Ride Steady

Ride Steady BY Kristen Ashley




This book is dedicated to Mr. Robinson.

My junior high history teacher.

The coolest teacher in school.

A teacher who asked me out into the hall for the sole purpose of telling me I was more than I believed I could be.

I didn’t believe you then, Mr. Robinson.

It’s taken a lot of time, but I’m beginning to believe.

I thank God for teachers like you who see what we do not see.

And take the time to set us on the

course of believing.





Acknowledgments

I’d like to thank my very supportive reader Danielle Teodoro (and her sister Jessica) for having a fabulous name that I could steal. I hope you like Carissa. I think she’s the bomb.





Prologue




Stay Golden





AFTER HIS FATHER cuffed him, Carson Steele’s temple slammed into the corner of the wall by the refrigerator. It happened so fast that, despite all the times it had happened, and there were a lot, he still wasn’t prepared. So his hand came up to curl around the corner too late to soften the blow as the sharp pain spread from his temple though his right eye and into his jaw. Doubling that, his left cheekbone stung from the back of his father’s hand slamming into it.

“Trash f*ckin’ stinks!” his father yelled. “What’s the point a’ you, boy? You good for nothin’?”

Carson had learned not to respond. Anything he said made it worse. He could defend himself and get his ass kicked. He could apologize and get his ass kicked.

Problem was, he could be silent and get his ass kicked too.

But his dad had a woman at their house, and even though they were both slaughtered on beer and vodka, if his dad had a woman (which he did surprisingly often, regardless that he was a jackhole, and not only to Carson), his father would have other things on his mind. This being the reason Carson hadn’t been prepared for his dad to have a go at him.

When he turned from the wall, still holding on to the edge and battling the pain, and looked into his old man’s eyes, his dad just muttered, “Piece of shit. Good for nothin’. For f*ck’s sake, do somethin’ worth somethin’ in your sorry life, take out the f*ckin’ trash.”

Then he moved to the fridge, opened it, nabbed a six pack, slammed it, and stormed out.

Carson went to the trash.

It was a third full.

His father was right. It stunk. Carson had no idea what the man threw in there, but whatever it was smelled lethal.

The same thing had happened last week, though. The garbage hadn’t been half full, his dad tossed something in that smelled to high heaven, and unable to bear the stench, Carson took it out.

The minute he came back, he got open-palmed smacked across the face because “We’re not made of f*ckin’ money, you piece of shit! I’m not a millionaire who can afford fifty trash bags a week, for f*ck’s sake! Wait until it’s goddamned full!”

He couldn’t win for losing.

This didn’t bother Carson. He had a good memory, which sucked, seeing as every one of them wasn’t one he’d want to remember.

He was used to losing.

He took the garbage out to the alley and tossed it in the Dumpster. As he was dropping the lid, he saw his neighbor roll up in his pickup.

The man slid his window down and stopped.

“Hey, Car, how’s it hangin’, bud?” Linus Washington asked.

Then Linus’s eyes narrowed on Carson’s face.

Linus was a big, black guy who’d lived next door to them for the last three years. Good guy, serial dater, but he’d had a steady woman for the last year. Carson liked her. She was pretty, had a smokin’ body, but he liked the way she looked at Linus the best. Like he could do anything. Like if he went to the Pacific Ocean, raised his arms, and spread them wide, the sea would part.

Yeah, that’s what he liked about her best.

Sometime recently, Linus had got on bended knee but Carson only knew that because his dad had told him she’d accepted the ring, then said, “Dumb f*ck. Gettin’ his shit tied to a woman. Stupidest thing you can do, boy, gettin’ your shit tied to a woman. Learn that now, save you a world a’ hurt.”

He understood this coming from his dad. Carson’s mom was beautiful. He’d seen pictures. That was the only way his mother was in his life. Stuffed in an envelope full of pictures shoved at the back of his father’s nightstand. Pictures just of her, smiling and looking gorgeous. Pictures of her and his dad, both of them smiling, looking happy.