Page 49 of The Way We Are

“Slide that under the seat,” I suggest to Brax, nudging my head to the liquor bottle.

I cup my hands around my mouth, then breathe out slowly, ensuring the four shots of whiskey I chugged down earlier tonight aren't still lingering on my breath. Other than needing a Tic Tac to cover the garlic aioli sauce smothering my fries at dinner, my breath isn't too bad.

My hand falls from my face when a brisk tap sounds on my driver’s side window. After dragging my eyes from the neck of the bottle still protruding between Brax’s feet, I lock them with the officer requesting for me to roll down my window.

I secure my first breath in nearly thirty seconds when the dark—almost black—eyes of Regina reflect back at me.

“You scared the shit out of me,” I mumble under my breath while yanking at the old crank on my driver’s side door.

Although suspicious of Regina's motive tonight, she is one of a small handful of people I trust. No charges of domestic violence have been filed against my dad, but the number of incidents in my household has dramatically declined since Regina inserted herself in my father's case. I don't know what she's doing or how she is doing it, but the noose she placed around my father's neck weeks ago tightens every day. I'm confident it will only be a matter of time before he hangs via his own stupidity.

"If you’re not doing anything illegal, you have no cause for worry," Regina fires back, her words as wary as my facial expression.

I was worried she was one of the many corrupt men and women my father works with. Although I don’t have proof of my dad’s shady dealings, I do know he consumes the equivalent of his wages in alcohol every week, so where does the money for his stripper fascination and gambling habit come from?

Brax sits straighter when Regina shines her flashlight into his face before gliding it down his body. Mercifully, the shadow of his splayed thigh hides the bottle of scotch from her view.

After running her flashlight across the dashboard of my truck and around my feet, Regina returns it to my face. “Alright, out of the car,” she demands, her tone low.

I shoot Brax a sideways glare, panicked as fuck. The last time we got busted for underage drinking, I wasn't driving, yet I only escaped conviction by the skin of my teeth. So if she’s seen the open bottle, I'm a goner.

“Come on. I haven’t got all night.”

When Brax undoes his seatbelt, Regina says, “Only Ryan. He’s the one sitting behind the wheel of a deadly weapon with alcohol leeching from his pores.”

“It’s not alcohol. It’s sweat,” I argue, pleading innocence. “You’re making me nervous.”

Regina doesn’t reply... unless you include grunting as a response?

I swallow several times in a row before clambering out of the door Regina is holding open for me. When I join her on the cracked sidewalk, she gestures her head to my truck. “Flatten your palms on the roof and spread your legs.”

I glare at her, silently pleading for her to pretend she never saw me. I only had four nips of scotch, and that was over three hours ago, so I can’t be over the limit. Well, not the limit for people of legal drinking age.

Sweat coats my skin when Regina nudges her head to the roof of my truck again, wordlessly demanding I follow her command. When I do, she places her flashlight on my roof, blinding me with its bright rays. "Are you carrying anything that could harm me? Knives? Weapons? Needles? Etc. etc."

“No,” I reply, shocked by her line of questioning.

I may have been participating in illegal activities before she pulled me over, but I’m not a criminal.Well ... I don’t think I am?

“What are you doing out here, Ryan? Looking for trouble?” Regina asks as her hands glide down my thighs, which are spread to the width of my shoulders.

“No. I’m not looking for trouble. All kids stay out late on Friday nights.”

“Mhmm,” Regina murmurs as her frisk switches from my right thigh to my left. “But most teens pick a better location than rundown warehouses three towns over.”

I swallow the brick lodged in my throat before replying, “Yeah, well, I’m not most teens. I needed to get away for a bit. Needed to clear my head.”

My confession freezes Regina’s hands within an inch of the wad of cash sitting in the breast pocket of my jacket. “I thought things had improved at home?” The pounding of my pulse in my ears is unable to hide the worry in her voice.

After standing from her crouched position, she yanks on my shoulder, requesting for me to spin around.

“They have,” I reply, hating the worry rapidly brewing in her dark, stormy eyes.

She helped my family more than I could ever express, so the last thing I want her to feel is guilt.

“It’s just... temperamental. Always has been.”

I pull away from her touch when she moves a chunk of my hair that has fallen in front of my eye to reveal a half an inch gash to my right brow.

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