Page 41 of Fueled Hate

Clenching my teeth, I look at the unfamiliar town passing by as I finally pull into the parking lot across the street from the mechanic shop. “Yes. I do. And I will find every person who played a part.”

“You know I’m all in, even if I think you might be losing your mind, but I need you to promise me you won’t do something stupid. Your mom is already gonna strangle us when she finds out we’re here instead of Florida.”

“She won’t find out, because neither of us are gonna do anything stupid.”

A big exhale comes through the phone. “Okay. Well, I really didn’t find out much about who’s dealing, but I was told that there’s a party at the frat house this weekend and there will be plenty of happy pills to go round.”

“It’s a start.” And much further than I’d gotten. Bryce has a way of gaining people’s trust, making them think they’ve been best buds forever. Luckily, he really has been mine and still is. “Thanks, man.”

“No, prob. Now, go to bed because I am. Some of us actually need our beauty rest.”

“Yeah, sure,” I say, clicking the phone off and tossing it onto the passenger seat. Stretching, I look over to the auto shop owned by Sadie’s father. Why, out of all the people twisted up in this, did it have to be Frank? Eyeing the old metal building, I spot the garage bay light still on. I’ve watched this place enough to know that means they are still in there. The light is always shut off when they’re done for the night. So, if they’re not done, then I’m not either. Shifting in the driver’s seat, I get as comfortable as possible, my eyes locked on the building. Watching and waiting for any person coming or going out of the shop. They’re all responsible and will pay the price when the time comes. But the real question is what—or more accurately who—will it cost me?

23

Sadie

Pulling the quilt up, I block out the sunlight peeking through the thin curtains. Every muscle in my body aches with exhaustion. Yesterday was bad enough with everything that happened with Levi, but Dylan made sure to make things even worse. The image of my dad crosses my mind. I’d listened for him this morning, wanting to talk to him without outright saying anything, but once I’d heard him stirring around the kitchen, I chickened out. What was I supposed to say? What can I say, especially with Dylan threatening me to keep quiet? None of this is good, and I really don’t want to make things worse. But I have to make sense of it. Even if I can’t directly ask the questions, maybe I can find something out.

Shoving the quilt down, I search for my phone—still nowhere in sight—then I head to the bathroom. Before long, I’m dressed and getting into my car. The short drive to my dad’s shop is long enough to cause dread from the anticipation of facing him. Just the thought of looking into his eyes scares me. How can the man who’d raised me be someone so different than I thought he was? What if he’s in trouble? Maybe he’s being forced to do it, I know the feeling thanks to Dylan because all I want to do is point-blank ask my dad to tell me the truth. To explain to me how or why he would do such a thing. Instead, I have to tiptoe around my dad, my home, and the place that once felt like a second home.

Reluctantly, I push the door open, getting out my Mustang. I walk over to my dad’s shop. It looks different in the light of day, less dodgy than it had last night. But now, it feels different. It no longer feels comfortable or safe. It feels out of place and foreign. Just like everything in my life.

Stepping into the first garage bay, I spot Mr. George returning from the lobby area.

“Aren’t you supposed to be restin’?” Mr. George gives me a no-nonsense look.

“I’m fine,” I lie, managing a half-smile. So far, Mr. George seems to be the only person that is as he appears. “Is my dad here?”

“He’s back in his office.” Mr. George holds the door open, motioning for me to walk into the main building area.

“Thanks.” Hurrying through the doorway, I’m glad to avoid the garage bays for a little while longer because I don’t want to recall the scene from last night just yet. I need to see my dad before I back out completely and leave Staffordsville.

Lightly tapping on the door, I hear my dad call out that the door is open. He used to never be in his office, now that’s the only place I find him. Is that why he’s actually been using his office? To sort out or cover up the type of things he’d been doing last night?

Holding my breath, I prepare myself. I don’t want to lie, and I don’t want him to lie to me, but I know that’s all that is about to happen. Even so, I need to see him. Pushing the door open, I’m not met with the challenge of facing my dad, but rather the familiar brown eyes of a pissant who seems to be every which way I turn.

Shoving the door completely open, I step inside the office. My eyes on the last person I’d expected to see in my dad’s space. “What are you doing here?”

Dylan flashes me a charming smile that I want to punch off his face as he stands, positioning himself between my dad and me.

“Sadie, you’re supposed to be taking it easy.” Dad looks way too relaxed for my liking. How does he not realize the vileness of the human in the room?

Looking to my dad, I respond, “I’m fine.” I’m so tired of telling everyone I’m fine and trying to convince myself. Turning my attention back to the jerk in the room, I say again, “What are you doing here?”

“You kept telling me what a great shop your dad had here, so I had to swing by and meet him. Check out the garage on my way to pick you up.”

“Sadie, Dylan says y’all met at school?” Dad asks, a hesitant tone in his voice. I’m sure he is confused because I sure as hell am. “I didn’t realize you had a friend coming to town.”

“We’re not friends.”

Dad glances to me as Dylan smirks. He knows he’s got me cornered, and I can’t lash out at him. It would bring up too many questions that I can’t explain to my dad.

The receptionist calls out for Dad, and he glances to me before slowly stepping past me, motioning for me to sit in the chair. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Once Dad is out of earshot, I repeat, “What are you doing here?”

Dylan casually resumes his seat, looking comfortable as hell.