head no, a scowl lining her face. Even through the smudged window, the garish blue-purple coloring on the right side of her face is visible. If I weren't standing on my front step, locked out of my own house, still drunk, I'd feel bad for her.
"Unlock the door, Tawny or I swear to God, I will fucking kill you."
She flips me the bird and walks off. That bitch. That fucking cunt bitch. She has to know she's playing with fire. I walk over to my truck and reach under the tire for the spare key holder. It's gone. Damn her. She covered all her bases. She knows I'll kill her, that’s why. I hear the front door pop open, and I run to get in, but she slams it and the lock clicks again. My silver truck key is sitting on the front step. How nice of her.
I slam my fist against the door again. "I'm going to work where there's plenty of time for me to think about what I'm going to do to you when I get back."
She doesn't appear at the window, and there's no "fuck you," so I can't tell if she even heard me.
I swipe the key and jump into my truck. I drive to work, rage filling my veins and seeping into my bones. It’s a damn good thing I have the day to cool off because if I were home, I’d wrap my hands around her neck and choke her until she begged for mercy. This whole pregnancy thing is a lie. I know it. She thinks she can make things better by making up stories. She actually thinks pretending to be pregnant will stop me from giving her what she'd owed. The first time I hit her hard enough to break a bone, I thought she would leave me. She didn’t. She was too weak.
She won’t now either. She needs me. She's worthless without me. She thinks she's so fucking smart—well, she never made it to college, and she hasn't had a fucking job since we got married. Hell, she's never had to work for anything since I waltzed into her life. She wouldn't even have anywhere to go if she left. No, she won't ever leave me. I'm all she has. Lazy, stupid bitch.
I take the right turn into the construction site a little fast and nearly go over the curb before parking the truck next to the others. Patrick is going to be pissed. This is the third or fourth time I've been late this month. The residual effects of my fights with Tawny. When I walk up to the trailer, Patrick is already standing in the doorway.
"Carter, I told you the last time you were late there would be no more second chances. I wasn't bullshitting you. I like you, I do, but we're on deadline for this job."
"I know. I'm sorry, but Tawny collapsed–"
"I'm not interested in your excuses. There’s a new one every time. You look like you haven't slept, and you smell like beer."
Patrick is suddenly a blur, and the world is spinning again. I grip the railing for support, though it feels like I'm going to fall over. Patrick leans forward and pulls me up, steadying me.
"Jesus Christ, you're still drunk. What the hell were you thinking, showing up like this? You would've been better calling in sick. You know I can't let you on machinery." He sighs and leans me up against the trailer. "I'm gonna have to let you go. I can't have this. I'm sorry."
I don't see Patrick or the trailer or anything around me. I see red. I swing my arm, though I have no idea where to aim. My knuckles hit something solid, and I gain enough focus to see it was Patrick's nose.
"Fuck!"
"Patrick, I need this job," I say through clenched teeth.
"No, what you need is to get the hell out of here right now, or I'm calling the cops. I know you have some shit going on at home, but this is fucking ridiculous. Leave."
I consider refocusing my aim and knocking him out for good, but dealing with the police is the last thing I need. I stumble to the truck, and when I pull out of the driveway, the tires kick up dust. I drive too fast. Maybe I can crash into another car. A bending, twisting collision of metal and bodies doesn't seem all that bad right now.
I intend to drive home, but instead, I pull
"Unlock the door, Tawny or I swear to God, I will fucking kill you."
She flips me the bird and walks off. That bitch. That fucking cunt bitch. She has to know she's playing with fire. I walk over to my truck and reach under the tire for the spare key holder. It's gone. Damn her. She covered all her bases. She knows I'll kill her, that’s why. I hear the front door pop open, and I run to get in, but she slams it and the lock clicks again. My silver truck key is sitting on the front step. How nice of her.
I slam my fist against the door again. "I'm going to work where there's plenty of time for me to think about what I'm going to do to you when I get back."
She doesn't appear at the window, and there's no "fuck you," so I can't tell if she even heard me.
I swipe the key and jump into my truck. I drive to work, rage filling my veins and seeping into my bones. It’s a damn good thing I have the day to cool off because if I were home, I’d wrap my hands around her neck and choke her until she begged for mercy. This whole pregnancy thing is a lie. I know it. She thinks she can make things better by making up stories. She actually thinks pretending to be pregnant will stop me from giving her what she'd owed. The first time I hit her hard enough to break a bone, I thought she would leave me. She didn’t. She was too weak.
She won’t now either. She needs me. She's worthless without me. She thinks she's so fucking smart—well, she never made it to college, and she hasn't had a fucking job since we got married. Hell, she's never had to work for anything since I waltzed into her life. She wouldn't even have anywhere to go if she left. No, she won't ever leave me. I'm all she has. Lazy, stupid bitch.
I take the right turn into the construction site a little fast and nearly go over the curb before parking the truck next to the others. Patrick is going to be pissed. This is the third or fourth time I've been late this month. The residual effects of my fights with Tawny. When I walk up to the trailer, Patrick is already standing in the doorway.
"Carter, I told you the last time you were late there would be no more second chances. I wasn't bullshitting you. I like you, I do, but we're on deadline for this job."
"I know. I'm sorry, but Tawny collapsed–"
"I'm not interested in your excuses. There’s a new one every time. You look like you haven't slept, and you smell like beer."
Patrick is suddenly a blur, and the world is spinning again. I grip the railing for support, though it feels like I'm going to fall over. Patrick leans forward and pulls me up, steadying me.
"Jesus Christ, you're still drunk. What the hell were you thinking, showing up like this? You would've been better calling in sick. You know I can't let you on machinery." He sighs and leans me up against the trailer. "I'm gonna have to let you go. I can't have this. I'm sorry."
I don't see Patrick or the trailer or anything around me. I see red. I swing my arm, though I have no idea where to aim. My knuckles hit something solid, and I gain enough focus to see it was Patrick's nose.
"Fuck!"
"Patrick, I need this job," I say through clenched teeth.
"No, what you need is to get the hell out of here right now, or I'm calling the cops. I know you have some shit going on at home, but this is fucking ridiculous. Leave."
I consider refocusing my aim and knocking him out for good, but dealing with the police is the last thing I need. I stumble to the truck, and when I pull out of the driveway, the tires kick up dust. I drive too fast. Maybe I can crash into another car. A bending, twisting collision of metal and bodies doesn't seem all that bad right now.
I intend to drive home, but instead, I pull
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