“The bruises on his arm were pretty deep, and he took a swing or two at Jesse’s mom, her head got cut open and shit. And then there Jesse was with a Colt Special he knew his stepdad kept under the bed. He released the safety and cupped it steady in his hands, the barrel only a few feet away from Alton’s guts, and he screamed for his dad to get the fuck out of his house. He was pretty manic for a few days after that, and Amanda had to admit him to the psych ward because she was afraid he was going to hurt himself.”
I’m dizzy taking everything in.
“That had to be a lot on him. I can’t imagine anyone comes out of something like that okay.”
Unless you’re good at pretending, and smiling in the mornings. Carrying on. I shake my head of the thoughts as Rag shrugs then pulls the wrapper he saved from his pocket and spits out his gum. I swallow mine, which my mom hates when I do, but clearly there are worse things in the world. I know that for certain.
After nearly forty minutes of calm, an explosion of noise happens at the house we’ve been staring at. The front door flies open, and while the rain has picked up enough that we can’t hear the words, we can tell Jesse is shouting. Alton’s arms are flailing wildly, and I can’t tell if he’s acting angry or defensive. With every step Jesse takes forward, Alton takes one back.
Rag flicks on his headlights and shifts his car, pulling forward on instinct. I don’t know what kind of backup I could offer other than bearing witness, but my blood is pumping so hard and hot with adrenaline that I’m not even scared.
We pull in the other side of the driveway just as Alton is climbing into his truck, and the rain is pelting Jesse, heavy drops coming down in a near pour now. Rag pushes the gear into park and flings his door open, slamming it behind him and giving me a few seconds of sound from outside.
“You’re a motherfucker, and that’s all you are!” Jesse shouts more before and after my glimpse, but I think it’s probably all the same words, or really close synonyms.
Alton’s face looks ghost white, thinning hair plastered to his head from the downpour and gaunt cheeks caving in with his frown. This isn’t a man who can threaten anyone anymore, but he said or did something to stir the hornet’s nest.
My eyes catch his, and they practically beg for help as they pass my gaze and continue on to look over his shoulder as he backs out of the driveway. Before his front tires clear the curb, Jesse picks up a fist-sized rock and heaves it at the driver’s side headlight, cracking it good. He picks up a second one, but Rag manages to halt his arm mid throw.
It’s like I’m watching a silent movie. Jesse pivots back and forth, his face red with heat and his eyes wild with anger. His hands are woven together atop his head, and Rag keeps reaching for him, trying to get him to bre
ak free from the rage. Jesse swats away his hands a few times before stalking through the glow of Rag’s headlights to my door. He pulls it open just as Rag opens his side.
“Get out,” he says to me, curling his fingers urgently.
“Fuck you, it’s pouring outside!” I don’t know how I muster so much audacity, but there it is. I’m not wrong. It’s torrential.
Jesse huffs and rolls his eyes, bending down and grabbing my elbow to pull me from my seat. I fight back, but quit struggling when his hands wrap around my waist. We shift positions in some sort of scrappy, sloppy dance, and as Jesse falls into the passenger seat, I come down with him, landing on his lap.
“Get your feet inside,” he orders.
I do, but my body is a mix of fire and needles as I struggle to understand what just occurred.
Jesse reaches to the side and grabs the handle, pulling the door closed, then wraps his arms around my stomach, holding me like a child would his favorite bear. I swallow at the intimate…everything. I’d feel excited, maybe flattered, if this seemed like anything other than making do of a situation to Jesse.
“Where you wanna go, man?” Rag’s voice sounds frustrated, and maybe a little defeated.
“I don’t know. Somewhere. The Yards, maybe.”
“Yards it is,” Rag says, shifting into reverse and peeling out of the driveway in a rush.
“Aren’t your brother and sister inside?” I turn my head to ask, and our chins touch when I do. I feel his breath against my face, and it sends a second breath down my spine. He smells like rain and sugar, and something else that I think is just distinctly him.
“They’ll be fine. AmberLynn’s old enough to know what to do if the house catches on fire.”
He’s irritable, and I can feel his heart pounding against my back. I bet if I held my fingertips to his neck, I’d find his pulse. He’s roaring like the train…like his songs.
“You didn’t even lock the door?” I swallow when I feel his hands squeeze me just a little.
“Jesus Christ, Arizona. They’re fine.” His chest deflates with his heavy exhale, and my face falls with worry. He’s right; they are fine. But I’m not so sure we are.
“We’re not going that far,” Rag says in a half whisper. I don’t know why, because Jesse can still hear him. We’re sitting the same distance away. It’s like he knows the rules, though, of how this goes—this blowing off steam mission I think we’re on.
My lips close tight, and I turn my attention out the window, the rain hitting the glass and creating the illusion of traveling at lightspeed—stars rushing by us while we propel away from here.
Rag’s promise was accurate, because he pulls off of the main road after just a couple miles, fishtailing onto a muddy side road that leads to an abandoned frame that was probably going to be an office building at one point. He pulls up next to the structure of metal and heavy brick, and shoves the car into park. I catch the fading sign as Jesse opens our door.
THE YARDS