The Pretender - Cora Brent Page 0,43
then stick her with the lunch bill.
“You guys are taking his truck?” I ask.
She beams. “Yes, he said he’d drive.”
“Can I borrow your car then?”
“Why? I thought you didn’t feel well enough to go to school.”
“I just need to borrow it today.”
She frowns, processing the request. I make an effort not to sigh with frustration. It’s very rare that I ask to borrow her car. It’s rare that I ask her for a damn thing.
“Look, I’ll have it back in the carport this afternoon and I’ll top off the fuel tank, okay?”
Finally she nods. “All right. You can borrow the car, Ben. I’ll call your school and tell them you’re sick today so you don’t get in trouble.”
I don’t care if I get in trouble. And I don’t expect to accomplish anything by ditching. I just don’t feel like pretending to be Ben Beltran today.
Dirtbag comes straggling into the room looking like he’s just tumbled through a spin cycle.
“No breakfast?” he complains by way of a greeting.
“I’ll get you something,” my mother says, bustling around in search of something to feed Dirtbag. He helps himself to a seat at the table and I’m in danger of dry heaving when I see him make a grab for my mom’s rear end.
However, she seems pleased, turning around with a smile and then briefly running her fingers through his greasy hair. I’ll never get over my disbelief about seeing my beautiful, intelligent mother go from being treated like a queen by my father to hunting crumbs of affection from losers like Darren.
“Get me some coffee too,” Dirtbag orders my mother and then notices that I also live here. “Shouldn’t you be at school?”
“Shouldn’t you have a job?”
“Watch your mouth, junior.”
“Eat shit, asshole.”
He pouts and addresses my mother. “Michele, your kid’s got a hell of an attitude. You know I work plenty. I deserve some time off.”
My mother is uneasy, looking from one of us to the other. “I really wish you would both make an effort to get along.”
No, I won’t be making an effort do a damn thing except extend my middle finger. Apparently Dirtbag feels the same way because he waits until my mother’s back is turned and then he gives a hard kick to my right kneecap. It’s more annoying than painful and I throw him a look that’s supposed to say ‘Are you fucking serious?’ but he doesn’t get the message because he just grins like a cartoon cat.
This clown really ought to think twice about challenging me. He’s twice my age, his gut looks as soft as a pillow and I know how to pack a punch. Bennet Drexler was a third degree black belt and Ben Beltran got to keep those skills, which came in handy after arriving in rough and tumble Devil Valley. I must have been in ten fights within my first month here and only after I squashed both the McGill brothers in one battle did everyone else decide that I was worth some respect. The McGills never gave me any trouble after that but I’m sure the memory sticks with them. Which is why they backed right the fuck off the day I made it known that Camden Galway is off limits.
I get a pain when I think about it now, the way she’d dashed into the store with her eyes wide, looking over her shoulder because the dreaded McGills were hunting her. The brothers live just down the street in a corner house where the front yard always looks like a landfill. They prey on anyone they believe is an easy target and I would have gone out of my way to keep any girl out of their trashy claws. But the fact that they were coming after Camden made me feel especially primal even then, even before it truly dawned on me that she was really special. I would have gladly suffered a few bruises to keep her safe. And maybe I should have told her that straight up, instead of being a dick and playing hot and cold games for weeks.
Anyway, after spending the night thinking about a thousand and one ways I could have better handled the situation with Camden I’m in no mood to deal with Dirtbag’s antics.
Taking note that my mother’s back is still turned, I jump to my feet and before Dirtbag can so much as flinch I seize a fistful of his stringy hair and slam his ugly face into the hardwood kitchen table. He