being a drunk. For being such a shitty father. For pretending he has the right to scold me now when he doesn’t give a shit about anything we do. Mad because I had to pawn my necklace. Mad, mad, mad. I’m so mad all the time that I can barely stand it. “Because all I see is a drunk deadbeat who can’t even take care of his kids.”

  He smacks me across the face, shocking both him and myself. With all the terrible things my father has done over the years, he has never hit me until now. “I’m sorry,” he sputters as I place my palm to my throbbing cheek, my eyes wide. Then he bails into the bar.

  Shaking my head, I spin around and storm back to the car. “What a fucking asshole!”

  “Holy shit, I can’t believe he hit you,” Bailey whispers with wide eyes.

  Payton’s eyes are equally as large, but Londyn appears shockingly pissed off.

  “We should leave his ass here.” She shakes her head. “Take the truck and ditch him.”

  The idea does sound enticing, but he’s our legal guardian and none of us are eighteen. Even though I hate it, we need him around.

  I roll my window down all the way. “We’ll give him an hour to cool off, and then I’ll go in and get him.”

  Londyn shakes her head while staring at my cheek. “I can’t believe he hit you.”

  Me neither. And I’m not sure what hurts worse—my face, my pride, or my heart.

  Three

  After sitting outside the bar for almost an hour, our dad stumbles out, drunk off his ass. When I refuse to hotwire his truck again, he finally lets Londyn drive his truck. I feel bad for her being stuck in the car with his smelly ass and offer to drive with him instead, but Londyn refuses to allow it. Since my cheek currently has a bright red handprint on it, I don’t put up much of an argument.

  Five hours into the drive and after Dad sobers up, we pull over and Londyn climbs back into the Chevelle. Everything is going decently until we enter the town of Honeyton, our new, temporary place of residence.

  Somewhere along the main street and the turn off to our neighborhood, Dad pulls over. Since we don’t notice right away, we’re unsure where he went. My bet is the first bar he spotted.

  Luckily, I have the new address entered into the GPS on my phone. Unfortunately, I have no clue how the hell we’re supposed to get the keys from the landlord, or if Dad’s even signed the lease yet. He found the house online, that much I know. Other than that, he hasn’t given me any more info other than the address. Not that I haven’t tried. He always just dismisses me or gives some vague answer, probably because he’s either doing something or has done something I won’t approve of.

  That’s my dad for you.

  Yeah, did I forget to mention that he does some pretty shady stuff, pulling off scams and screwing people over? Not that he ever tells me about it. I just hear stuff through gossip or read about it on his police report when I bail him out of jail.

  I wonder how long we’ll be here before he gets arrested?

  Sighi
ng heavily at that thought, I pull up into the gravel driveway of the address currently typed into the GPS. The sun is starting to set, the sky greying. Even if Dad arrives in the next five minutes, we’re going to be trying to move stuff in while it’s dark.

  “Well, I think this one is the winner.” Sarcasm drips from Bailey’s tone as she takes in the narrow, two-story home in front of us.

  The wraparound porch is starting to collapse, the front door is cracked, and one of the windows is boarded up. It does have a garage at the end of the driveway. Or, well, more like a shack with a garage door.

  “The winner of what exactly?” Payton slants forward in the back seat to get a better look. “The shittiest house in the neighborhood?”

  “Actually, I was going to go with the shittiest house we’ve ever lived in,” Bailey clarifies. “The house next door is much shittier.”

  Payton’s gaze drifts to the two-story home beside ours. It shares similarities to ours, only with more boarded up windows and a shit ton of rusted cars decorating the backyard. Some of the cars don’t look half bad, if they had some work done to them.

  “Doesn’t really matter how shitty it is anyway,” Bailey adds as she gathers her guitar and bag. “We’ll probably live here for like, what? Maybe six months tops?”

  “How did Dad even find this town?” Payton leans back and scribbles something in a notebook. “It’s out in the middle of freakin’ nowhere. Seriously, did you guys see the population sign?”

  “We’ve lived in small towns before,” I remind them as I check my phone for missed messages.

  Fuck. He hasn’t replied to my texts yet.

  Frustrated, I send him another, asking how I’m supposed to get into this place and if he needs to be here to sign a lease. After a couple minutes tick by and he doesn’t reply, I shove open the door.

  “I’m going to take a look around,” I tell my sisters as I hop out of the car.

  I hike up the gravel driveway, hoping I can find either a letter from the landlord or an old rental sign that hopefully has a phone number.

  The more I walk around, the more my face throbs. I took some painkillers earlier and pressed a cold bottle of soda to my cheek for a while, but it still hurts like a motherfucker and looks just as bad. In a couple days, I’ll probably have a bruise.

  “Goddamn, stupid, dickless asshole,” I chew my dad out as I trot up the steps to the side door.

  “Well, hello to you, too.”

  The voice comes from out of nowhere and startles the crap out of me. I spin around and nearly trip over my untied laces. I grab the wooden railing for support and end up getting slivers in my palms, but at least I manage to stop myself from falling on my ass.

  Sweeping my hair out of my face, I glance around to see who the culprit is who almost made me fall on my face. The instant I spot him, I know I’m about to have trouble on my hands.

  He’s standing on the other side of the fence that divides the yard between the house next door and ours. He looks around my age, is tall, lean, with blond hair, and one of the prettiest faces I’ve ever seen. Which yes, is cliché and makes me sound stupidly girly, but it’s the truth. He’s also sporting an I-think-I’m-the-shit smirk, or a smirk I like to refer to as a douchebag stamp.

  He rests his arms on top of the fence. “Are you lost, baby?”

  My jaw ticks. God, I hate it when guys call me baby.

  I cock my brow. “Are you talking to me?”

  “Yeah, I am, baby.” He deliberately lets his gaze scroll over me. “You know what? Forget the baby remark. I’m thinking you’re more of a sweetheart sort of girl.”

  “Oh, my God.” I hold up my hands. I can’t even right now. “Does that shit seriously ever work for you?”

  His smile fumbles for the briefest of seconds before he plasters the smirk right back on. “Don’t worry; it’s okay to be flattered.”

  “I’m not flattered.” I trot down the steps and stop a short distance from him. “But don’t worry, sweetheart; I’m sure there’s some girl somewhere stupid enough to find your disgusting little obsession with vomit-inducing nicknames swoon-worthy. You should probably go find her, baby. And I’m thinking the best place to start is on go-fuck-yourself lane. And don’t ever call me sweetheart or baby again or I’ll kick you in the dick drive.” Then I flip him the middle finger and turn away, heading back down the driveway.

  My sisters have gotten out of the car, and Londyn is digging through the trunk while Payton texts on her phone and Bailey watches me with an amused grin.

  “Way to make friends with the new neighbors.” She gives me a thumbs-up.

  “That guy was an ass.” I stop in front of her, casting a quick glance back at the guy.

  I half expect him to be standing near the fence, glaring at me, but he’s walking back to the house. When he reaches the door, however, he throws a look in my direction, his expression laced with irritation.

  “A hot ass,” Payton remarks without glancing up from her phone.

  Bailey grins as she slings the strap of her guitar over her shoulder. “For sure.”

  “Don’t.” I point a finger back and forth between the two of them. “That isn’t the kind of guy you want to date.”

  “Who said anything about dating?” Payton grins. “Maybe I’m just looking for a boy toy.”

  Bailey and Payton high-five each other, and I shake my head.

  “You’re not even sixteen yet. You don’t need a boy toy,” I lecture. “You should be focused on getting good grades and pursuing your dreams.”

  “Hooking up with a hottie is on my bucket list,” Payton remarks as she shoves her phone into the back pocket of her torn jeans.

  I roll my eyes. “That should not be on your bucket list. Cool things should be. Like going to Paris and seeing the ocean. Shit like that.”

  “That stuff is on my bucket list, too.” Payton pulls her curly brown and red streaked hair into a messy bun and secures it with an elastic that’s around her wrist. “But hooking up with the hot next-door neighbor is more doable than being able to afford to fly to Paris.”

  I cross my arms. “With that attitude, you won’t.”

  Payton sighs, tugging at the bottom of her oversized worn Nirvana T-shirt. “You sound like Mom.”

  Bailey nods. “She really does.”

  “That’s not a bad thing,” I utter quietly.

  “I didn’t mean it as a bad thing.” Payton offers me a small smile. “It’s just that … Don’t you ever get tired of being the responsible one? You’re seventeen, but sometimes, you act like you’re thirty.”

  “Someone has to be the responsible one,” I say, working to keep an even tone to hide the truth. That I do wish I could act my age. But they don’t need to know how I feel. Then they’d just feel guilty. “And besides, I don’t always act responsible. I do a lot of stupid stuff all the time.”

  Payton deliberates, nodding. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Mom wouldn’t have told our next-door neighbor to go fuck himself, and that she was going to kick him in the dick.”

  “That’s not exactly what I said,” I argue. “And besides, he deserved it. He was an ass. And you should realize that right now. No flirting with him, okay?”

  “We’ll see,” Payton says with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

  Lovely. That more than likely means she’s going to go after blondie baby douchebag—my nickname for him from now on. And Bailey will probably flirt with him, too, although she’ll back off before Payton does.

  Between the two of them, Bailey is more loud and outspoken, except when it comes to guys. Payton is the flirt and has already had her fair share of boyfriends. She assured me a while ago that she is still a virgin, but I still stuffed a cookie jar full of condoms and put it in the bathroom. So far, none of us have used any, but my money is on Payton being the one to stick her hand into that cookie jar first.

  “Oh, my God, you’re thinking about the condom cookie jar, aren’t you?” Payton groans as she heads toward the t
runk where Londyn has begun to stack boxes and bags. “Just because we like to talk about sex doesn’t mean we’re actually having it.”

  “I know that.” I follow her. “But when you do start to be sexually active, I want to make sure you’re careful.”

  “I feel like I’m in health class right now.” Payton picks up a box from off the ground. “You want to go get a banana so you can give me a demonstration on how to put one on?”

  “That’s actually not a bad idea,” I joke with a smirk. “But I think a cucumber’s closer to the right shape unless his dick is really crooked.”

  Londyn snickers as she drops a box onto the ground beside her feet. “Like Donny Dapierfield.”

  I make a face. “Ew. You saw Donny Dapierfield’s dick? When?”

  “When he took me to prom and asked me to give him a handjob.” Her face twists in disgust. “He didn’t even wait for me to answer; just pulled out his thing and looked at me expectantly.”

  I lean against the open trunk. “Please tell me you didn’t do it.”

  “Hell no. I laughed at him. I couldn’t help it. His dick looked like this.” She holds up her hand with her index finger curved in.

  I snort a laugh. “I would’ve hit him in his crooked dick and made it even more crooked.”

  She grabs a bag out of the trunk and sets it on top of a stack of boxes. “I might have, but my laughter must have wounded his ego because he zipped up his pants and drove me straight home without saying another word.”

  “Um, Hadley,” Bailey interrupts. “Where are we supposed to put all these boxes if we can’t even get in the house?”

  Crap. I almost forgot about the key situation, thanks to blondie baby douchebag distracting me.

  “Stack them on the front porch for now. I’m going to take a look around again, without distractions this time, and see if I can figure out how to get ahold of the landlord.”

  I start up the driveway, sending my dad another text, then go up to the front door and try the knob, but it’s locked. I have the same luck with the side door, so I start looking around for a sign somewhere, eventually heading over to the shed/garage. The door isn’t automatic, and the only way to get in is to push it up by hand. Once I get it open, I feel around for a light switch.