Inevitable Detour (Inevitability Book 1)(85)

I just couldn’t finish.

Verbal communication failed me, so I tried to meet her eyes, speak to her soul. Was this really what she wanted? Send her eldest son away? Give up on me? Just like Dad did with all of us.

I searched and searched, but my mother had no answers in her big green eyes, no more than the stone angel had at my father’s grave.

Abby took in a stuttered breath and turned away. She swiped at a tear. “It’s for the best, Chase,” she mumbled.

And then she left me sitting there, all alone, warm air blowing across the back of my neck.

I went back to my room and cut up three more lines.

That was nearly two years ago and here I am. Mom is still in Las Vegas with Will, on steady boyfriend number six, last I heard. She’s still chasing the elusive jackpot too, hoping to recapture the life she once knew.

Good luck with that, I think bitterly. Jackpot, my ass. If anyone needs to hit a f*cking jackpot, it’s me.

Suddenly, drug-induced visions of flashing pots of gold swim lazily into my head, along with some break-dancing leprechauns, and I can’t help but chuckle.

Tate looks over. He must think my mood has improved, ’cause he starts talking all excitedly about how much money we’re going to make from our new business venture with Kyle. I listen to his voice, not really hearing any words, but then the cell buzzes and I am alert, very alert.

Tate tosses it my way. “That there would be the ladies,” he says—all smooth like—as I catch the cell with one hand. Even impaired, my coordination is impeccable.

“Ladies, my ass.” I roll my eyes.

Tate laughs, knowing as well as I do that the two girls we’re meeting up with tonight are no ladies. They’re looking for the same thing we are, but therein lies the beauty.

“What’s it say?” he asks, nodding to the cell.

The text is kind of blurry, but, then again, everything is. I blink a few times and my vision clears. When I read it out loud, I mimic a high-pitched girl’s voice, just to be an ass. “Crystal and I are almost at the lake. Come prepared. Tammy. Laugh out loud, winking smiley face.”

“Dude-e-e.” Tate shoots me a knowing sidelong glance. “You know what come prepared means, right? You got that covered, yeah?”

As reckless as I am—and that’s pretty f*cking reckless—I always make sure I wrap my shit up. Better safe than sorry. But as I feel around in the pockets of my jeans I realize I’ve left the condoms at home. “Fuck,” I mutter.

The blue Welcome to Pennsylvania sign looms ahead, our headlights flashing off the reflective letters.

Tate asks, “What?”

I rake my fingers through my hair. “I forgot the goddamn things at home.”

“Not a problem. We’ll just stop at the convenience store across the state line.”

“Bad idea,” I counter. “Cops are always hanging out in there. You think they won’t notice how f*cked up we are?”

“How f*cked up you are,” Tate corrects, laughing. “I didn’t smoke nearly as much as you.”

“You smoked plenty,” I mumble under my breath.

But Tate is right, I smoked more. And Tate smoked only weed. Plus, my friend didn’t see the pills Kyle slipped me before we left.

Still, I nod to the almost-empty bottle. “You pretty much drank that whole thing, dickhead. You’ll never pass a field sobriety test.”

“Yeah, but I don’t plan on taking one, my friend. And, I hide it better than you.” He shrugs. “Trust me, I got it covered. Just wait in the car. It’ll only take a sec.”

Tate’s always confident like this. He can talk anyone into just about anything. I always tell him he’s a natural-born salesman. Maybe if we ever get our shit together he can do something legit using his smooth ways. It’s cool, it’s Tate’s thing, and it helps make him popular. He’s an okay-looking guy—brown hair, brown eyes, kind of skinny—but it’s his smooth talk that gets him in with the girls. They eat that shit up.

We cross the state line, turn into the convenience store. No cop cars. “See, we’re good,” Tate says, still as confident as ever.

I flip up my black hoodie hood and slouch down in my seat. “Just be quick,” I mumble.

Tate hesitates, and I know something is up. “What the f*ck are you waiting for?” I ask.

He begins his sentence with “Don’t be pissed—” and I cut him off right away, hoping I won’t have to kick my good friend’s skinny ass. It would be a damn shame really, since Tate wouldn’t stand a chance against the likes of me. I am way bigger and far stronger, and the rage within me has no match.

“What?” I spit out, clenching my jaw.

Tate ignores my attitude; he’s used to it. “I kind of need you to hold on to something while I go in there. Just in case.”

“Just in case of what?”

I am running out of patience. I scrub my hand down my face, wary to hear what Tate the salesman is up to now.

He smirks, and I tell him to knock that shit off, save it for the “ladies.”

“Okay, okay.” He raises his hands in mock surrender. “I may have kind of asked Kyle to give us a little something to get our entrepreneurial gig started.”

“Us?” I say, feeling the anger rise up. “You didn’t even know I was going to sell with you until about ten minutes ago.”