Back to You

Which, of course, was the reason for this little road trip.

Lauren claimed she needed his help with something tonight, but Del knew better. She hated when he drank too much, especially when he used it as a coping mechanism. She had used those exact words with him once, and he’d laughed and told her not to quit her day job.

Even though he knew that’s exactly what he was doing.

“Just…humor me,” she said quietly before she reached to turn the radio on.

For the next twenty minutes, neither one of them spoke as Lauren drove them through the next town and pulled into the parking lot of what looked like a small warehouse.

She cut the engine and removed her seatbelt before she turned to look at him.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

Del squinted out the window, just making out the letters of a small neon sign hanging above the door of the building.

TRASHED.

“What the hell is this?” he asked, but she was already out of the car.

With a huff he took off his seatbelt. “Hey,” he called as he exited the car, and she turned to look over her shoulder. “What the hell is this?”

“Come on,” she said simply, reaching for him.

With a resigned sigh he walked over to where she was standing and took her outstretched hand.

Lauren led him to the door and pulled it open, and they walked into what looked like a small china shop. The walls were essentially floor to ceiling shelves, filled with various plates, glasses, mugs, bowls, and vases. There was a counter on the far wall, where a cash register sat above a long glass case filled with what looked like small porcelain statues and knickknacks. The man behind it appeared to be in his twenties; his hair was dyed a deep black and styled into meticulous spikes, and two piercings adorned his lower lip.

Del halted in the doorway, surveying the area with confusion, but Lauren pulled him forward as she approached the man behind the counter.

“Hi,” she said. “My name is Lauren Monroe. I think we spoke on the phone?”

“Lauren, yes,” he said, and Del immediately straightened his posture at the way the guy was looking at her. “Good to meet you.”

She nodded with a smile. “This is my friend Michael,” she said, pulling him a bit closer to the counter.

The man nodded politely at him. “Glad to have you with us. So, are you guys all set?”

“Just him,” Lauren said.

“Okay then. Right this way. Your room is all ready.”

The man turned and walked down a small hallway to the left of the counter, and Lauren moved to follow him.

Del yanked on her hand, and she stumbled back toward him, wide-eyed.

“I’m not going anywhere until you nd"> shoulder tell me what the hell this is.”

For a second, she just stared up at him. “You don’t trust me?”

He rolled his eyes. “Of course I do,” he started.

“Then just come with me,” she said, cutting him off. “If you don’t want to do it, we’ll leave.”

She looked up at him for another second, reassuring him with her eyes before she turned back toward the hallway, and this time, he allowed her to pull him along.

There were two doors on either side of the hall, and Lauren followed the man into the last one on the right.

As soon as they stepped inside the room, Del released her hand and crossed his arms, looking around. One of the walls appeared to be made of plexi-glass. He could see four chairs lined up on the other side, facing the room. The other walls were painted black and had sheet metal nailed to them. Del furrowed his brow, noticing the dents, nicks, and scratches that peppered the once shiny surfaces.

But the strangest thing of all was the long table set up against the back wall; there were four large stacks of plates in varying sizes and colors, several wine glasses, a few serving bowls, and one large crystal vase right in the center.

Del turned to look at Lauren, but she was looking at the man, nodding at something he was saying.

“And that’s it,” he said. “Here you go.” He handed her something that looked like folded cloth.

“Thank you,” she said, and the man turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

She turned then, looking at him; the steadfast confidence from earlier was diluted with a hint of uncertainty now.

Before he could say anything, she walked over to him. “Here,” she said softly. “You have to put this on.”

Michael looked down at the gray fabric in her hand.

It was a pair of coveralls, similar to what a mechanic might wear.

“And these,” she added, holding out a pair of safety goggles.

Del studied them for a second before he looked up at her, finally understanding.

“Am I…? You want me to break all this shit?”

Lauren nodded.

When Del just stared at her, she gestured toward the table. “I got you the di

Del turned and surveyed the room once more. He must have still looked confused because she said, “It’s supposed to help. You know…to get rid of stress. It’s much healthier than…other things.”

“Red, this is ridiculous.”

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

He looked down at the coveralls in his hand, and for a moment, the room was completely silent.

Finally, he took a deep breath. “So I just put this on and throw shit around?”

The corner of her mouth lifted in a smile. “Pretty much.”

He looked down again and nodded. “Alright,” he said, reaching for the goggles.

She smiled then, the last of her uncertainty disappearing as she handed them to him. “I’ll be out there,” she said, gesturing toward the plexi-glass window. She went up on her toes, kissing his cheek before she turned and exited the room.

When the door clicked softly behind her, Del@is"> shoulder exhaled, turning to survey the room again.

This was stupid.

There was no way throwing a few plates against the wall was going to make him feel any better. He wanted to be home, in his room, with a bottle of Jack and his stereo blasting loud enough to make thinking impossible.

But she had looked so hopeful. And she had gone through all the trouble to set this up.

With a sigh, he pulled the coveralls on over his clothes and slid his hands into the thick, protective gloves.

Lauren came into view then, gently lowering herself into one of the chairs on the other side of the glass wall. She looked calm—peaceful, even—as she watched him.

Del walked toward the table, positioning the goggles over his eyes before he reached over and took a small blue plate off the top of the pile.

He turned then, facing one of the metal walls. He looked over to where Lauren sat, shrugging his shoulders before he threw the plate against it.

It exploded with a sharp, crunching sound.

Del flexed his hand at his side. He would’ve been lying if he said he didn’t get the tiniest rush from it. Just the slightest flicker of adrenalin. Nothing like a shot of Jack, but decent enough.

He turned back toward the table, choosing one of the bigger plates. This time, he held it by its side, flinging it like a frisbee toward the wall.

It splintered into tiny white shards that scattered to the ground, and Del laughed, looking over at Lauren.

She was watching him, her expression even.

With a smile on his face, Del turned and grabbed one of the wine glasses. He brought his arm back, throwing it with a bit more force.

And then it happened.

As soon as it hit, as soon as the sound of glass shattering filled the tiny room, Del squeezed his eyes closed, bringing his clenched fists in front of them.

Glass shattering.

A grating shriek of metal.

His brother’s shout.

This night. Eleven years ago, but it could have been yesterday. He could still see it so clearly.

And now he could hear it, too.