Page 12 of Give Me Redemption

“You want a ride?” he asks me.

“Nah, I’ll call an Uber. You go take a shower.”

“Fuck you,” he says before he shuts the door.

I laugh and nudge Lips with my feet. “Hey,” I say down to her. “You two should get going.”

____________

The Uber ride is painful, the sun doing nothing for my head. I stare out the tinted window as we pass through downtown. I’m glad this guy isn’t a talker ’cause that’s the last thing I feel like doing. I’m rethinking heading out to the ranch, but I know if I don’t get my ass out there, Pops won’t be happy, and neither will Emily.

Emily is Pops’ girlfriend. The day Bryce and I got into that bad car wreck because our mother’s a fucking psycho, Lee, aka Pops, found us. He and his brother Monnie were out hunting that morning. They got us to the hospital, and when Mary, aka our mom, decided she didn’t want us anymore, Lee adopted us. Bryce was thirteen; I was seven. I haven’t heard from the woman since, and I don’t care to.

She did nothing for us but kill our father and choose heroin over her family continuously. We’re better off. I’m not sure when she decided to be a shitty person, but Bryce tells me it was when she had my twin sister and me. My twin sister died at birth, and I was left. Our mom couldn’t handle her death and couldn’t be happy enough that she at least had my brother and me.

So, I say fuck her.

Anyway, Emily’s been there since day one. She’s the mother we never had. She and our aunt Lou, who is Monnie’s wife.

I quickly sit up when we stop at a red light and I see the woman from the grocery store. She’s got headphones in her ears and she’s running down Peachtree. Strands of red stand out in her hair from the sun. She stops at the crosswalk, jogging in place. She can’t see me, but I see her.

Damn, do I see her…

She has eyeglasses on this time and freckles cover her nose, splashing across her cheeks. She tilts her head to the side, popping her neck.

She’s gorgeous.

In a simple way.

Our light turns green and the driver hits the gas. I watch her, and I swear for a split second we make eye contact as I pass by.

That’s twice in two days. What are the odds?

___________

After I get home, I pop some headache meds and down a Gatorade, letting out a ridiculous burp before lighting a smoke and heading for the shower. I rub one out, thinking about freckles and green eyes.

When I’m done, I exit and rub my hand across the fogged mirror. My brother’s right. I do look like shit, but it’s nothing a small line of blow won’t fix. Well, it’ll fix how I feel, maybe not how I look. But when I feel good, I won’t give a shit how I look.

I wrap a towel around my waist and head back into the bedroom. I grab my jeans from last night and reach inside the pocket. I feel the baggy against my fingers and pull it out, dropping my pants back onto the floor.

I break out a few lines and vacuum them up with a rolled-up bill. With my towel around my waist, I spray myself with cologne before walking back into the bathroom. I run my hand over my face, and even though I’m rocking a five o’clock shadow, I decide to skip shaving. I brush my teeth before heading to the kitchen. Flipping the TV on so I can hear the news, I spot my soft pack sitting on the counter.

I sniff and bounce my shoulders, loving the way the cocaine slides down my throat and makes me feel so, so much better. I light a smoke, thinking a beer would be nice. Who cares if it’s early? It’ll help balance me out.

I twist the cap off one and lean back against the fridge, removing my smoke from my lips before I down the beer.

“Fuck, that’s better.” I rub my nose and remove the towel as I walk to the dryer. I pull out a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Warm cotton stretches when I pull it over my head, and after I slide my jeans and shoes on, I grab my keys and slip my phone into my pocket before I exit the apartment.

____________

The drive to the ranch is not the shortest one, but it’s some time to get my head right before I see my family. I think about the girl with tiny freckles across her face and her pulled back hair.

The way she jogged in place at the crosswalk, headphones placed in her ears, mind in her own world. I’m trying to understand why she’s got my attention. We haven’t even spoken and she’s far from my type. It confuses me, so I shake it off and hit the gas, speeding down the highway, listening to some music as I try to fade back into society.

I pull into the drive, riding under the entrance gates that readsGrant Ranchin big iron letters. I follow down in my truck, flying past horses and more land than any one person needs.

Pops is far from lower class. We got lucky when he found us in the woods that day. We came from white trash. Dirt poor. I still remember the sharp pang of hunger in my belly. Bryce looked out for me, even though I could tell he hated everything about his life.

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