“Love to,” Connor said.
“Then come try me, you little bitch!” He looked so ridiculous, with his uncombed hair and pupils bulging, like a little boxer man in a Looney Tunes cartoon.
Connor got up from the couch and tossed his pack of cigarettes to me. When the carton hit my palms, electricity surged through my fingers. It was then I knew just how high I was.
Connor stared Toby down for a moment before shoving him. Toby lost his balance and hit the ground hard, but quickly recovered, sitting up and pulling Connor down on top of him. They wrestled around, Max practically in tears from laughter, until Connor pinned Toby’s hands behind his back and gave a triumphant laugh. Toby grunted and struggled, trying to break free of his hold. Max snorted and took a swig of beer, handing me the bottle to finish it off. I pressed it to my lips, realizing I was smiling like crazy, the booze tasting radiant in my mouth. The plastic bass gaped at us from the wall with his glassy, knowing eyes. I swear I saw its mouth move.
Connor punched Toby’s arm once, then freed him, standing and throwing his arms up in the air. “And the true Iron Maiden remains triumphant!” he declared. Max whooped and clapped for him.
Toby pounced on him from behind, trying to yank him back down, but Connor easily pushed him off. Max was practically collapsing with laughter even as he ducked Toby’s sucker punch. It all happened in a blur of hands and bodies and sweat, but Connor got over to me and grabbed my arm, pulling me into the dog pile.
I tried to remember seventh grade wrestling camp, tried to get Connor in a headlock like I’d learned when I was just a kid, but he was too quick. After a good scuffle—his hands, his chest, his body—he flipped me on my back and pinned my arms to the ground, palms pressed into mine. We were breathing hard from the exertion, my shirt up to my chin. I felt the muscles in his palms fire before they released mine and slid back to his sides. His smooth biceps, the way his tank top cinched around his taut shoulders…I forgot how to inhale. His eyes wandered down the bared skin of my chest, down my thigh. He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a grin.
Shit, shit. I rolled him off me and stood up quickly, adjusting my pants with fumbling fingers. My face burned red hot.
As I walked quickly to the bathroom around the corner I could feel him watching me. Max and Toby were feeling the high, I could tell from their laughs. They were—thankfully, hopefully—oblivious.
I flipped on the lights and splashed freezing water on my face, trying to breathe. I tried to visualize something soothing, tried to stop shaking.
The door opened. The lights went out.
The lock clicked.
And suddenly he was everywhere.
His chest up against mine, hands all over. The smell of his shirt, cologne that set my senses on fire. I opened my mouth, his kisses hungry and rough, nothing like a girl’s. Hot tongue, hands down my back, up my shirt, blazing trails across my skin. I let it burn right through me, like the heat of the sun. I just let go.
15.
The house was dead by the time I got home, save for the porch lights Mom always left on for me. Still high from the acid, the mosquitos looked like little raindrops dripping onto my skin. I swatted them away and opened the door.
It was dark and quiet, so I kicked off my shoes and started upstairs, assuming everyone had gone to bed. I’d smoked enough weed to calm down my trip, but the staircase felt unstable and the silence was all too loud.
“Jack?”
I stopped and looked over the banister at the TV room. A lamp was on, softly illuminating the face of my father. He was reclined in his EZ chair, head slumped forward.
I walked into the room and saw them right away, about a dozen empty beer bottles scattered all over the floor. Old Gunther snored beneath his feet.
“Dad?” I asked cautiously. I was scared to move, as if one misstep would set him off into a drunken rage.
It took him a little while to look up at me. His eyes were empty and faraway, like I was merely a flicker on the TV screen. He smacked his lips and mumbled something.
I crept over slowly and kneeled down beside him. I felt five years old again, looking up at Daddy for attention, a game, or even a smile.
“Dad?”
“Your mother…” he slurred. “She’s at it again. She’s hiding something from me, some big plan. I can feel it.”
“Can I get you something, Dad? You want some water?”
“She’s been squirrely lately. Won’t answer my questions directly. She thinks I’m so damn dumb. They all do. Everyone thinks old Jim’s just a dummy, just a piece of white trash from a Scottsdale trailer park. But I see it all.” He turned to me, eyes narrowing, pinning me to the floor.
“You hiding something from me, Jack?”
“No, sir.”
He clamped his arms down on my shoulders and pulled me close to his face. His voice had gone hard and dark. “If there’s something you need to tell me, something you been hiding from me, you tell me right now, you understand? Because whatever it is, I will know. I will find the truth.”
The stench of his hot beer breath made me nauseous.
He’s just drunk, he’s just drunk…
“You think you’re so clever, huh? Running around with your little friends like hoodlums, stirring up trouble all over town? And now you think you’ve got it all figured out, just picking up and going whenever you damn well please.”
“Dad, I’m not—”
“You tell
