Casey shrugs, embarrassed.
“And he was just waiting around to take you home?”
“He’d just got there.”
“You could’ve called me.”
“It was easier and quicker for me to do it,” I jump in.
“You still here?”
“Excuse me?”
“Are you still standing there in my driveway?”
I look at Casey, confused.
“Do I need to go and get my rifle?”
“What? I was just dropping Casey home!”
“So you said. And you have. You’ve done your duty. Now piss off.”
“Dad…” Casey doesn’t finish her sentence because her dad really does pull out his hunting rifle.
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” I say, raising my hands and slowly backing away.
“Do you understand what I’m saying now?”
Coach Madigan doesn’t aim the gun at me, but cradles it in his arms, pointing upwards. Part of me knows that he would never really do it, but the image terrifies the fuck out of me. Apparently, eight years is nothing for him. I’m still just a useless piece of shit hovering around his daughter, whose balls he wants to rip from my body.
“Nick was just leaving,” Casey interjects, taking her dad’s arm and slowly making him put down the rifle.
“I’ll give you three minutes to get off my property,” the coach says, before heading back inside the house; but he doesn’t shut the door. I know he’s there counting down the seconds until he can finally put his plan into action: getting rid of at least one of the O’Connors. I know that I’m top of his list; and not because I’m the oldest.
Casey comes over to me, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, before looking at me, clearly uncomfortable. Her dad has always been like this: volatile, loud and imposing. Her family isn’t all that different from mine.
I watch her for a few seconds as she fiddles with the hem of her top. Today, it reads:If you want a perfect girl, go buy a Barbie. I stifle a laugh and decide to shift the attention onto me, to save her the embarrassment.
“I don’t think he enjoys my company too much.”
“You’re not the most popular guy around here, O’Connor.”
“Really…?” I comment, amused. It sounds like a challenge, and I can never resist a challenge. Challenges are my kryptonite, and Casey knows this. She shouldn’t play with fire.
“It might come as a surprise to you, but not everyone likes your stupid face.”
“You used to like it,” I say, lowering the tone of my voice and taking a step towards her.
“Like it? Hardly…”
“That’s not what it seemed like to me.” I take another step.
“You’re getting too close,” she says, but stands her ground. “My dad’ll come back outside any minute and this time I won’t jump to your rescue.”
“Does he have a license for that gun?”
“Do you actually think it’s a real gun?”
