Free Darkest Before Dawn by Stevie J. Cole Page B

don’t dare ignore. I’ve spent the better part of the drive back to the house convincing myself of all the reasons I shouldn’t feel guilty: Lila…the ironic fact that Ava’s father took my family from me. In a way, I should see this as a form of fateful retribution—shouldn’t I? He kills my family, I destroy his daughter, but for whatever reason, I’m finding it all hard to digest.
    The sun has nearly crept below the horizon when I pull back into the driveway. Barbara’s piece of shit Mazda 626 is parked in front of the porch. “Fucking Earl,” I mumble. “Shit!” I wipe over my brow.
    We had a bit of a catastrophe a month ago with one of the girls getting out, nearly had to kill that one. After that we agreed to no visitors. Of course, Earl can’t keep to a simple fucking plan. At least it’s just Barbara. She’s always so fucked up on meth, completely out of her gourd, even if she were to stumble down to the cellar and into that room, she’d have no clue of it an hour or so later.
    I grab the shopping bags and the takeout from Olive Garden and climb out. It’s freezing out tonight and my entire body tenses from the frigid wind blowing through the trees. The chains to the old swing on the front porch creak when another gust picks up, howling around the corners of the house. Bear and Rufus are huddled together asleep on the porch. I drop my keys when I reach the top of the stairs and Bear lazily lifts his head, eyeing me before deciding he’d rather go back to sleep than bother wagging his tail.
    I jab the key into the lock and can already hear country music blaring through the speakers, the sound almost drowning out Barbara’s and Earl’s rough laughter.
    “Come on”—I nudge the dogs as I open the door—“get your asses inside.” They both hop up and run into the living room, wrestling with each other. The entire foyer is filled with a thin cloud of smoke and the faint smell of burning plastic. Low grade meth. When I round the corner into the kitchen, there’s five fucking people—Earl, Barbara, Bubba, Jeb, and Judy—all in laughing fits, eyes glazed over and bloodshot. The very minute I glance at Judy, her eyes lock on me and I groan, heading toward the hallway.
    “Hey, Maxwell,” Judy coos, batting her eyelashes as she slowly pushes up from the table and saunters over to me.
    Judy is what you call “trailer park champagne.” She’s the best this little town has to offer: looks, blowjobs, bar fights. But as roughneck as I may pretend to be to hold up this façade, that kind of woman stands a better chance in hell than with me. Her hand comes to rest on my shoulder, and I shrug away from her.
    “When you gonna let me show you a good time, sweet cheeks? First time’s on the house.” She smiles, her thin, pink lips showcasing overly bleached teeth.
    I don’t utter a word. Just glare at the lot of them disapprovingly as I make my way into the hall.
    “I’ll wait for you,” she says. I hear the legs of the chair scrape over the floor, and I glance over my shoulder. Their attention is now back to the pipe being passed around, and I’m able to sneak into the cellar without being noticed.
    Ava’s sitting in the same spot she was when I left. She’s braided her long, chestnut hair, and she smiles—faintly, but it is a smile—when I step inside.
    “Brought you some real food,” I say, holding up the bag of takeout. That gets me another, larger smile.
    “I love Olive Garden. Please tell me it’s the Chicken Parmesan?” Her brow wrinkles. I can tell she’s confused by her own actions. That happens quickly in situations such as these. She is enthusiastic over something as simple as food. She heard that excitement in her own voice, and now she is questioning herself. It is all part of the process…
    “I got a few things,” I say. “Didn’t know what you liked.” I place the food on the bed beside her before taking a seat. She grabs the bag and pulls out the first plastic