Rainbow (Ruthless Kings MC Baton Rouge #1) - K.L. Savage Page 0,2
deadliest fire we’ve seen. People in Northern California are still in the clear but might have some clarity issues with the smoke filling the sky. If anything changes, we promise to keep you—”
I flip the radio to the classic rock station and do my best to put the fire out of my mind. Wildfires can’t move that fast, right?
We stop an hour and a half later at some mom-and-pop gas station, like we always do, for drinks and to top off the gas in the cars.
“Is your radio working?” Dad asks as he screws the gas cap off the Range Rover.
Huh. I didn’t even notice the music had been replaced with static. I turn the volume knob, and the white noise jolts Greer awake. He bangs his head on the window, and I snicker.
“Ow.” He rubs the spot on his head. “I thought you said you were going to wake me.”
“I did,” I chuckle, then duck my head out of the car to talk to Dad. “No, nothing.”
“Ah, no big deal. It’s probably smoke interfering.” Dad waves away the concern as the gas begins to flow through the nozzle into the tank.
“Yeah, probably.” I try to sound as if I’m not nervous. I’m shaking it off.
I stare off into the sky, which is darker now. The clouds are thick and black again, and I swear the orange hue no longer belongs to the sun but to the intensity of flames.
“Dad, we should turn around and go home. I mean, it’s camping, right? So it isn’t a big deal.”
“Son, we’re going to be fine. It looks scary, and it is, but the fire isn’t near us. I promise.” He jiggles the handle of the pump nozzle before hanging it back in its spot on the machine. “It’s the last time we’ll do this before you graduate high school, Nathan. It’s important.”
Now I know why he’s so insistent.
I lower my voice to a whisper so Greer can’t hear me. “I’d rather us be safe, Dad. Something doesn’t feel right.”
He cups the back of my head and gives me a sad, sappy smile. “Always the protector. I’m so proud of you, but this weekend, I’m the one who’s protecting you. I’ve done my homework on this fire. We’ll be okay.”
“Come on. I want to roast some s’mores and tell ghost stories!” Mom shouts out the window and turns on a flashlight under her face, so it gives her an ashen appearance. “Boo!”
Dad gasps and slams his hand against his chest. “Gosh, honey. You scared the life out of me.”
She giggles, knowing he wasn’t scared at all.
Can’t they be serious for two seconds? Not everything is a fucking fairy tale. We don’t live in la-la land. I slam my fist against the hood of the truck before walking around.
“Nathan—”
“—It’s fine, Dad. I’ll follow. Let’s go.” I shut the driver’s side door harder than necessary and turn the key. The exhaust sputters and purrs as I wait for Dad to pull out of the gas station parking lot. But, of course, being a worrywart means no one believes me when I’m worried about something because I worry about everything.
“Dad is right—”
“Greer. Shut up. Dad isn’t always right about everything. He’s careless right now. With this smoke, we shouldn’t even be out, but what the hell do I know?” I grab the gear shift and jerk it into drive. The tires crunch over the gravel and since the road is empty, we don’t have to wait to turn onto it.
“I just think you’re reading too much into it.”
“I hope for all of our sakes that you’re right.” I rub my left hand over my mouth and follow my dad. Greer and I fall into a tense, awkward silence. I don’t blame him for being mad at me. These trips we go on are special, and I’m being the buzzkill that’s ruining it.
The forest becomes thicker the further east we drive, but so does the smoke. It’s almost impossible to see. Surely breathing this stuff isn’t a good thing. The only thing on the SUV I can see is the red glow of taillights. Dad must be braking to slow down.
“Is that snow?” Greer peeks out the window to watch the stuff fall.
“Can’t be. It’s too hot.” It builds on the windshield, so I turn on the wipers, but that only causes it to smear, making it impossible to see. I clear it off with the windshield wiper fluid. “It isn’t snow. It’s ash,” I realize, swallowing