Daryl drank quickly through his glass of beer, topping himself off regularly from the pitcher while we shot the shit. The tension about me leaving soon disappeared, and we got back up to our regular stories. Soon enough, Daryl had drunk the entire pitcher, although I’d only made it through half my glass.
“Grabbing a smoke,” he said, waving his cigarette in the air before exiting.
I frowned. There was something up with that guy. Fucked if I knew what it was, though.
I pulled my phone out, then opened up the last message in the group thread with Franklin and Rory. We only texted a little, but I liked to look at whatever they’d said to me last.
This time, it was Franklin who sent the last message, about two days earlier.
Mowing the yard!Look at that work shed pop!
Included with it was a picture of the shed. Rory stood to the side with Marlene in his arms and a baseball hat casting a shadow over his face.
I whimpered over how perfect it was for a while, and when Daryl came hurrying back in, I shoved the phone back in my pocket.
“Dude,” he said, “it’s fucked up.”
I scratched the back of my head. “What the hell are you on about now, Daryl?” Especially when he was drunk, that guy could be a real mess.
“Your car,” he said. “Check it out.”
I held his eye, then rushed out to the parking lot, my heart pounding. When I saw her sitting there with two slashed tires, I let out a sigh of relief.
“Fuck,” I said, grabbing Daryl’s arm. “I thought something real bad had happened.”
“Asher, buddy, your tires are slashed.”
I laughed. “Whatever. I’ll get new ones, no big deal. But that’s something that can be replaced.” I squinted, then looked around the parking lot. It was still pretty much empty, as was the little road that led back to the busy street. “But who the fuck did this?”
Daryl clasped my arm, and I realized he had another shot of whiskey in his free hand, although I had no idea where that even came from. “You got any enemies in town, man?”
I scoffed. “If I have any enemies, it’s just because I’m your friend. And as far as I can see, your ride is fine.” I turned my eyes on Daryl’s sportscar, then frowned. “Probably just some random kids.”
“Don’t you worry,” Daryl said. “I’ll drive you home. Let’s go get another pitcher, first.”
“Fuck no,” I said as he threw back the shot. “You know I don’t get in the car with drunk drivers.” I’d learned too much about car crashes to make that mistake. “I’ll drive and figure out a tow in the morning.” I held out my hand for his keys. “No more beer, though. I should get going.”
Daryl rolled his eyes, then slapped his keys in my hand. “Whatever you say,” he answered.
I could practically hear him roll his eyes, he was that enthusiastic about it.
I sighed as I climbed into Daryl’s car. Suddenly, I was feeling done with the night and much less sentimental. I didn’t want to be driving into the middle of nowhere just to have my tires slashed or having to change all my plans so that I could stop Daryl from drunk driving.
I had shit to do, actually, and I wanted to do it well.
Flicking on the radio, I found a rock station and started steering us toward the city.
“Take that road,” Daryl said, gesturing off to the side. “Back route to my place. It’s quicker.”
I nodded. Dropping him off at his hotel first sounded easier than making him stick around the apartment until he sobered enough to drive home. I headed down a long street, dotted with empty lots and big old houses.
“My grandpa grew up here,” Daryl said. “Somewhere in this part of town.”
“Oh yeah? I’ve never heard you talk about your grandpa.”
“He was an asshole, just like my dad.” He hiccupped, then slouched down in his seat. “Like father, like son.”
“Fuck that.”
