Page 2 of Finding Delaware

And that’s what pisses me off the most—heknows. But I’m tired of fighting with him. Every day has been a fight for the last three years, ever since that day in PE when I fucked up. When I misread the signs of our friendship so thoroughly that I handed him a weapon to use against me.

And use it he does—with precision. So, instead, I turn away, shaking my head as I prepare to slide back on my helmet, hiding the red splotches of embarrassment staining my cheeks. His cruel laugh makes me pause.

“That’s what I thought. Run home to your daddy, fairy boy.”

My helmet hits the ground along with my bike as I come at him. Christian steps between us to hold Taylor back, and I can’t help the pang in my chest every time I see them together.Best fucking friends. Inseparable. Exactly what I’d hoped Taylor and I would be until I screwed it all up.

“Let’s chill out, guys,” Christian grumbles, his long brown hair falling over his shoulders, but I shout around him instead.

“Soon, he’ll be your dad too. Show some respect!”

Taylor’s nostrils flare at my words, his eyes widening into a sneer. Mentally, I brace myself for what’s coming. After three years of taking this shit from him at school and on the track, I know whatever he’s about to say will feel like a gunshot to the chest. It always does.

“Bro, stop,” Christian warns, hands on Taylor’s shoulders. It does no good.

“Fuck you,” he snarls, “and fuck your pedo bishop father.”

Fury unlike anything I’ve ever felt burns in my veins, white-hot. The world goes red. Christian raises his palms and steps aside resignedly, knowing his best friend just signed his own death warrant, and I fucking launch. My arms wrap around Taylor’s midsection as I take him to the ground, a yelp clawing out of his throat when my knuckle splits against his front teeth.

“Don’t youeversay shit like that about my dad again!” I scream, hitting him wherever I can bruise skin. It’s an accusation of the absolute worst kind, completely unfounded, and part of me can’t believe something so horrible even came out of his mouth.

But another part of me can because this is Taylor fucking Tottman we’re dealing with—the boy who lied our sophomore year and told the entire swim team I’d shit in the pool. (I did not.)

The same motherfucker who just last week had the football coach convinced I was addicted to porn and had me hauled into the counseling office for an evaluation. (I am not!)

This motherfucker.

“Keep my father’s name out of your dirty mouth!” My punches keep landing, and Taylor does nothing to fight back. He turns his head to spit blood onto the ground, laughing mockingly. I swear if it weren’t for Christian hauling me off him, I would have murdered his ass.

My dad doesn’t deserve that, especially not after what’s coming tomorrow. More than that, my dad is an all-around genuine guy. Yes, he’s the local bishop, but he’s well-known in our small Utah town, and everyone loves him. He’d give the shirt off his back to someone in need without question.

“Let it go, Huckslee.” Christian puts a hand on my chest and firmly but gently pushes me back. “Just let it go.”

“No, fuck off, man.”

A wheeze comes from the ground as Taylor slowly climbs to his feet, blood staining his teeth when he grins. He’s gripping his side, his motocross gear dirty and torn. If this had been a certified race, the officials would have been here by now, tearing us a new one. Luckily, we didn’t jeopardize anything since someone organized this little night race on social media.

“Go home, Huck.” Taylor spits onto the ground again, and Christian pushes me back more forcefully this time.

“He’s right,hermano. You both need to go home. The wedding, remember?”

Right. The fucking wedding.

Hitting Taylor with a glare that I hope haunts his fucking nightmares, I pick up my bike and helmet, yanking on mygloves with two quick tugs. Then, I roar out of the track, kicking up a dirt storm in my wake.

The motorsport park is a few miles outside town, in the middle of nowhere, so I ride fast, wishing I could feel the wind on my heated skin. My racing gear covers every inch of my body, protecting me in case of a crash like the one earlier. Sometimes, it leaves no room to breathe, and right now, it feels suffocating. The vibration from my bike makes every bone ache, and tomorrow weighs heavily on my mind.

I ease off the throttle as the Gville town sign comes into view, not wanting to get caught out after curfew. Technically, my bike isn’t street legal, but I’ve lived here all my life, so I know the shortcuts.

The town isn’t large, with a population of around twelve thousand, and I fly through fields and side streets quickly enough. Once within a few blocks of my neighborhood, I cut the engine and make the rest of the journey on foot, removing my helmet with a slight wheeze.

Fucking Taylor. I wait for the rage to hit me again as I think about him, but all I can muster are the coiling remnants of exhaustion and regret. Every single day for the past three years has been a struggle to get out of bed, knowing he waits at school to punish me for being me. For liking what I like. Forruining our friendship. I’ve held this secret in my brain since I was nine, letting it rot me from the inside out. The first person I ever shared a little piece of myself with threw it back in my face.

And I’m just so fucking tired.

The houses I pass are large and beautiful, with manicured lawns and swaying trees. My childhood home comes into view as I round a corner, red brick, and white columns at the end of a cul-de-sac. Besides being a Bishop, Dad’s also a realtor and bought the house when Mom was pregnant with me. The three of us lived here happily until two years ago, when it was just me and Dad. Until now…

Pulling up to the side door next to the garage, I quietly sneak inside and park my bike where it’s supposed to sit. After tossing the rest of my gear onto a workbench, I step up to the door leading into the house and swear under my breath when I find it locked.

---