Joyride (18 page)

Wait … Insult my
heritage
?

Mr. Moss crosses his arms. “Is that right?”

“That's right.” Only, it's not Arden who says that.

It's me.

 

Eighteen

Arden usually admires Carly's fearlessness. But right now is not the time.

He can see that his prayers for her to back down will not be answered today. Pride mixed with frustration race through him. The recipe for a fight is all over her face. Her nostrils are flaring like the wings of a moth. Her eyes practically glow with ferocity.

Oh geez
.

His father seems impressed, for about a half a second. Then his face is all cruel amusement. “Your English is commendable,” he says. “I'll bet your parents appreciate that when it comes time to ask for a price check on rice and beans at the grocery store.”

Arden nearly springs across the counter, but Carly throws her arm in front of him with the strength of an ox. “Arden, don't!” But her focus never leaves the sheriff. Her brow arches in defiance, but she says nothing.

Arden slides back. He has no idea what to expect. Is Carly trying to handle this on her own? She's way out of her league. His dad is ruthless. But then again, Carly is strong. How can you predict what will happen when a tsunami collides with a hurricane?

His gaze shifts from Carly to his father. His weight shifts from one leg to the other. His insides shift with indecision.
Should I let them do this?

The sheriff narrows his eyes. “Let me guess.” He taps his chin with his index finger. “You were born here, right? Is that why you think it's a good idea to mess around with my son? What about your parents? Do they know where you are? Should we give them a call? Tell them what you were doing? Or maybe they'd prefer you were given a ride home in the back of my work vehicle?”

Work vehicle?
“Her parents are dead, Dad.” Arden folds his hands atop his head. It's the only way he can keep from jumping across the counter and wrapping them around his father's thick neck. That kind of reaction would make the situation ten times worse. It would clue his father in to just how much he cares about Carly—which Arden knows he would use to his advantage. And his father might actually pull his gun out of its holster this time—which would put Carly in danger, because it might misfire while Arden beats his father to the ground.

This is all my fault
. He knows how prejudiced his dad is. He knew it was a bad idea to bring Carly here, to the lion's den. Not just tonight, but any night. Still, he wanted her here for reasons he can't explain. He's never brought a girl home before. Never brought anyone into his sanctuary. This house only had room for one girl: Amber. Except that's all changed. Carly is allowed here. More than that, he wants her here. The house feels less empty with her in it.

But these are the wrong circumstances. He never wanted it to be like this. He wanted their first kiss—because, by God, there was going to be at least one kiss between them if it killed him—to be extraordinary. And it was … until the mighty Sheriff Moss had interrupted it. He thought his dad was supposed to be two towns over, giving a speech at the American Legion.

What must Carly be thinking right now?

And why didn't I trust my instincts?
He knew to keep her away from his father for as long as possible—for forever, if he could pull it off. To hide her—no,
protect
her—from exactly this. And now he's blown it.

“That's a shame,” the sheriff says, his tone full of false sympathy. “Of course, I'm sorry for your loss. I was hoping to have them over for dinner. You know my wife, Sherry—have you met Sherry yet?—she makes the best enchiladas this side of the border. And what's not to celebrate? It's not every day my son brings home a girl. He usually reserves this sort of thing for his truck or, more appropriately in your case, an abandoned barn somewhere.”

“You son of a bit—” This time even Carly can't hold him back. Arden flings himself over the counter. His father moves out of the way just as Arden slams into the fridge. Smooth as butter, Arden is pressed against the fridge, his father's hand tight around his throat.

“How many times do we have to do this, Arden?” his father growls in his ear. “Why the back-and-forth? Why the battle?”

“I'm not Amber,” Arden chokes out. “I won't give up.” His father could control Amber with words, and if not words, then actions like these. He can't control Arden, and it eats at him, Arden knows.

Arden hears the sound of metal scraping against … what? Then
clink clink clink
.

“Let him go,” Carly says. He peers around his dad's shoulder and his stomach drops. Carly has the granddaddy of all kitchen knives in her hand.
Clink clink clink
. She taps it against the counter. Then she points it at a bemused Sheriff Moss.

“Carly, don't,” Arden pleads. Even with the knife, he knows his father can overtake Carly. And because she's pulled the knife, he can hurt her and get away with it. His father knows all the gray-shaded boundaries of the law. He'll cry self-defense. He'll cry breaking and entering. He'll cry anything he needs to cry to win.

The same way he cried at Amber's funeral without feeling a thing.

“Are you attempting to assault an officer, young lady?” His father laughs. “You're making it too easy for me.”

“I'm Mexican, remember? We're experts at butchering pigs, Sheriff.” Still, she takes a step backward—much to Arden's relief. The knife trembles in her hand. If Arden sees it, his father sees it. His father sees everything.

The sheriff tilts his head at her, but doesn't loosen his grip on Arden. “You'd better be ready to use that.”

Carly's jaw clenches and unclenches. Her eyes glisten but she doesn't yield to the tears threatening to spill out. She blinks once, twice. Lowers the knife slightly. “Let him go. Please.”

Arden feels as deep as a shot glass. She's
trying to protect
me. This is all backward. “He won't hurt me,” Arden tells her. “Just put the knife down.”
Please God, make her put the knife down.

The sheriff snorts. “This is getting exciting, isn't it, Carly? Tell you what. For showing a little spine, I'll let you walk out of here. Go on. Don't let the door hit you where the Good Lord split you.”

She takes another step back, giving Arden an apologetic look. “I can't … I'm
not
leaving without Arden.”

Arden struggles against his father, but the sheriff tightens his grip to the point of cutting off air. “Just let her go,” Arden gets out between gasps.

“I tried to, son. Seems she's too ignorant to recognize an opportunity when it presents itself.”

“Aren't you an elected official?” Carly says, her voice barely above a whisper. “You don't need a scandal like this on your hands. Think about everything I'll say to the press.”

His father stiffens then. It's the best possible thing Carly could have said. Even though her body language screams that she's bluffing. “It's your word against mine, now, isn't it? You think anyone with a brain will believe you over me?”

His father is right. No one would believe Carly, even if Arden backed up the story. Even if they did, his father has connections everywhere, at every level of government. Relationships he's built over decades of time served. But Carly has him by the balls right now. Because no matter what happens to her, this incident would be plastered all over the news. Carly has a bagful of seeds in her hands. Seeds of doubt. And it's something the sheriff won't—and has never—risked. The smallest chance that this could tarnish his reputation has Sheriff Moss backed into a corner.

The conundrum is all over the sheriff's face. Arden takes advantage of his father's now-relaxed grasp. “We'd be willing to find out, wouldn't we, Carly?” Arden says, breathless. “All she has to do is snap a pic of us right now with her phone, right? A nice little Moss family photo.”

Arden and Carly both know she doesn't have a phone. But his dad doesn't. To his father, words are bad enough. But pictures? Those are
much
more difficult to explain away. With a disgusted snarl, the sheriff abruptly releases Arden and shoves him toward Carly. “Get out of my house. Don't you ever bring that tramp here again, you understand?”

Carly begins to back toward the exit to the kitchen, keeping the knife in position. Arden rushes to her, putting himself between her and his father. Together, they edge toward the front door, never turning their backs on the threshold of the kitchen. Carly is shaking badly; the knife wobbles in her hand now. She doesn't need it anymore, Arden knows. His father will let them leave. This situation is over.

Maybe she's going to use it on me when we get in the truck
.

 

Nineteen

“Well, that was traumatizing,” I say, slamming the truck door behind me. I buckle up as quickly as possible, laying the knife carefully on the seat between us. My heart thumps in a wild rhythm. I hope Arden doesn't notice that I'm about to shake out of my own clothes. “We're dumping this. Tonight.” I can't believe the words coming out of my mouth. Not now, not thirty seconds ago in the Moss residence kitchen.

Ohmigod ohmigod ohmigod. I just pulled a knife on the sheriff of Houghlin County—the extremely prejudiced sheriff of Houghlin County. How could Arden have grown up in this kind of environment and not be at least a little racist himself? Or is he?

But that's not fair and I know it. I've never picked up a single prejudiced vibe from him. He can be dense sometimes, and self-involved, but he's never so much as hinted at being racist. In that regard, he's more like his uncle, Mr. Shackleford, I guess—or at least, I hope.

Because now I'm all in with Arden. And I know it.

Arden's face is expressionless as he puts the truck in drive. We speed out of the cobblestone driveway and make a hard right, hopefully toward the closest exit of this godforsaken neighborhood.

“You think he'll press charges? Will he tell Julio what I did?”
Dios mio,
but my heart palpitates with the thought of it. Adrenaline courses through my body, making me replete with unspent energy. I pop every knuckle I can. My knee bounces uncontrollably.

“No,” Arden says finally. He answers as if I've asked him if he wants mayo on his sandwich. Emotionless. Final.

He takes a left, then a right at the next stop sign. He slows to a crawl. This isn't the way we came in. “Where are we going?” My hands are fidgeting fidgeting fidgeting. I wonder if this is what being on crack feels like.

“Somewhere. Anywhere. Home. I'm taking you home.”

“Do you think he'll come after us?”

Distracted, he glances at me. “No. No, he won't. It's all a mind game, what he just did. He wouldn't want a public confrontation. It wouldn't suit his image.”

“Are … are you mad?”

Maybe his dad's words got to him. Maybe he regrets spending time with me after all. Maybe I'm going to go insane if he doesn't start talking.

I'm startled out of that line of thought when he slams on the brakes, pulls over on the curb. We're halfway on the sidewalk. I'm pretty sure the homeowners association here would have a fit.

Arden faces me suddenly. I'm too stunned to stop my mouth from hanging open. His behavior has never been this erratic before. He's always so self-assured, like he's found equilibrium in the universe or something. “Mad? At you? You've got to be kidding. You think I'm mad at
you
?”

“Well, I mean, I'm not sure if you noticed, but I pulled a knife on your dad.” I'm ready to defend my actions though. They're at the tip of my tongue in case this escalates into an argument. In case Arden is losing his mind like I feel I am.

“I have a deranged father and you're the one apologizing. That's classic.” He beats his hands against the steering wheel. “It's me who's sorry, Carly. I should never have brought you there. He wasn't supposed to be home.”

I think I might be sick. “Did you … did you bring me there to—” I can't even say it. Because what if he did bring me there for … for …

“No! I knew you would think that. After all those things he said. God, I'm so sorry, Carly. So, so sorry.”

“I'm just trying to figure out what you're apologizing for,” I say. No, I yell it. Because I'm a little excitable at the moment. And if he didn't bring me there for the intimate setting, then what could he possibly have to apologize for?

“Those things he said. The way he insulted you. I knew how he felt about … about…”

“You're apologizing for your dad,” I say as if I'm coaching a witness at court. “Because he was mean to me. Because of where I come from.”

“Yes.”

“But not because you kissed me?”
And then introduced me as your girlfriend? I didn't imagine that part, did I?
I know I'm being vain here, absolutely know it. It's not that I'm not angry at all. I am. I'm super-offended. I mean, Arden's father dissed my ethnicity, and therefore my family. Therefore Julio, who is the hardest-working person I know. I should be foaming at the mouth, telling Arden to turn the truck around and let me have another shot at his arrogant dad.

I think of Mama and Papi and the struggles they go through to put food on the table back in Mexico. They basically live in a shed—our trailer is luxurious compared to their little shack. We all work so hard for one another, to make something better for ourselves, for our family. We are people, and Sheriff Moss looks at us like we're rats. I saw his face. The disgust there when he looked at me. Like his son had just kissed roadkill. How can such a hateful man have persuaded so many people to give him this much power?