Touch (Denazen #1)(89)

The Road Runner rolls to a stop. Mom hops out with a big, yet wary, smile plastered across her face. I’m not at all eager to meet my maternal kin. Honestly, how great can they be? Mom left when she was barely sixteen. My life sucks and I’m still with my parental unit. What does that say about hers?

The woman drops the bucket, and when it lands on the porch’s wooden planks, the expected clatter is swallowed by the surrounding forest. Her face pales. I recognize disbelief when I see it. Her hands shake as she rubs them down the sides of her worn-out jeans. Granny isn’t exactly old. In fact, she’s downright young-looking. A little weather-beaten, but still kind of attractive. An older version of Mom.

Mom hesitates. “Hey, Mama. Bet you didn’t expect to see me.”

I groan. I shouldn’t be surprised that she’s dragged us all the way up here without telling anyone, but I am. Mom’s never been one to bother with practical matters like informing family we’re coming to live with them indefinitely.

“Dylan,” Mom yells, and motions me forward. “Get out of the car.”

Grandma’s attention shifts to where I’m still sitting in the passenger seat. Her eyes are big and pale blue, almost see-through. They’re kinda creepy, actually.

“Who’s that?” she asks. “Your boyfriend?”

I’m a big guy. Not, oh-my-God-look-at-that-giant-fat-boy big, but tall and muscular. I’ve been known to walk into a bar or two and not get carded.

“Beautiful,” I mutter. Gritting my teeth, I get out of the car, one hand on the roof, the other on the door and glare at Mom. “She doesn’t know who I am, does she?”

Mom’s eyes widen. She looks like she’s going to cry again, and burning anger starts to rise inside of me. I try to tamp it down, but I can’t. It bubbles over, leaping into my eyes, my mouth, and my heart.

Without another word, I snatch an old army duffel stuffed with my things from the back seat and slam the door. I don’t look back as I retrace my way toward the main road.

“Dylan!”

I ignore Mom’s call.

“Dylan, stop.”

I do, but it’s got nothing to do with her. The crazy dog skids into my path. Its ears are down, and its teeth are showing. Long, mean teeth.

Mom’s fingers clamp onto my shoulder, startling me. The dog leaps toward her, and I kick dirt at it and yell for it to go. Amazingly it does. I pull out of Mom’s grasp, ignoring the pleading in her eyes. She latches on again. “You can’t go. Please, don’t do this.”

Where does she get off, acting this way? “What do you care whether I’m here or not?”

“You have to stay! If you don’t, it’s going to get worse.”

It sounds like she cares, but I’m not easily fooled. I turn away. “She doesn’t know who I am. You never told her about me.”

“Of course not. I haven’t talked to her since I left.”

I snap around and confront her. “Why are we even here?”

“There’s no other place to go.”

“Bullsh—”

“Don’t cuss.” She glances back and sees Grandma inching her way toward us. “We have to be smart about this. You promised me you’d behave.”

The muscle in my cheek twitches. “People make promises all the time they don’t intend to keep.” Just like she’d promised to quit smoking and drinking and hooking up with men. Promises run cheap in our dysfunctional family.

I will not be like her. I will make something out of my life if it kills me.

Panic flushes her face. “Please, Dylan.”

She’s desperate. I can taste it in the air. I should relent, but an unquenchable need to hurt her like she constantly hurts me threatens to hijack my control.

The crunch of gravel stops me from saying something that would push her over the edge. Grandma’s within hearing range, a look of suspicion on her face. “What’s going on, Addison?”

“Addy,” Mom says on a sigh as she turns to face Grandma. “My name is Addy. And nothing is going on. This is my son. Dylan.”

“Your son?” The news is definitely a shocker for her. “But he’s… How old is he?”

“Seventeen,” I say.

Grandma appears dazed and more than confused.

“Yeah,” Mom blurts out. “Do the math. Sixteen and pregnant. Daddy would’ve freaked—I freaked—so I left.”

“What? Your father—”

Mom throws her head back and sways side-to-side like a nervous hen that’s been pegged for Sunday dinner. “You know I’m right,” she hollers at the sky.

Shadows flit into Grandma’s eyes. “He would’ve been angry, yes, but that was no reason to leave like you did.”

Mom’s chin trembles, but she regains control. She looks toward the house and into the woods beyond, like she’s searching for something. “Well, we can’t change the past.”

“No. We can’t.” Grandma glances at me. I can tell she wants to move closer for an inspection, but manners—and most likely shock—keep her back. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dylan,” she says.

Her gaze lances through me. I get this feeling like I should apologize, but I can’t think what I’ve done wrong, exactly. I don’t especially like the feeling. So instead, I thrust out my hand and throw her a smile laced with sarcasm. “Hey there, Granny.”