Page 1 of Every Single Vow
Prologue
Dakota
Ten years old
“Go go go,” I whisper the words under my breath as I peer through the chain link fence.
The thunderous pounding of horses' feet sound all around me as the beautiful animals round the last curve, heading for the finish line.
I’m not supposed to be out by the track, but that stairwell Billy tells me to stay in is hot and smelly. I want to see the horses race. I love the way the crowd cheers and the way my heart beats faster when the horse I like wins. Race days are the rare days that Billy lets me go anywhere besides school. So even though I’ll get in trouble later if he finds out that I snuck out of my hiding spot, it’s worth it. He says kids aren’t supposed to be here and I could get taken away. Some days I wish someone would take me. I might not be this sad all the time.
When the race is finished, I squeeze through the crowd, my toes cramping as I rush back to the door around the side of the building. I hate these sneakers. They’re too small for my feet, but since Billy never has any money, he says we can’t afford new ones. But he has money to come here and bet on those horses, and he has money to buy those brown bottles of beer that take up the whole fridge.
I’ve almost reached the door when I hear his voice.
“I thought I told you to stay put until I came back.” His meaty palm catches my arm before he yanks me to face him.
“I was hot,” I admit.
“You know the rules, Dakota,” he scoffs. “I’m here to make money, not babysit.” He glances around. “Did you at least make yourself useful if you weren’t going to listen?”
I grit my teeth, biting the inside of my cheek in frustration as his eyes move over the sea of people.
“Empty your pockets.” He narrows his eyes back on me.
Anger burns in my chest as I reach inside of my jean shorts, pulling out a wad of cash I had stolen from a few wallets. Most people are focused on the race, not the little girl next to them. Most of these men are in nice suit jackets, and don’t payattention to what hands are slipping into their pockets. A trick Billy taught me.
“Daddy’s girl, huh?” He grins, snatching the bills from my hand.
Billy may be my dad, but he doesn’t act like one. Not like the other dads at school. My small fingers clench when he takes the money. The money I was going to use to buy my lunch this week. We never have any food, not since mom left. All we have are those nasty brown bottles. I tried one once when I hadn’t had anything to eat in two days and it made me puke.
He glances around again, shoving the money inside of his shirt pocket. “Let’s go.”
I can tell by the way he drags me along that he’s irritated. Which means he lost. Again. And I’ll be the one that pays for it.
On the way home, my body bounces with every bump we hit in his old Chevy truck. There’s no air conditioner, and the Texas sun is shining directly though my window, making sweat bead at my temples. Before we make it home, Billy pulls the truck over in front of a gas station. He doesn’t speak as he opens his door. I unbuckle quickly, using all of my strength to nudge open the heavy door so I can jump out. The jingle of the bell sounds just as I catch up to him at the door, and he scowls over his shoulder at me. I follow closely, hoping he’ll let me get something to eat. My stomach was growling the whole way into town. He opens a cooler, grabbing a pack of those brown bottles again, before he moves up to the counter and gruffly asks for a pack of cigarettes. I hate his voice. It sounds scratchy.
My gaze drifts to the man that walks in the door, a boy that looks around my age trotting behind him. He’s wearing a cowboy hat and nice boots. I’d give anything to have boots like that.
“I’m hungry.” I tug on Billy’s shirt tail. “Can I get something to eat? Some chips?”
He ignores me, unfolding the same wad of cash he took from me earlier.
“No,” he says before he flicks through the bills.
My stomachs growls. “Please?”
I usually don’t ask for anything because he gets mad, but my stomach is starting to hurt.
“I said no, girl. Open your damn ears.”
I sink back, my arms crossing as I watch him pay for his things, then he stalks away from me.
With a heavy feeling in my chest, I watch him go, before glancing at the man behind the counter.
“Have a good day.” He smiles weakly.
“You too,” I mutter.
