The Way to Game the Walk of Shame(38)

“Yeah, he is,” I finally whispered, not caring that she was probably going to tell Mom later. Or that Mom was going to go berserk on me.

Or even admitting to myself how nice that sounded.





12

-Evan-

Valentine’s Day.

Usually a day I avoided like the plague. Not only because of the sickening couples making doe eyes at each other all day, but because single chicks would be on the prowl. Not always a bad thing, unless you hooked up with one of them on Valentine’s Day. Then they’d think it was fate or some shit like that and get even clingier. Trust me.

But this year was different. This year I had a girlfriend—god, that still sounded weird to say—or whatever the hell Taylor and I were. We weren’t exactly dating, but we were way past regular friends. She was fun to hang out with. And one hell of a kisser. I wasn’t lying about that. That girl had the ability to get me hot within seconds. And I took extreme pleasure in making her kiss me in public whenever I could.

Not to mention, Brandon talked less shit about me when Taylor was around, and Mom seemed happier because of it.

Either way, I thought I’d surprise her with some flowers when I picked her up for school. Sort of as a thank-you for making my life bearable the past couple of weeks. Taylor was probably more of a pink-roses type of girl then red roses. Pink seemed sweeter.

When I grabbed my keys from the front table, I accidentally knocked over Mom’s day planner. Little business cards and sticky notes spilled everywhere, littering the ground. Mom was a hoarder when it came to business cards.

“Damn it.” I started stacking everything together when a letter caught my eye. A card with familiar handwriting on the front. Dad’s handwriting. To Mom.

What the hell?

I stared at the creamy yellow envelope, but the jagged handwriting didn’t change. My drawer was filled with loads of letters from him when he was in jail, or what Mom called his “work retreats.” I knew exactly where he was but pretended not to. As long as the letters kept coming. Then Mom married Brandon, and everything stopped completely. I never heard from him again. So why was he writing to Mom? And why didn’t she tell me?

Even if I was somehow mistaken about the handwriting, his name was right there. James McKinley, 5251 Alba Road, Destin, Florida.

Why did she say she thought he was “somewhere in Florida”? His address was right there. She knew exactly where he lived, and she never told me. Never mentioned a visit, despite the fact that she knew I missed him.

My mind raced with unanswered questions, but Mom wasn’t home to answer them. Brandon had taken her away for some fancy spa day. I didn’t know if I wanted to know the answers, anyway. I just—I just needed to get out of here. To get away. I shoved the card back in her bag and stumbled to my feet.

My head was still in a daze, and my stomach clenched as though I’d been punched in the gut. Repeatedly. But somehow I miraculously made it out the door and into my car. But I didn’t drive. Not yet. I cranked up my radio as loud as I could, not caring what song was on. I didn’t even know what station it was. My breath came out in a steady stream, and all I could do was concentrate on breathing until the noise filled my head and I couldn’t think anymore.

My ears were still ringing when I finally pulled up to Taylor’s house. She was already sitting on the front steps, waiting. Her left hand tapped a rhythm against her thigh while she muttered something to herself. Probably cursing at me. A frown crossed her face when she spotted me. As ridiculous as it sounds, I was happy to see that frown. To me, that was the most beautiful sight in the world. At least I knew I couldn’t obsess about my dad while she was lecturing me.

“You’re late,” she said as soon as she opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. Taylor heaved a heavy sigh before dropping her bag at her feet and clicking on her seat belt, all while still not looking at me. “And now so am I.”

“Sorry.”

That’s all I said, but her head snapped up to look at me as though I had poured out all my problems in that one word. Her eyes searched my face for answers. Shit. Damn her and her intuition. I gave her a wide smile, but she still didn’t look convinced.

“It’s okay. It’s not like anything important happens in homeroom, anyway.” She carefully eyed me again before patting the dashboard. “Was Rudy giving you trouble or something?”

“No.”

Our conversation died down, and though occasionally Taylor attempted to cheer me up, she couldn’t erase my somber mood. At this point, I didn’t think anything could.

There was always a tiny part of me that wondered if Dad hadn’t fought for us because he didn’t want us anymore. The fact that he was still in contact with Mom, yet never bothered to call or even write a postcard to me, made me wonder if I was the problem.

Shit. It was just so much easier to blame Brandon.

Taylor was concentrating so hard on figuring out what else to say that there were little frown lines on her forehead while she gnawed on her lower lip. Somehow, she managed to look like both a little kid and an old lady at the same time.

Despite my crappy mood, I couldn’t help smiling at her. Something red poked out beneath her dark hair. What in the world … my fingers gently ruffled through her smooth hair and pulled out a single bright-red rose petal. “What’s this?”