Chasing Hadley (Chasing the Harlyton Sisters 1)

Watching the two of them together was like witnessing magic. I don’t even care how cheesy that makes me sound. I’ve never seen any other couple have such love glowing in their eyes as when Mom and Dad looked at each other adoringly. I used to want that for myself, that magic and the glowing. After watching the absence of it smother my dad in darkness, though, I’ve changed my mind. It’s part of why I don’t do the whole dating thing. Why I’ve kissed a total of two guys and one was on a dare. The other was a drunken mistake. And I have no plans of upping that number anytime soon.

Life is easier that way. Relationships are complicated. And complications are distracting. Which brings me to the other part of the reason I don’t date.

I don’t want anything distracting me from my goals of escaping this life. I’m going to college the moment I’m handed my diploma, and I don’t need anything or anyone holding me back. It’s already going to be hard enough saying goodbye to my sisters.

“Should we go look for him?” Londyn suggests right as my phone vibrates from inside my pocket.

“Hold that thought.” I fish out my phone, crossing my fingers the message is from our dad, telling me he’s parked somewhere in town, waiting for us.

But he can never make things that easy, can he?

Dad: Just got your message. I’m about to pull into that bar just outside of town on the highway. Meet me there when you’re ready.

“Oh, hell no.” I strap my seatbelt on and tell my sisters to do the same, knowing if he steps foot in that bar, he won’t be coming out anytime soon, unless I drag his drunk-ass out.

None of my sisters even bother asking me what’s wrong—our dad is super predictable these days. They simply put on their seatbelts then hold on, knowing they’re going to need to. Because, if there’s one thing I’m good at in this life, it’s driving fast.

Moments later, I’m peeling out with the gas pedal floored. My heart is pumping as the speed increases. I feel more alive than I have in weeks.

My mom used to say the same thing, that racing made her breathe freer and her heartbeat swifter. She enjoyed every moment she spent behind the wheel. I’ve been the same way from the moment I started learning how to drive, back when I was ten. Mom let me sit on her lap and steer down our driveway. It was such a rush, and I couldn’t wait until I got my learner’s permit. Although, by the time I did, she was gone, but the magic I experienced the first time sparkled just as brightly.

Driving has always given me a rush, and when I’m racing, all the shit going on in my life sort of blurs away. Unfortunately, I don’t get to race very often since I have to be sneaky about it. Because, while my dad is a mess and barely pays attention to us anymore, he did set one firm rule.

Absolutely no drag racing.

I understand why he thinks we need the rule, since Mom died racing when her car skidded off the road and into a lake. I was there when it happened and can still hear the skidding of the tires and the splash. A lot of people tried to get my dad to put me into therapy to deal with witnessing the ordeal, but he was too engulfed in his own sorrow to follow through with the suggestions. So we had the funeral. said our goodbyes, and all tried to move on with our lives. But my heart constantly feels broken.

The only time it doesn’t is when I’m racing. That’s what my dad doesn’t understand—that I need to race to keep floating in this shitty pool of muddy, scummy pond water that I’m struggling to keep afloat in. Racing is my only breath of fresh air, my passion, and I’m damn good at it, something I more than prove when I skid into the parking lot of the bar right as my dad is about to walk inside.

A cloud of dirt kicks up and gusts into the rolled down windows of my car and around my dad as I brake hard. He gapes at us in shock. Then the moment the surprise wears off, sheer lividness flashes across his face as he strides toward the car. I know what’s coming next. He’s going to yell at me, make a scene, threaten to take away my car keys. Wouldn’t be the first time.

“Give me your fucking car keys. Now!” he seethes as he reaches my door.

“No—” I start, but he reaches in, shuts off the engine, and steals my keys. “Hey.” I move to snatch them from him, but he stuffs them into his pocket and strides away toward the bar door.

I dive out of the car and rush after him. “Dad, we don’t have time for this shit. It’s already going to be dark by the time we get to Honeyton.”

“Well, you should’ve thought about that before you drove like a goddamn lunatic.” He jerks the door to the bar open. “Seriously, what were you thinking? Especially with your sisters in the car.”

“I was thinking that I needed to get here before you went inside,” I snap. “Because, I knew, if you did, you’d be in there all night and we’d be stuck out in the car, waiting for your drunk-ass to stumble out.” This isn’t the first time I’ve lost my cool with him, and it won’t be the last.

His face reddens. “I think you’re forgetting who the parent is.”

“What parent?” I’m fuming mad. Mad at him for being a drunk. For being such a shitty father. For pretending he has the right to scold me now when he doesn’t give a shit about anything we do. Mad because I had to pawn my necklace. Mad, mad, mad. I’m so mad all the time that I can barely stand it. “Because all I see is a drunk deadbeat who can’t even take care of his kids.”

He smacks me across the face, shocking both him and myself. With all the terrible things my father has done over the years, he has never hit me until now. “I’m sorry,” he sputters as I place my palm to my throbbing cheek, my eyes wide. Then he bails into the bar.

Shaking my head, I spin around and storm back to the car. “What a fucking asshole!”

“Holy shit, I can’t believe he hit you,” Bailey whispers with wide eyes.

Payton’s eyes are equally as large, but Londyn appears shockingly pissed off.

“We should leave his ass here.” She shakes her head. “Take the truck and ditch him.”

The idea does sound enticing, but he’s our legal guardian and none of us are eighteen. Even though I hate it, we need him around.

I roll my window down all the way. “We’ll give him an hour to cool off, and then I’ll go in and get him.”

Londyn shakes her head while staring at my cheek. “I can’t believe he hit you.”

Me neither. And I’m not sure what hurts worse—my face, my pride, or my heart.

Three

After sitting outside the bar for almost an hour, our dad stumbles out, drunk off his ass. When I refuse to hotwire his truck again, he finally lets Londyn drive his truck. I feel bad for her being stuck in the car with his smelly ass and offer to drive with him instead, but Londyn refuses to allow it. Since my cheek currently has a bright red handprint on it, I don’t put up much of an argument.

Five hours into the drive and after Dad sobers up, we pull over and Londyn climbs back into the Chevelle. Everything is going decently until we enter the town of Honeyton, our new, temporary place of residence.

Somewhere along the main street and the turn off to our neighborhood, Dad pulls over. Since we don’t notice right away, we’re unsure where he went. My bet is the first bar he spotted.

Luckily, I have the new address entered into the GPS on my phone. Unfortunately, I have no clue how the hell we’re supposed to get the keys from the landlord, or if Dad’s even signed the lease yet. He found the house online, that much I know. Other than that, he hasn’t given me any more info other than the address. Not that I haven’t tried. He always just dismisses me or gives some vague answer, probably because he’s either doing something or has done something I won’t approve of.

That’s my dad for you.

Yeah, did I forget to mention that he does some pretty shady stuff, pulling off scams and screwing people over? Not that he ever tells me about it. I just hear stuff through gossip or read about it on his police report when I bail him out of jail.

I wonder how long we’ll be here before he gets arrested?

Sighi

ng heavily at that thought, I pull up into the gravel driveway of the address currently typed into the GPS. The sun is starting to set, the sky greying. Even if Dad arrives in the next five minutes, we’re going to be trying to move stuff in while it’s dark.

“Well, I think this one is the winner.” Sarcasm drips from Bailey’s tone as she takes in the narrow, two-story home in front of us.

The wraparound porch is starting to collapse, the front door is cracked, and one of the windows is boarded up. It does have a garage at the end of the driveway. Or, well, more like a shack with a garage door.

“The winner of what exactly?” Payton slants forward in the back seat to get a better look. “The shittiest house in the neighborhood?”

“Actually, I was going to go with the shittiest house we’ve ever lived in,” Bailey clarifies. “The house next door is much shittier.”

Payton’s gaze drifts to the two-story home beside ours. It shares similarities to ours, only with more boarded up windows and a shit ton of rusted cars decorating the backyard. Some of the cars don’t look half bad, if they had some work done to them.

“Doesn’t really matter how shitty it is anyway,” Bailey adds as she gathers her guitar and bag. “We’ll probably live here for like, what? Maybe six months tops?”

“How did Dad even find this town?” Payton leans back and scribbles something in a notebook. “It’s out in the middle of freakin’ nowhere. Seriously, did you guys see the population sign?”

“We’ve lived in small towns before,” I remind them as I check my phone for missed messages.

Fuck. He hasn’t replied to my texts yet.