Page 20 of I'm Sorry

I could beg Marcus to take me on, be teammates with Knox, but there’s a little thing called pride. I’ve done this to myself.

Worth it.I remind myself. Totally worth it.

“Sign this shit. Then I want you out of my fucking house. That’s it. You’re cut off. You’re done.” A pen lands in my lap, but I’m too stunned to stop it from rolling onto the floor. My father scoffs. “Pathetic. You’re so goddamn drunk…Disgusting. Sloppy, just like your mother.”

Piping hot anger rips through my chest, burning like a supernova through my muscles before it fizzles right out. It’s nothing new for him to talk shit about my mom. He does it all the time because that was his fuck up. Fuck the housekeeper and have an illegitimate child. I’m just surprised he kept me, surprised his wife stayed when she found out, granted she hates me and has made it a point to let me know that, but without my mother, he wouldn’t have had any children to carry on his name at all. His wife cannot conceive and refuses to let anyone else carry her child. But with the good Christian values of the Johnson clan, divorce isn’t an option.

Hating your spouse every day of your life, though, that shit is smiled upon.

He’s finally kicking me out. Eighteen years old, why not? Now it just looks like I’m moving on in the world, the natural cycle of things.

He’s goading me, I know he is. But I also know he means every word he says. My dad is too calculated to just let words fly. Since he gave me the ultimatum last week, he’s been thinking of whatever he can say that will cut the deepest. That’s his MO. He’s a piece of shit father. I won’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. That’s not what he deserves. Does it hurt that I’m now without a family? Not at all. Does it hurt that I’m homeless? Yeah, that stings a little, but I’ll make it.

Cutting me off, though. That’s surprising. If I were sober, the weight of what that means would hit me a lot harder, but right now, I’m comfortably numb.

My dad kicks the pen toward me, then stands, towering over my seated position, eyes downcast in my direction, loathing my existence.

“I’ve never been so disappointed in my life as I am right now. I can’t believe I get to call you my son, and I mean that in the worst way one could.” Calmly, I swallow back the hurt. I’ve heard words similar to that my entire life and every time, I’ve kept my mouth shut. Just like I will now because again, he doesn’t deserve the satisfaction. He’s lucky I’ve been a decent kid for the most part and don’t act on the visions I have of killing him in his sleep.

“Wow. You’ve really been putting in the time to think of these, huh?” A solid palm cuffs the back of my head, knocking me forward. I nearly slink out of the chair, but thankfully I’m able to stop myself. The world spins around me. I suppress my groan as silver specks dance through my vision, somehow allowing me to find the pen on the floor.

“You’re lucky I’ve let this go on this long. Sign the papers, pack your shit, and get out. Forget the Johnson name because it no longer belongs to you.”

Numb. Numb. Numb.I’m numb.

Thankfully, there was a time when I could win races and make a little money on my own. That money went into a trust that I gained access to as soon as I turned eighteen. That means the car I drive is, at the very least, mine. I can’t live off this money by any means, but I can find a job—never planned on college anyway—and find a place to live. Benny has the help of his brother and the Devils organization, but he does it. I can too.

I pack as many bags as I can, stuffing them to the gills before I make my way into my step-mom, LuTricia’s, room and take the empty luggage bags she has. She can buy more and won’t miss them. Not like I care. They’re Louis Vuitton, so I can sell them when I’m through with them and make a few more bucks to stash away.

I choke back every emotion that threatens me, sipping more and more tequila until my vision is blurry and bliss is overtaking the rage singing in my veins. My heavy, drunken footfalls stumble around the room, my dirty boots leaving clumps of dirt on the carpet. I feel a smidge bad that Hazel will have more cleaning, but I’m hoping that she’ll at least wait long enough that my asshole father sees what I’ve done. I’m sure if I ask her, she’ll do just that.

Hazel… The thought of not seeing that woman, the woman who might as well be my mother because she’s been in this house my entire life, kills me. Yeah, I have an actual mother who is still alive, who I talk to often, but she has her own demons after having been forced to give up her child at such a young age.

It’s where I get my alcoholic status from. That much I can’t deny. Maybe I’ll go see her. Then again, we’d probably end up on a binger that we might never recover from. I can’t do that to Benny. He’d kill me. I’m probably already going to get a lecture from him about how I should plan to go to college now that I’m not racing.

My heart gives a squeeze in my chest and it fucking hurts. I’m not drunk enough for this, but the more drunk I get, the numbness wears off and a soul deep ache creeps in. The thought of never racing again is crippling and telling myself that it was worth it to see Knox alive isn’t helping. Not at the moment.

I choke back a sob that desperately wants out as I fold up another pair of designer jeans and tuck them into the overflowing suitcase. The burning in my eyes, I blink back, forcing that shit away. I will never let tears fall in this house, not in a place where he might see or hear.

A thud lands outside my bedroom door and a soft knock sounds before the rigid door creaks open. Her breezy scent hits me before her words do, causing me to nearly lose myself to the ache. When I turn to find the woman who has raised me, I have to battle with the emotion that threatens to break the walls I’ve put in place.

Hazel’s watery blue eyes, wrinkly pale skin, and dusty gray hair are a sight I burn into my memory. I will make it a point to see her at least once or twice a week, but not seeing her smiling face every morning, reminding me I can do this, is going to hurt like hell. In her knobby hands is yet another set of high dollar luggage that I don’t know the brand of, but I know it’s expensive because it has my father’s name monogrammed into the brown leather tag attached to the handle.

“My beautiful boy. I thought you could use these as well.” Though I can hear the thickness in her voice, a shit-eating grin spreads across her face, creasing the corners of her eyes. I let out a soft chuckle, so thankful for her it hurts my heart.

“Do you have some time to help me pack? I don’t think he is coming back anytime soon.”

“He isn’t. I told him that his brother was sniffing around the property early this morning. So he’s handling that. I’m sure he’ll be gone for a while because your uncle has been itching for a fight.”

“That wasn’t very nice of you,” I tease. She shrugs and marches into the room, dragging empty bags that probably weigh as much as she does across the pristine carpet.

“We could probably line the bottoms of these bags with some jewels and a few pairs of their shoes,” she offers, much to my surprise.

I’m standing over my bed, folding more clothes to stuff away because there is no way I’m not emptying everything in my room. This shit is worth a lot of money. My head whips around to find the tiny woman, curiosity stealing across my face and bringing excitement to my gloomy mood.

“Don’t look at me like that. You know you want to,” she chastises. Hell yeah, I want to, but I’m very drunk and shouldn’t be deciding like this. It’s sloppy and will land us in a lot of trouble.

“You’re damn right I want to,” I say, more like I slur, and she frowns at me. Her body sags with disappointment, and I scratch the back of my neck in unease as she holds out her hand.

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