Hey! Another holiday weekend freebie. You should subscribe. Your entire summer reading list is in this archive.
The light turned yellow, Cross punched it, saw a cop at the intersection, pumped the brakes twice, locked em up, ass end of the Ram went a little left, but the truck stopped pretty much in the crosswalk.
His phone rang.
Almost felt like it was the cop calling to chew him out.
He snickered at that thought, just a quick lip curl and a few teeth clenched hisses.
Twisted in the seat to pull the phone from his pocket, felt his jeans rip a little more at the knee.
It was Amy. Never called, always texted.
“Lo,” he said, not in any particular mood to talk to the ex.
Stella was cutting herself.
Amy wanted extra money for a therapist.
Cross pressed down on his dick with the heel of his hand, hoping Amy wouldn’t ask if he was aware Stella had been cutting herself. As much as he hated Amy, he had never, ever been able to lie to her.
She didn’t ask, but hell yeah, he was aware. He told Stella it was fucked up. Told her that if anyone hurt her he would shoot ‘em in the face.
Wondered why Stella didn’t tell Amy he knew.
Was Stella protecting him, or just embarrassed her mom caught her and didn’t want to talk about it?
Red Camaro behind Cross honked.
Cross flipped them off, even though the light had legit turned green and he was the one at fault.
Started driving, told Amy he had a Dart in the garage he could fix the transmission and flip, give her some money.
Her first therapist appointment was tomorrow.
How about money now? Amy said.
Cross reached in the center console for some gum.
Amy had this annoying way of making the word now into multiple syllables.
Drove Cross crazy.
“How about,” Cross said, “Stella comes to live with me and I therapize her.”
Cross braced for Amy to tell him therapize wasn’t a word, which he knew when he said it.
“No, Stella isn’t coming to live with you for a hundred reasons. Jesus.” Amy said.
Cross looked out the window.
The passenger of the Red Camaro was screaming at him.
“Fuck youooo,” Cross said to the guy.
“ Your daughter needs a professional, Michael Crossman, you rotten pigfucker.”
“Not you Ame, this guy next to me on South Campbell is flipping me off.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“Why’d you call me a pigfucker?”
“I thought you-” Amy Pollard began.
She heard a loud noise.
She thought she heard glass breaking.
Sounded like Cross dropped his phone.
***
Stella Crossman rubbed Neosporin on the cuts on her arms. Andrea Bessich told her it would help, then they could put concealer over the marks.
Stella’s mom bought her a black cardigan sweater to wear over her black funeral dress but she didn’t want to wear it. She told her dad she wouldn’t cut herself anymore. It was a lie when she said it, but it wasn’t a lie anymore. She wouldn’t cut herself anymore, but she felt like cutting everything else.
***
Second chances aren’t always available to us...drive safe and speak nicely.
I didn't need this today. But, that's my problem. It was brilliant.