He counted to ten, forced himself to calm down a little.
He wasn’t being fair. He could not lay the blame for anything solely at her feet-or at all. This was another of the things he was supposed to have left behind. Blaming others for things that were his own damn fault. He’d allowed himself to be distracted. And, ultimately, it’d been his choice to drink last night.
His expression softened. “I’m sorry, Kristen. You’re right.”
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, found his jeans, and began to pull them on. He got to his feet, hopping until the jeans were up around his waist. He scooped a shirt off the floor, pulled it over his head, and sat down again to put on his shoes and socks.
“You’re not going over there,” Kristen said.
It was a statement, but it sounded like a question-with a note of pleading in it. “I damn well am going over there. He’s my brother. That woman, my worthless fucking mother, is a psychopath. A sadist.”
He stood up and snatched his keys off the nightstand. He looked down at Kristen, who was still on the bed, her legs curled beneath her and a worried look on her face. “No way am I letting him stay with her. I’ll drag him out of there if I have to.”
Kristen had a worried look in her eyes. Jake thought he knew what was coming, but let her say it anyway. “I guess I understand why you want to do this. Hell, I’d probably want to do the same in your shoes. But you’re not looking at this rationally. He’s there of his own free will. You might get in trouble, real legal trouble, for something like this.”
Jake nodded. She was right. He knew he was rushing headlong into probable disaster. But knowing this on an intellectual level changed nothing. “I’ve gotta go, Kristen.”
“I’m going with you.”
“Kristen-”
She bounced off the bed, found her own jeans, and stepped into them. “Don’t even start, Jake. I’m part of your life now. I want to be there for you.”
Jake watched her for several moments without speaking. He was surprised by her resoluteness. They would be entering hostile territory today. No one was saying it, but there was a remote possibility of violence. Yet she seemed utterly unafraid. Also, that “part of your life” stuff bothered him. The sensible thing to do would be to disabuse her of such notions right now.
She smiled.
And Jake sighed, knowing he didn’t have the heart to go there yet. “Okay. Let’s get going.”
They left the house and drove across town to the Zone, Jake exceeding the speed limit by at least fifteen miles an hour the whole way. Several times he nearly had an accident, Kristen gasping sharply each time.
She shuddered as Jake turned the Camry down a narrow road leading into the Zone and slowed down. “I think I just saw my life flash before my eyes.”
Jake smirked. “You were never in danger. You were merely witnessing an expert display of high-speed precision driving. Richard Petty, eat your heart out.”
Kristen rolled her eyes. “Right. Precision driving. I confused that with suicidal recklessness. My mistake.”
Jake turned the Camry down another narrow road and drove all the way to the end. A sudden attack of shame assailed him as they neared his childhood home. Again, he was struck by the difference between the ramshackle dump at the end of the lane and the much-better-kept lawns and houses of his mother’s neighbors. He winced at the sight of the rusted-out old Camaro up on blocks in Jolene McAllister’s front yard. The lawn still hadn’t been mown. Shards of broken brown glass reflected the early morning sunlight. The place embodied all the worst assumptions of snooty urbanites about white trash slobs living out in the boonies.
Jake parked at the curb. “Well, here we are. Home sweet hell.”
Kristen kept her expression neutral as she scanned the trash-strewn yard. “This is…”
Jake laughed without humor. “Don’t spare my feelings, Kristen. This is a dump. A redneck wasteland. And this is where I come from.”
She touched his arm. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. So am I. Fuck it. Let’s go.”
They got out of the car and began to stroll across the yard to the front door. Jake kicked a Miller Lite bottle out of his way. It skittered across the lawn and exploded against a stack of mud-encrusted old bricks. “Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the ground, ninety-nine bottles of beer…”
Kristen surprised him by picking the tune up: “…pick one up, throw it in the trash, ninety-eight bottles of cheap-ass beer on the ground.”
Jake surprised himself with a laugh that felt real.
Kristen put a hand on his shoulder as they stepped up onto the porch. “You shouldn’t feel so bad about this, Jake. You got out of here. You made something out of yourself.”
Jake didn’t reply.
He jabbed the doorbell and stepped back.
He heard voices inside the house. Jolene and Trey. Then he heard the lock turn. Jolene pulled the door open and stood behind the still-closed screen door. She wore her usual uniform-low-slung, tight denim cutoffs and a skimpy pink tank top. The grin on her face was new, though. Jake couldn’t remember ever seeing his mother look so smug.
She chuckled. “Well, look at this. It’s my backstabbing son come to say howdy.” She turned to Kristen. “And he’s brought his new whore with him.” She looked Kristen up and down, licking her lips in a lewd way that made Jake’s stomach churn. She caught Jake’s sickened expression and her grin broadened. “Aren’t you going to congratulate me for beating that bum rap, baby?”
“I’m not your fucking baby,” Jake said. “And you ought to be in goddamn jail. Where’s my brother?”
Before Jolene could say anything else, a shadowy figure came up behind her. When Trey came into view, Jake was astonished at the difference in him. No trace remained of his former sheepishness. He glared at Jake, his eyes wide and his nostrils flaring. The teenager threw the screen door open and strode outside. He bore down on Jake like a heavyweight champion springing out of his corner at the sound of a bell, making Jake flinch and take a step back.
Trey stopped a few inches shy of Jake, standing chin-to-chin with his older brother. “You’re not welcome here, motherfucker. You set my mother up. You tortured my dad and blamed it on her. The police know all about it. They’re gonna drag your worthless ass into jail soon.” He sneered. “That’s if I don’t kill you first.”
Jake was flabbergasted. He tried to say something, anything, for several moments before giving up. He needed to marshal his thoughts, to regroup. Of all the things he might have expected to hear from Trey-well, this wasn’t even on the list.
The best he could manage, finally, was a weak, “What?”
“You heard me.” Trey jabbed his chest with a strong forefinger. “Get the hell off our property.” He pitched his voice higher and leaned closer to Jake. “NOW!”
Jake blinked. He looked to Kristen for help, but she looked just as flabbergasted. She even looked a little afraid. “Have you lost your fucking mind, Trey? This is bullshit and you know it.” He pointed a finger at Jolene. “She’s crazy. You know that, too. I don’t know what the hell’s gone wrong here, or what’s happened to sway you to her side, but some part of you must know this isn’t right.”
Trey’s answer came in the form of a fist to the throat that sent Jake tumbling backward. Kristen screamed. The lawn’s tall grass cushioned his landing somewhat, but he landed hard nonetheless, the back of his head thumping against the ground. He winced and turned his head to the left, saw a shard of broken green glass inches from his face. He didn’t seem to be cut, so he’d lucked out in that regard, but he hurt like hell all over. He gagged and his vision misted. Then he looked up and saw his brother standing over him. Trey’s fists were clenched.