“I just wanted to talk with you real quick. Do you have a few minutes?” My mind runs through all the things he could want to talk to me about, and I come to the same conclusion each time—he knows I just had sex with his daughter!

Chills rack my body when I remember just how many guns this man owns, and for a split second I considering jumping in my car and taking off because I’m sure that this will be the end of me. I’m going to die at the hands of Katie’s dad, and he’s gonna bury me in some secluded spot on his property, never to be heard from again. Well, fuck, it was a fun ride, I guess.

“Yeah.” My voice squeaks and I swallow hard, hoping he didn’t hear it. “That’d be fine, Mr. Devora. What’s going on?”

“Head over to the fire pit, and I’ll go grab a couple of Buds.” I clear my throat and can only manage to nod my head as I make my way to the side of the house where the fire pit sits, four chairs surrounding it, with only a few embers still smoldering. He makes his way inside and I grab a seat, my entire life running through my head. I wonder how long it’ll take my mom to notice I’m gone … and how long it’ll take her to sell all of my shit.

The back door slams shut and the soft glow of the fire casts a massive shadow as Mr. Devora approaches. In my head, I’m saying as many Hail Marys as I can, but I’m messing up half the words. I’m thinking right about now that this is going to get me a first-class flight to hell. Leave it to me to try and find religion just seconds before my life ceases to be.

I see his hand lift amongst the shadows and I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for the bullet to pierce my skin and leave me bleeding to death in the dirt. “Well, you gonna take it, or you gonna make me drink ‘em both?”

His voice with its slight drawl forces my eyes open, and I see he’s holding a Bud Light out for me to take. I immediately relax and accept it from him. Popping the top off, I toss it back, hoping the alcohol will calm my nerves. I down about half the bottle before noticing him looking at me as if to say, ‘you better slow it down, boy.’ I’ve always loved that Katie’s dad would give me beers from time to time, and I have his old-school cowboy ways to thank for that. But he’s never been a fan of my tendency to drink them entirely too fast. Little does he know, it’s my fear of him that makes me guzzle it in the first place.

Mr. Devora pulls out a chair, plops down next to me and takes a swig of beer. “You’ve known my princess for a long time now, and you guys have gotten pretty close,” he says, matter of fact.

“Yes sir, we have.” I’m instantly taken back to just a few hours earlier when I was buried deep inside his princess, and as wonderful as it was, I’m coming to terms with the fact that I may have been jeopardizing my mortality by doing so. This man could crush me with his bare hands, and I’m just waiting for it to happen. Well, at least I’ll have had one last beer before I go.

I take another long swig and place the bottle between my thighs. “Is that what you needed to talk to me about, sir?”

“Well, kind of. I also wanted to talk to you about your future. Where you’re headed. Your plans after school.” He waits for a moment as if trying to find the right words and an acceptable way to present them to me. “I know all about your home life, Devin, and what I haven’t learned from Katie, I hear from Brenda. She and your mom used to be very good friends. Do you remember that?”

I nod my head. “Yes, I remember. Not a whole lot, but I remember our families hanging out when I was little … before everything happened.” I drop my eyes to the ground and start fumbling with the pocket of my jeans. It’s not a part of my life I’m particularly proud of.

“That’s right. Your father and I used to be pretty good friends too. After he took off, I looked after your mom the best I could. Brenda and I both did. We would stop over all the time with meals and stuff for you. Do you remember that?”

“Yes, I do.” Come on, how could I forget Brenda’s pot roast?

“You were a good kid. Incredibly resilient considering everything you went through.” The fact that he used past tense to describe me as ‘a good kid’ further convinces me that tonight will end differently than I had originally planned. “After a few months of that, when things got really bad, your mom got very angry with us. She told us to never come back. We’ve always wanted to continue helping, but we also wanted to respect her wishes.” I nod, unsure of what to say. I’m not certain where he’s going with this at all, unless he’s just allowing me to reflect on my life before he takes it. But what I do know is that I don’t need him to remind me of the choices my mom has made.

I think back to that night, seven years ago, when Mom, all messed up on Percocet and cocaine, completely lost it on the Devoras. She destroyed half of the breakables in our house as they stood shocked in the doorway with freshly made lasagna in one hand and a new book bag for me in the other. She screamed about them taking pity on her… saying that they were trying to prove they were better parents than she was. They reluctantly left me there with her as she continued destroying the rest of the house and subsequently went on a two-week bender. When she came out of it, she ordered me never to see the Devoras again. Seeing as I am head over heels in love with their daughter and always have been, that was never an option. I got pretty good at sneaking around, and my mom was usually too fucked up to know what was happening anyway.

“So, do you know what I’m trying to say?” Mr. Devora’s words tear into my thoughts, and I realize I’ve missed the last part of what he said.

“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t really.” My words are barely audible and I avoid making eye contact with him.

“What I’m saying is, I understand your situation isn’t ideal. Shit, to be perfectly honest, it sucks. You weren’t dealt the best hand in life, but I just want to make sure you never let that dictate your future. It’s easy to fall into a familiar cycle.” I cock my head and do my best to interpret his last words. In my understanding, he just said ‘don’t be a fuck-up like your mom.’ I try my absolute hardest to keep my face from showing how offended I really am, especially coming from him. “There are a lot of good schools in the area and a lot of good programs. Have you thought much about what you’d like to do next?” he asks.

I want to lie and say yes, but I don’t even know what I’d pretend to be interested in, not to mention the fact that I won’t even be here.

“No, I haven’t really figured it out just yet.” I feel foolish saying it, and I can feel his judgmental eyes lumping me in with all the other Tennessee trailer park trash, so I quickly scan my brain for something else—anything that would prove my worth to him. But inevitably, there’s nothing to say but the truth. “I’ll actually be moving to Pennsylvania in the next few days with my mom. So, I’ll have to figure something out up there.”

Mr. Devora’s mouth drops open and he cocks his head to the side as though he’s trying to decide if he heard me right. And then it happens. His brows furrow and his eyes harden, and I get the distinct feeling that this is it. I just pissed off the daddy bear.

Fuck. Diverting my eyes, I search for some way to get out of this conversation … hide under a rock, maybe? Peace Corps? Antarctica exploration? Anything to get me as far away from this man as possible.

“So you’re leaving?”

I nod, and when he stays silent, I take a chance and look up.

“It’s your mom, isn’t it?” His words throw me off because I was expecting him to be pissed at me. But judging by the tone of his voice, he’s pissed for me.