irrevocable

{Eighteen}

Janie's Got a Gun // Aerosmith

Jackson

The second I woke up I knew I'd made a mistake. My heart was pounding. Fucking anxious. I couldn't figure out if it was the shit my mom had told me or something else. I picked up my phone and remembered that Holly had called me and I'd never called her back.

My heart fucking sank. I tried calling her in a panic, which is stupid. Why was I panicking? It's not a major event to let a call go to voicemail. Both of us did that if we couldn't talk. She'd probably been on her way to work when she called, checking in for the day. Wondering when I was getting on the road. And now she was probably elbow deep in her job and couldn't answer. It's completely reasonable.

But for some reason I had a sick feeling in my stomach that something was wrong. That I'd failed her.

When she didn't answer for the fifth time, I grabbed my shit and jumped in my car, sped down the road to the interstate and booked it home as fast as I could. I watched the clock to gauge when she might be on break and tried calling three more times.

Nothing.

I made the four-hour-drive in record time and without a speeding ticket. I can only claim insanity for my recklessness. I'd stayed back to keep from driving erratically from the emotional confrontation with my mom only to end up driving erratically from the emotional freak out I was having over Holly.

Thank God I made it back in one piece.

I don't bother stopping at my place, instead driving directly to her house. She should be off the clock by now which is one more reason I haven't calmed down. I remember she had an early shift today and should have called me by now. It's who she is. This girl doesn't leave me on read. She doesn't ghost. We left on a good note. There was no tension. She's not ignoring me.

Something is fucking wrong.

I pull up to her house and barely get the car in park before I'm jumping out and running up the walkway to her front door. I pound on the thing so hard it shakes on its hinges. It's so flimsy it might actually bust in. I don't give a shit, though. I'll buy her a new fucking door. Solid oak. Something that'll keep her safe in this godforsaken neighborhood.

I'm pounding for five or ten minutes while shouting for Holly or her mom, by the time I give up. No one comes to the door. I know her mom is sometimes too weak to get up, but she'd usually call out when I made my presence known.

I get nothing. Not a peep. I try to look in the windows I can access from the front but see no movement. No one on the couch. I start to consider climbing the fence to get to the back yard when I notice the cab down the street. It's a bright red extended cab for long haul trucking. Something her dad would probably drive. I get a bad vibe from that red cab. I walk closer to it, parked in front of the neighbor's place. No one's inside. I take a risk to step on the side rail to look closer for some reason. I sense it's the key to the situation. I feel it deep down. There's nothing out of the ordinary about this cab. It's messy inside, strewn with fast food wrappers and paperwork. A jacket is balled up on the cab floor. A clipboard rests on the dash. But that's it.

I start to turn away when something sticking out from between the seats catches my eye. Red like the paint job, and lacy. Lingerie? If this is Holly's dad's, those panties certainly aren't her mom's. Fuck. This is information I don't want to have. I already figured the guy was a piece of shit, but this is the smoking gun. Not that I needed one. I've heard enough from Holly—the tiny little bit that she did tell me—to know he's not an upstanding citizen or anything close to father of the year. The guy's a bastard.

And if he's in town, things just got real fucking complicated. So far I've got a clean record. But I doubt that'd be true for long if he's in my atmosphere.