Page 34 of Tell Me I'm Enough

Erik gives Bash a look, and Bash apologizes under his breath.

I just laugh at them.

I never would have expected to get along with guys like them. We’re all so…different, but that’s kind of the appeal, I think.

Erik turns to me. “So…you had me lay it out. What’s your story?”

I pause, thinking about what I want to say. I don’t talk about my life with people. Not since Jackie forced my walls up permanently. But I feel comfortable with them.

“Um…well, the cliff notes are pretty short, actually. I have a shitty father who never loved me, my mom died when I was thirteen, my piece of shit dad remarried a year later, and now I have twin brothers back home who I miss very much, even though I hate everything else about that place. Oh, also, my dadruns a huge real estate investment company that I’m expected to work for and take over, that I don’t want any part of.”

“Geez,” they both say at the same time.

“Your turn, Bash,” I say, trying to move the attention off of me.

“I mean, Erik already knows my cliff notes…but I had a pretty normal childhood—”

“Boring,” I tease, pretending to yawn. “Where’s the trauma?”

Bash shakes his head. “It came my senior year…when my sister committed suicide…”

“Shit…”

Erik just rubs the back of his neck, feeling the awkwardness.

“My bad,” I say, feeling like shit now for putting my foot in my mouth. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” Bash reassures. “We all have our stories.”

“Yeah. Why do they have to suck so badly, though?”

“Ask Pastor Erik,” Bash says, trying to lighten the mood.

“I don’t have all the answers, sadly,” Erik says. “I’m still trying to figure it all out, too.”

10

Mason

The music is turned up as loud as it’ll go, the Florida sun is beaming down on us, and Tanner is hanging out the side of the convertible Stingray I rented for spring break, yelling at the people we’re passing by.

My hand is resting on the wheel, and I turn around to the back seat where Chase and Tank are to grab the blunt they’re passing around.

When we get to a red light, a Dodge Challenger beside us revs up its engine, enticing the thrill seeker inside of me.

Tank stands up in the back seat and yells over at the two guys in the car with their windows rolled down. “You think that pussy-mobile can touch this beast?”

“Put your gas pedal where your mouth is!” the driver shouts back.

Tank throws himself back down in the seat and slaps a hand on my chest. “Make him eat shit, Sinclair.”

I smile over my shoulder at him and then drop the car into neutral while my foot is on the brake before revving her up. Tank smacks my shoulder in excitement, and I shake my head, laughing at him.

I look over to the guy next to us, and he has a shit-eating grin on his face like he already knows he’s got it in the bag.

Sorry, buddy, I’ve been driving supercars since before I even had a license. You’re not winning this one.

I put the car in drive, and when the light turns green, my foot pushes the gas to the floor. I watch the speedometer climb up, hitting 90 MPH on the Florida beach strip. Palm trees pass in a blur, and I look over to see the Challenger gaining on us a little. All the guys are shouting in the car, and Tanner is flipping the guy off from the passenger seat, laughing his ass off. Chase is screaming at me to go faster, and Tank is egging me on, too. I keep my hands tight on the wheel, weaving through cars like a pro.