Cherry Bomb

“You’re going to kill someone.” I was clinging to the armrest.

We narrowly missed a swing set, Phin overcompensated, and we spun out, crunching through a dog house that I sincerely hoped was empty. Phin hit the gas, the Bronco lurched forward, and we tore through another backyard, down an embankment, and into a cornfield. This was feed corn, beige and dry and standing over ten feet tall. Rows, acres, miles, an endless ocean.

Driving through it was agonizing, because we couldn’t see any farther than the hood. At any moment it could have ended and we’d be in the middle of the street. Or in a school playground during recess.

Phin didn’t let up. He pushed the accelerator, ears and husks banging against the windshield with a rhythmic thump-thump-thump-thump-thump. First came some stress fissures. Then bigger cracks. Then the glass became one giant spiderweb, impossible to see through.

Phin kept the engine gu

“Okay. That’s enough.”

Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump.

“Phin-” I warned.

He ignored me, his fate determined, his jaw set.

“Goddamn it, Phin!”

He swerved hard, knocking me into him, the truck doing a 180, 360, 720, before stalling to a stop.

“Finally start caring again?” he asked.

I pushed myself off him.

“Asshole.”

Phin shifted in his seat, frowning at me. “I’m the asshole? You’re the one who wanted to give up.”

I turned on him, teeth bared, filling with rage.

“You’ve already given up. You aren’t living. You’re just existing. You don’t care about anything.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Jack. That I’m here with you because I don’t care about anything.”

Sure, he was here for me. And I just threw my career away to protect him. I didn’t see him kissing my ass for that.

“You’ve got it easy,” I said, low and mean. “Some of us have to deal with the consequences of our actions. Maybe I should just drop out of society. Start robbing banks. What’s the current street price of coke, Phin? We can get stoned out of our minds and go knock over a liquor store. The hell with tomorrow, right?”

Phin went very cold. “I hurt,” he said evenly.

“Welcome to the club.”

“I physically hurt, Jack. It’s like someone is stabbing me in the side. All day. Every day. The cocaine helps.”

“I bet it does.”

“You want to compare losing some loved ones to dying of cancer?”

“How would you know? You don’t love anyone.”

“You’re wrong. I love-”

“Don’t fucking say it,” I warned. “Don’t you dare fucking say it.”

He stared at me, hard, then slowly nodded. “I get it.”

I wanted to hit him. “You don’t get shit. You think I’m afraid to get close to you because I’m afraid I’ll lose you? Get over yourself. I don’t want to get involved with a drug-sniffing loser.”

“Then maybe you should stop calling me when you need help.”

I was done with this conversation. I grabbed my stuff and got out of the damn truck. I was ten yards into the corn before remembering I left my rifle behind. Screw it. Let Phin keep the damn rifles. He could rob an old folks’ home, or sell them for cocaine.

Noise, from behind. I increased my pace.

Then a tug on my arm.

I whipped around, jammed my palm into his chest. Phin staggered backward.

“The lady doesn’t want to be touched,” I said, teeth clenched.

“The lady is acting like an asshole. You’re the only one in the world that hurts, is that it, Jack? And feeling sorry for yourself is the only way you can cope?”

“You don’t seem to be coping too well either.”

“I take it day by day. That’s all anyone can do.”

Day by day? What total crap.

“You’re one sorry SOB, you know that, Phin? You told me the sex wasn’t a mistake. You were wrong. It was a mistake. The latest in a long line of mistakes I’ve made. I’m through.”

“What about Alex? She wins?”

“You’re the big macho stud. You can handle her. I think you guys would make a really cute couple.”

I turned, and appropriate for my environment, stalked away. Phin made the mistake of grabbing my arm again.

I spun, whipping around my right leg, aiming to knock his sanctimonious head off. But he anticipated the move, already had his arm up over his head, and caught my foot in his armpit.

And then he made the biggest mistake of his life. He dropped my leg, took a quick step forward, and slapped me in the face.

Slapped me. Open-handed.

I felt my face go red, and not just the cheek he smacked. The hitting I didn’t mind. Hitting me meant he thought of me as an equal, that he could defend himself appropriately. But the fact that he actually pulled his punch-took it easy on me because I was a woman-that was infuriating. He didn’t think we were fighting. He thought he was handling some hysterical little girl.

That showed no respect for me at all. And I slept with this guy?

“Not smart,” I said. I dropped my gear.

“I’m sorry.” He put his hands up and backpedaled. “Did I hurt you?”

Apparently, he wanted to make it even worse. A breeze blew through the corn, making a peaceful, rustling sound. The sense of tranquility was shattered when I clenched my fists so tight we both heard my knuckles pop.

“If you want to hit me back, that’s fair.”

Jesus, he was just digging his own grave. Phin was lean, muscular, and had a few inches and maybe forty pounds on me. He could fight. I’d seen it. But I was a black belt, and I was beating up kids bigger than me while he was still in diapers.

I moved in with two quick steps, feinted left, then hit him with a left-right combo to the body. Phin brought up his fists, taking the shots on his shoulders. I jerked forward, head butting him between his arms, co

Phin kept his footing, but he was unsteady. I got a leg behind his and pushed, flipping him over my hip. He went down, hard, and I dropped a knee on his chest, fist poised to slam into his naked throat. A killing blow.

Instead, I opened my hand and slapped him across the mouth.

“You’re not worth a punch either,” I said.

He stared at me, stu

“You’re mad because I slapped you and didn’t punch you?” he called after me. “You’re out of your goddamn mind!”

I didn’t dignify that with an answer. The more corn I got between us, the better off I was.

“Dammit, Jack! I didn’t punch you because I love you!”

I thought about yelling something back, but decided against it. I wanted the last words I ever said to Phineas Troutt to be the ones I’d already spoken. That’s all he deserved.

But even though he was out of my life, permanently, I had to begrudgingly thank him. Because of Phin, I was back to being angry.

Alex was going to suffer for what she did. I would make sure of it.

CHAPTER 42

“OH MY GOD!” Samantha squeals. “Those boots are to die for!”

They’re bright shiny red, just like Superman wears, except these have stiletto heels and red fringe around the top. Might as well write I’m a stripper across the tops.

“And they’re only eighty bucks! I’m soooo buying these!”

“I think I’ll get a pair too,” Alex says, battling her reluctance and picking one up. She checks the insole. Fabrique by Enrique Perez. A nobody, with zero fashion sense.

“You’ll look totally hot in those, Gracie.”

Was Sammy just being friendly? Or flirting? “Thanks. So will you.”

“I know I’m in shape, but I don’t have definition like you do. You can see your leg muscles through your pants.”

Sammy runs a finger along Alex’s thigh. This is definitely flirting.

“I work out a lot.”

“I knew you did. Pilates?”

Alex pictures her martial arts kata, kicking and striking to break imaginary boards and bones.

“Something like that,” she answers.