Page 91 of Dizzy

He’s easy. I didn’t know men came in that variety. If he’s fed and fucked, and if I came hard, he’s good.

He misses his kids, though. Every so often, I find him in one of the boys’ rooms, straightening up. But it’s more like he needs to be in there, around their things. I watched him pick up a matchbox car. He spun the wheels, held it up and squinted into the teensy, tiny windows. Then he polished it up on the hem of his shirt and set it carefully on a shelf.

Dizzy and the kids text each other. It’s adorable. Dizzy sends them pictures of vehicles. Parker sends Dizzy videos of him playing his games, and Carson sends terribly-executed selfies, always during times he should be in class from places he has no business being. Dizzy doesn’t seem to notice. He always replies with the thumbs up emoji.

My dad bailed when I was few months old. He was an addict. He disappeared one day. No one in Dalton’s heard from him since. Based on what happened to me in the shed, I wonder if Mama even bothered looking for him.

I think Dizzy’s a good dad. That’s a mixed-up feeling, too. I love the way he cares about the boys. But it’s kind of emotionally awful, too, getting a front row seat to what you missed. It’s totally fucked up envyin’ a kid ‘cause he has what you didn’t.

Maybe that’s why I’m out of sorts. Or maybe it’s the weather. It’s been gray and gusty. Pretty soon it’ll be winter. I’ll have even fewer choices if this situation goes south.

It’s after lunch, and I’m unloading the dishwasher when there’s a growl of engines in the front drive. My heart leaps to my throat. I’ve got no reason to be spooked, but a voice in my head whispers, “This is it.”

It’s the same feeling as when I tried to open the shed door, and I realized that snick and rattle I heard hadn’t been my imagination.

Boots hit the gravel. Dizzy calls out a greeting from the garage.

I hustle to the living room and peek out the picture window. Three bikes. Heavy. Jed. Nickel.

Their faces are hard. Dizzy joins them, wiping his hands on his dark blue coveralls.

The men dismount, and they gather. Heavy’s doin’ the talkin’. Dizzy folds his arms, sets his jaw, and glances at the house.

Shit.

What’s goin’ on?

Dizzy’s face is grim. He’s shaking his head no and widening his stance. Something’s wrong.

I scramble for my stash, fishing out the butterfly knife and the ring. I jam them in my pocket. I’m wearing skinny jeans, sneakers, and a pale blue hoodie. It’s cut too tight for me to hide a can or two of food in the pouch. Damn, damn, damn.

The front door opens. “Fay-Lee! Can you come out here?” Dizzy’s voice is stern, but calm.

This can’t be about me squatting at the clubhouse. Three of them wouldn’t come out here for that.

But I don’t think it was ever just about me stealing some food and trespassing on their property. I didn’t quite understand back then, but hanging with Dizzy, it’s clear. These guys are businessmen. They aren’t lookin’ for drama like the bikers I knew back in Dalton.

They wouldn’t have hustled me into a basement to interrogate me over a missing can opener. Not with the kind of cash they’re flashin’.

My eyes burn, and my pulse kicks up a notch. Fuck them. I didn’t do anything wrong. Notreallywrong.

“Fay-Lee? You hear me?” Dizzy hollers.

“Yeah. Coming.”

I fight the overwhelming urge to run. Dizzy won’t let anything happen to me. I think.

I blink until the prickling in my eyes goes away and take a deep breath as I head downstairs, hands shoved in my pockets. My jeans are tight, and I don’t want them to see the knife bulge.

When I get out front, the men spread, pivoting to face me. Sweat breaks out behind my knees. These are scary men, and they don’t look happy.

Dizzy’s expression is inscrutable. I’ve never seen him like this. He’s stiff and sober, the way he was in the framed pics of him in his Marine Corp uniform.

“How are you doing, Fay-Lee?” Heavy asks. He peers down at me from on high. I swear, he reminds me of a character in Parker’s video game. You just know he makes a crunching sound whenever he walks, no matter what he’s walking on.

“Um. Good?” I look to Dizzy. He’s glaring at Jed.

Heavy shifts until he’s in my line of sight. “Dizzy treatin’ you well?”

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