Long Way Home (Thunder Road #3)(9)

Yeah, that’s complete bull.

I straighten and the bracelets on my wrist clink together and hit Dad’s bulky Rolex. It’s one of the many things Mom was mad about today. She tolerates me wearing Dad’s cross, but she’s adamant that I leave the watch alone. Dad always wore the cross and the Rolex, and today I needed both so I could find the strength to keep breathing in and then out several times a minute.

If I was alone, I’d head home on foot, but Brandon walking along the woods in the dark could cause problems I’m not giddy to deal with. At least he feels somewhat safe next to the car.

“Are you hungry?” I ask. “I didn’t eat all my popcorn at the game and you can have what’s left. I should warn you, most of it is burnt.”

“The club would send somebody if you called,” he mutters. “If you called Chevy, he’d come. At least he’d come for me.”

Knife straight to where I’m weak, and I lose the ability to breathe. Yeah, Chevy would come, but what girl wants to play damsel in distress and then be saved by her ex-boyfriend? “I can’t call Chevy.”

It wouldn’t be fair to Chevy, and it wouldn’t be fair to me. The love I had for him was consuming and powerful and raw. I briefly close my eyes as memories of Chevy’s hands on my body and his lips on mine cause warmth to curl in my bloodstream... Even when we fought, we never had problems with attraction.

My breakup with Chevy hasn’t only hurt me, but my brother, and I’m not sure if he’ll ever forgive me. I’m not sure if a lot of people will forgive me, but none of that matters. My single goal in life is to get as far away from this town as I can, as fast as I can. Graduation. That’s my town of Snowflake expiration date.

A motorcycle rumbles in the distance and it’s weird how my heart still flutters at the sound. When I was younger, I used to sit at the window in the living room and wait for that beautiful growl. The moment I heard Dad’s motorcycle, I used to skip through the house telling my mom and brother that Daddy was home.

I’d burst out the front door in time for him to swing off his bike and then he’d catch me and toss me into the air. I’d squeal, then end up in a fit of giggles as he would tickle me in his big, crushing hug.

Those days are long gone.

The motorcycle engine grows louder. A single headlight breaks over the hill of the road that leads to town. Most sane people would be terrified at being alone on the side of the road at night with an approaching motorcycle, but I’m annoyed and slightly relieved.

If someone from the Terror wants to stumble upon me and help make Dad’s car move, I’ll suck up the animosity long enough to get my brother home. But at the same time, accepting their help will only make them want to go dictator over everything else in my family’s life.

Anything offered by the Terror comes at a price. My father paid with his life.

I step back from the open hood and the motorcycle slows to a stop behind my car. I blow out a rush of air. Why does my life have to continually suck? I would have taken Eli or Pigpen over this. But I didn’t get Thing One or Thing Two. I got my ex because I’m that incredibly unlucky.

Chevy slips off his bike and grimly assesses the car. More than once he’s been under the hood of this Chevelle. Chevy and my dad were close. A part of Chevy was also destroyed when Dad died.

“Mom’s on her way,” I say. “You’re fine to move along, since she’ll be here soon.”

Brandon rushes past me so quickly that his arm smacks mine. He doesn’t bother looking back to confirm I’m still standing; no, my brother is too busy welcoming Chevy like he’s a hero.

Brandon is all words, most of them tripping and running into the other, as he attempts to express his excitement and undying love and loyalty. “We were at your game and Pigpen bought me a hot dog and Eli bought my ticket and I didn’t see your first touchdown, but I saw your second and third and you plowed right through that line and I’m so glad to see you.”

Because Chevy is patient, more patient than most grown men, he stands in front of my brother with his thumbs hitched in his front pockets and that sexy slouch of his like he’s prepared to listen to every single word Brandon could ever say or think to say.

As long as I’ve known him, Chevy’s kept his hair trimmed, but today strands of his dark brown hair slightly cover his forehead and it’s incredibly endearing. The type of style that’s teasing and begs to be swept away.

A wave of unwanted jealousy rages through me. I used to be the one who could touch Chevy. Last I heard, I’d been replaced with a revolving door of girls who have lined up to spend the evening with the school’s star running back and waterfall of muscle.

Brandon’s still gushing, Chevy’s still listening, but then, as if our relationship had never been interrupted, his gaze strays in my direction. Eyes straight to mine and I can’t breathe. Returning his gaze is a lot like coming home after a long night and falling into bed.

I fell into way too many things with Chevy. The suck part about falling is that eventual crash landing. I tear my eyes away and force air into my aching lungs.

Thank God, Brandon’s still going. “Dad’s car broke down and Violet wouldn’t call you, but I said we should call you. I told her that you’d come—at least you’d come for me. I told her to call the club, but she wouldn’t.”