Dumpster Fire

CHAPTER 2

The engine rumbled, vibrating through the vehicle's chassis. Billy didn't mind. It had been used, he'd scraped every red cent together he could for his truest love. Well taken care of, babied by an older couple who had no idea what they were selling. Billy wasn't about to make them wise when they handed him the keys.

It was another step towards freedom. Those keys glistening in his hands were as precious as gold. As diamonds. Another escape. What surfing had been for so long.

He shook his head to clear out the pain of that memory. Surfing; the ocean. It'd been connected with...

Mom. Billy felt his foot leaden as the car roared and shuddered.

Turning up the radio easily drowned out whatever noise it was he couldn't afford to fix. The words and tune infiltrated him; spoke straight to his core.

God he wanted to sing. Like he used to. Before...

But singing was for pussies, faggots. Billy's fists tightened on the steering wheel. He couldn't. If he started he might slip. No reason to tempt fate.

Led Zeppelin weren't pussies. Jackson, Prince. Queen. Billy conceded they might be a little on the faggot side. But that didn't stop their music from being incredible. Or making them famous.

Billy rolled down the window. It was drizzling. Typical for a Hawkins Autumn evening. He stuck his hand out, let the water pelt his exposed skin as he took a curve almost too tight.

Felt his heart leap into his chest.

Reminded him life was more than pain. More than loss.

His hand was numb and dripping by the time he pulled up to Wheeler's house. He'd been there before. Twice. They probably could tell he had arrived by his music alone, but he decided to lay on the horn too. Just to be a dick.

Their fancy nice house, fucking Mrs. Wheeler. He felt something like a snarl rip out of him as his mood soured.

If only he could have driven forever.

Car door slammed behind him, and Billy took care to stride heavily across the lawn. It took him back for a second to see the door open, but there was Steve with his little herd of children. Like a mother hen with his chicks. Billy's eyes narrowed.

"God, you've got a punchable face Harrington."

"The fuck you want Hargrove?" Arm went out in front of the kids protectively, motioning them further behind him.

And that didn't help anything.

Billy's fists clenched. "The hell you think, asswipe?" He jerked his chin over Steve's shoulder, taking a step closer. "I'm here for Max."

"I can walk." Max piped up, defiant as always. Braver surrounded by her little tribe of losers, like she had missed where Billy pounded the snot out of Steve last altercation.

Billy rolled his eyes, arms crossing over his chest as he leaned against the entryway. "Neil says otherwise."

He saw understanding cross over her face, followed closely by anger.

Don't you dare. His eyes bore the thought into her, dipping to see the fucking black kids hand laced with hers. Knows better my ass.

"Get in the fucking car." Billy growled, ignoring Steve's posturing. They both knew by now who would win in a fist fight. "You've got two minutes."

"She'll be there." Steve assured. "Just let her finish up real quick-"

"Don't!" Billy snapped. "Tell me how to manage my fucking family business, Harrington." Finger jabbed into Steve's shoulder and he could see the anger rising in him.