“Why would I want Future to eat a bucket of candy?”
“It’s just a fun thing.”
“He has to wear makeup?” Pixie asks.
“No. He can wear a fireman’s hat.”
Moments like these offer a stark reminder of how I’m outnumbered. The three ladies stare at me, certain I’m selling them bullshit. I look to Future for help, but he just smiles and shows me how he has a block with the letter “F” on it.
“Do we have to do this?” Pixie asks and hugs me. “Is this a requirement to live in the Woodlands?”
“No.”
“Then, we’re not doing it,” Fairuza decides.
Pixie smiles at me. “Candy is gross,” she whispers. “I didn’t like the scary movies I saw at Bronco’s house, and wearing makeup is lame. Halloween is no fun. But we can watch one of your movies that night.”
“I have to go out dressed as a killer and chase teenagers,” I say, and she again looks at me as if I’m fucking with her. “The little kids like candy. The big kids want to be chased around like in horror movies.”
Dove loses her confused frown and embraces a horrified one. I try to see Halloween from their viewpoints.
Chuckling, I nod. “It sounds fucked up, but that’s what they do here. You don’t have to join in. You never have to, really.”
Unsure now, Dove sits with Future on the ground. She’s stuck in a weird age, where she wants to be a teenager like Summer but also craves playing like Bronco’s younger girls.
“How about we skip Halloween this year,” I say, stroking Pixie’s back as she rests her head against my chest. “Then next year, you can do the community stuff if you want. People change. You might like it by then.”
Fairuza clearly doesn’t think her views will change. Of course, her new buddy, Barbie, might sway her. On the other hand, they argue a lot, so they might hate each other by next year.
“We don’t celebrate those holidays,” Pixie says again when the topic of Christmas comes up.
“I always put the lights up. Everyone does.”
At first, Pixie stares blankly. Then, she smiles and nods. “It’s your tradition. Can I help you put them up?”
“No fucking way,” I grumble, thinking of her up on a ladder. “You can supervise and clap when I do a good job.”
The four of them end up sitting on the front lawn as I attach lights along the roofline. When I’m halfway through, Conor shows up out of nowhere to help. I often wonder if he uses his fancy drones to spy on people. Then again, he might just be restless. Conor is a man with a very specific future that he can’t access until Bronco retires.
As he helps set up the Christmas decorations, I recall what Bronco told me about Wyatt back in September.
“If the little shit ever beats me in a fight,” my president said while we stood with Lowell in my backyard, “and he takes over leadership, you need to immediately snap his fucking neck. Apparently, he’s telling his bitch wife that he plans to end you once he’s president. If that’s not him just wagging his dick, he’ll also kill Lowell. Maybe a few other guys. For that to happen, he’ll have killed me. Whatever happens, I don’t want that asshole running the Executioners, Elko, or the Woodlands. Our families won’t be safe. Get it?”
“I’ll do to him what I did to my president in Cleveland. He’ll never have a chance to fuck over anyone.”
Bronco only nodded. I don’t know how he learned about Wyatt’s shit-talking. Yet, if he warned Lowell and me, he’s no doubt discussed the same thing with the founding members of the Executioners. Those men include Wyatt’s father. While Rooster loves his boy, I suspect deep down inside, he loves his club more.
I don’t know if Conor ever got keyed into where things stood with Bronco and Wyatt. The holidays aren’t the time to mention anything, even if I wanted to stir up shit.
Especially since this time of year has always been unpleasant for me. Most people fucking love to rub their happiness in the faces of the less fortunate. Or, in my case, the less loved. My grandparents often had friends over during the holidays. Our house was well-decorated, and underneath the blinged-out tree were dozens of gifts. We looked like a normal, happy family.
But it was a lie. During those parties, they claimed I did well at school. A lie. They told their friends how I was quite the athlete. A lie. They laughed over how I’d been such a good boy that Santa put me at the top of the “nice list.” All fucking lies.
Through it all, I stood in my stupid white shirt and black slacks like a choir boy. Except we didn’t go to church because my grandparents claimed I’d burst into flames if I ever tried to enter.
Now, I have a family that loves me. When I turn on the holiday lights, they clap as if I’m amazing. Then, they go absolutely wild when the inflatable reindeer starts wiggling.
That’s how my new family works. My honey knows I’m a dickhead and loves me anyway. My little brother and sister think I’m cool. My mother always makes sure I’m fed and comfortable.
I even hear Fairuza bragging about me to her Dandelion friends online. Not lies either. She tells them about real shit I do.
Admittedly, when I learned Barbie found the missing Dandelions, I needed two joints to avoid freaking out. Were Pixie and her family leaving? Could I go with them if they ditched Elko? Why couldn’t Barbie have left well enough alone?
Except, of course, my newly pregnant honey wasn’t bailing on me. Pixie’s heart isn’t fickle.
Yet, I remained leery about them contacting their friends. That first night, I stood very still in the kitchen while they crowded
