“What’re you doing?” Selkie yells with a note of panic in her voice.
“I need some space,” I yell back.
Once Oscar and I are settled, I stare out the window. Oscar’s already snoring and I realize that this trip is exhausting him.
It’s tempting to start the truck and roll out, but everything is back in the tent including my wallet, phone and gun, which Oscar left behind. I can’t even check the time without cranking the ignition and waking the kid up. My eyes feel like sandpaper, my body’s tense and my brain’s exhausted. And worse, I’m feeling guilty.
Maybe I overreacted. Maybe Henri and Oscar did too.
I struggle to remember the last time I had fun. I’m not even sure I know how. I watch my brothers at the clubhouse. Trigger and Rocky fuck around all the time. King and Jawbone too. Even Reaper’s become more animated now that he’s hooked up with X. But me, I can’t ever find the humor in anything. Even after all these years, I think I’m still punishing myself for Chloe’s death. I feel guilty when I think of her. I should have been there, stopped the fuckers who raped her. I should’ve done more after.
I can’t shake it. I can’t shake her.
Oscar rustles around, says, “Fuck”, then realizes I’m sittin’ next to him. “I can’t sleep,” he says in a voice that dares me to give him shit about his language.
I let it go.
“Me neither,” I grumble. “Sun’s comin’ up. When it’s light out, we’ll pack up and head back.”
“Thank god.”
Being thankful is meaningless since I’m not any closer to gettin’ Oscar back in school. I look out the window at the horizon and grip the steering wheel. “Could you try, Oscar? Try to get along with Henri.”
“It’s her mom that’s the head case, dad. Henri needs a better parent.”
“That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t,” Oscar replies. “I used to hate Henri, now I feel sorry for her.”
That’s a start but for some reason I have this need to defend Selkie. “Henri’s responsible for her own behavior. Especially at her age.”
“Well, then she inherited all her bad genes from her mother.”
I think of Selkie. She’s tough and vulnerable at the same time. Putting up a front, fighting back when there’s no reason to fight at all. She needs understanding, not criticism.
I roll my eyes at myself. Now I’m a fucking therapist.
Chapter Eight
Eight
Oscar’s gone off to take a piss and I’m alone for a few precious moments. I’m sittin’ on the tailgate of the truck, watching the daylight creep in, giving myself a half-hour before I wake up Selkie and Henri. We’re all gonna be tired and bitchy so I tell myself to be steady, not reactive. I do it every day of my life. This should be no different.
My peace is interrupted by the vision of Selkie tramping towards me, struggling with the cooler. Her hair is unbrushed and untamed, as chaotic as she is. Her jeans are dirty and the laces of her shoes untied. She’s wearing a T-shirt that hangs long and loose, concealing her curves, but she’s braless and her nipples are peaked as her tits bounce up and down.
I cross my arms and deaden my expression to hide my attraction to her. “Need help?” I ask but don’t move.
“No,” she grunts. As she reaches my side, she heaves the cooler into the back of the truck.
“Good job.” I pretend I’m being genuine, which makes me sound like I’m patronizing her.
Her eyes narrow, but whatever she’s thinking, she keeps it to herself.
I have to admit I’m a little disappointed she didn’t react.
“I’m sorry,” she blurts.
“You’re sorry?” I reply in disbelief.
