Ride Steady (Chaos, #3)(7)

“Whatever,” Marley muttered.

They took off.

Carissa remained.

He watched her lean further forward and put her jaw in her hand, her eyes to the field.

He wondered if she was thinking about him.

He figured she wasn’t. She was cool, she’d had his back, but he would be the last thing on her mind.

He studied her, wishing he knew what she was thinking.

And as he studied her, knowing she had her eyes to the field but her thoughts somewhere else and they didn’t look happy, suddenly he remembered about her sister.

Everyone knew about Carissa Teodoro’s sister. It was a long time ago, but what happened was so ugly, no one forgot.

Freak accident. Tragic. Even his dad flipped out about it.

She’d been a little girl, riding around on her tricycle in the driveway. Folks were over at her parents’ house. Not a big party but enough people a little girl got lost. A couple left, no one knew she was behind the car. They couldn’t see her in their rearview, ran right over her. Crushed her to death. Right in her own driveway.

If that hadn’t happened, the sister would be a freshman. If she followed in Carissa’s footsteps, she’d be a freshman cheerleader.

He remembered his dad going on about it. Remembered it even if he’d only been about six at the time.

It wasn’t something you forgot.

Looking at her from below, her face soft, her thoughts somewhere else, he figured she hadn’t forgotten either, and he wondered if she sat at a freshman football game thinking her sister should be cheerleading. He wondered if it crushed her to think those things.

And he hoped she didn’t because he didn’t like the idea of her feeling crushed.

His eyes never leaving her, Carson wanted to call to her.

No, he wanted to go sit with her. Put his arm around her shoulders. Tell her how he felt that she took his back with the bitches who were so bitchy he didn’t get why she called them friends.

He didn’t do that.

He heard gravel shifting and looked from Carissa.

Julie Baum was headed his way under the bleachers, a smile on her face.

They were meeting there. A date.

Or the kind of dates Carson Steele got.

She wasn’t going to introduce him to her parents either. Her folks thought she was at the game with her girls. Carson would buy her a burger, find someplace to f*ck her, return her to her friends, and they’d take her home.

He’d get off.

She’d get off too.

Then she probably wouldn’t think about him, except when she could arrange another meet where she could use him to get off and still do what she could to catch that football player’s eye. The one with no neck that had a dad who was a surgeon.

Which was okay with him.

It was because, not including the no-neck football player, he would do the same.

*

Carson’s boot connected with his dad’s face and the man didn’t even groan when his head snapped around.

Out cold.

Carson stared down at him, lifting a hand to wipe the blood pouring out of his nose from his mouth.

Then he spat on him.

He was two months away from eighteen. More than that from graduating.

But f*ck it.

It was time to leave.

He’d never laid a hand on his father, but tonight was bad. The man had been in a rage. A frigging rage about a new oil stain on the floor of the garage.

Their house was old. There were so many stains on the garage floor, it was a wonder his old man noticed a new one.

But he did and he lost it.

And for the first time, Carson did too.

So he was done.

Carson was going to disappear.

So he didn’t get his degree.

Shit happened.

He went to the bathroom and cleaned up. Then he went to his bedroom, changed out of his bloody tee into a clean one, and grabbed his bag. He stuffed everything he could get into it. After that, he went to the AC register, pulled off the face, and tagged the money he’d saved and the letters he’d written, preparing, getting ready for the day he would be free. He took that and anything that meant anything from his room (there wasn’t much).

Done with that, he moved through the house and nabbed whatever he could that was worth something, including the jug of change his father was always filling. He even emptied his dad’s wallet.

He put everything in the car he’d bought for five hundred dollars and Linus had helped him fix up. He then strode to Linus’s mailbox and shoved in his letter. Across the street and down to Mrs. Heely’s, he shoved her letter in hers.

Ready, he got in his car.

One more thing to do before he went and he was going to do it.

So he drove to Swedish Medical Center.

He knew why he’d snapped with his dad. Mr. Robinson was out that day and word got around. It shouldn’t have. It was no one’s business. But it did.

The man had lost a kid the day before. His wife, pregnant, had a stillborn baby.

And Carson thought that sucked. It sucked so huge, he couldn’t get it out of his head.

That shouldn’t happen to anyone, but never to a man like Mr. Robinson. If gossip was true, and he figured it was, they’d been trying for a while and getting nowhere.

And that was wrong. It proved the universe was f*cked.

Because outside of Linus, Carson knew no man who’d be a better dad.