Chapter 3
“I think it’s miraculous that anybody survives themselves.” - Robert Downey Jr.
“Bryce Slater?” the deputy at the county jail barked from just outside the holding cell, “Your bail’s been paid. Front and center.”
I leapt up from the hard cot I’d been stretched out on, and ran a hand through my tousled hair. A feeling of dread enveloped me because I knew what I was about to walk into was going to be much worse than what I was leaving.
I wasn’t about to let my parents see that I was uptight about any of this shit. What the fuck? Police raid on a freaking spring break party?
Busting high school seniors, how lame was that?
And so what? Some underage drinking; a bit of weed, what the hell?
I sauntered out of the cell as soon as he pressed the electronic button that unlocked the cell door and followed him down the corridor. There was yet another electronic door we had to pass through, and then a hallway with a swinging door that led out into the reception area. I was the last one to be bailed out. No doubt my parents had managed that by design. I’m sure they wanted to teach me a lesson. Give me a bit of tough love sprinkled with scared straight.
Yeah, I don’t think so.
The cops hadn’t issued me a warning like I’d demanded.
“No such luck, lover boy,” the cop had responded as I’d pulled my jeans up and buttoned the fly. “You’re eighteen. It’s the big, scary house for you. Let’s go,” he barked as he ordered me to put my hands behind my back so that he could cuff me like some dangerous mother-fucking criminal.
“Oh my God!” Mandy had screamed when the cops barged into the kitchen just after we’d finished. I’d been trying like hell to scrape the ripped condom off my dick so I could get rid of it, and she’d been pulling her panties up when they’d made their presence known. “My dad is going to totally freak. He’s gonna whip my ass.” And then she proceeded to have the second meltdown of the night.
Chicks.
Too many freaking emotions for my taste.
As I stood waiting for my old man to sign my release sheet, I didn’t make eye contact with anyone. But my peripheral vision was keen, and I could see my mother dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. A soft sob escaped her lips.
“It’s gonna be okay, babe,” my father assured her before he turned to glare at me. “Let’s go boy. We’re going to have a man-to-man when we get home.”
“Tight,” I muttered, following them out into the crisp morning chill of early April.
The ride home was done in total silence which was fine by me. I even managed to doze off for a few minutes being that I didn’t get much sleep after the deputy dumped me in that stinking holding cell. It had reeked of piss and puke.
Once inside the house, I started up the stairs towards my room when my father’s voice bellowed up to me. “Get your fucking ass down here, Bryce! I said we’re going to talk, and that’s exactly what we’re going to do… now!”
I turned and shuffled back downstairs, not missing the fact that his blue eyes, the ones that matched mine, had darkened to an intensity that rivaled thunder clouds. It was his own damn shade of pissed. And my father’s anger, more often than not, was directed at me.
I collapsed down on the sofa, and propped my legs up on the coffee table. “Let’s have it,” I mumbled, half-heartedly stifling a yawn.
“You’ve got a real ugly attitude going on there, don’t you son?”
“You tell me, Dad.”
“Bryce,” my mother interjected softly, her voice quivering a bit, which honestly, did twist my gut for some reason, “can you please tell us why you continue to… to act out like this? Have we somehow failed you?”
God, I hated when she got all teary-eyed over small shit like this. Why did my mother choose to believe that my fuck-ups, big or small, were somehow a product of her failure to do this or that? Why couldn’t they just accept the fact that I wasn’t some replicant programmed to be the perfect son? The follower in my dad’s footsteps? The willing participant in the life they so obviously had choreographed for me?
“Mom,” I said with a sigh, “it was just a party. What’s the big deal about some booze and some weed? It’s not like you two probably didn’t do your fair share of it at my age. Oh—that’s right. I forgot. You were already knocked up and married by this time, weren’t you, Mom?”
Immediately my dad was on his feet and standing inches from me. His eyes were nearly black with rage. Just as he was about haul me up, my mother’s words stopped him. “Eric, no!” she cried, “We promised each other, remember? Let him push our buttons. He only gets satisfaction when we react to it. Remember what Taz said, honey.”
My father stepped back, and crossed his arms, taking a defensive pose, but he made no move to sit back down.
I snickered. “Ah, I see you brought the family shrink into the mix. Damn, I feel special,” I replied with a smirk.
My older, half-sister Lindsey had married my father’s best friend, and former FBI partner, Taz Matthews. Taz now taught at the academy. He was a Ph.D. All in all, he was a pretty cool dude, but I couldn’t help making a jab at the fact they’d obviously consulted with him about what to do with their oldest son.
“Bryce Eric Slater,” my mother continued, “You will not continue to disrespect your father, your brother or me. We’ve reached our limit with you. We love you, but we will no longer be enablers of the lifestyle you’ve chosen to bring into our home. It isn’t fair to the rest of us.”
My father now got into the spiel. “We’ve made arrangements for you once you graduate–if you graduate,” he corrected, putting the emphasis on the word if. “Your grades obviously aren’t acceptable to most of the area colleges, and you’ve made it abundantly clear you aren’t interested in a higher education anyway, so with Taz’s help, we’ve found a job for you.”
“A job?” I asked, now wondering just what the hell they had in store for me. “I’m not going into the military, Dad. I’ve told you that repeatedly.”
My dad scoffed at the very notion. “Hah,” he said derisively, “They want a few good men, son. I don’t think you qualify.”
“Thank fuck.”
“Watch your mouth!” he bellowed, tossing me a glare. The tick in his cheek was prominent. Yeah, he was near his limit I could tell. I remained silent; suddenly interested to see just what their plan was for me.
“After graduation at the end of May, you will be going to work on a horse ranch in Bristol, Virginia. An old friend of Taz’s family has agreed to put you on the payroll. You’ll live and work there.”
“For how long?” I asked.
“At a minimum, until you pay off your fine for your latest infraction, and court costs. We aren’t covering it. After that, as long as you want. You just might like it.”
All in all, it didn’t sound half bad, but there had to be some kind of catch. I knew my old man. He wasn’t going to let me off the hook that damn easy. Why send me away? I could pay off the legal crap flipping burgers locally. “So, what kind of job will I have? I don’t know crap about horses,” I remarked.
“Since you’ve got an aversion to using your brain, Bryce, no worries, I assure you. You’ll use your brawn from dawn to dusk. Cleaning stalls, shoveling horse shit, washing them down, and anything else you’re ordered to do there.”
And there it was. Shoveling horse shit was the catch. I scoffed at the notion. “What? Oh hell no. No way.”
And then my father’s face was mere inches from mine. His eyes locked with mine, and a snarl erupted from him as he ground out his next words.
“Oh hell yes,” he growled, “Because here’s the deal I worked out with the local authorities. You don’t agree to this plan, and you’re going to be facing charges as an adult for your behavior at that party. You’re gonna get charged with everything from possession of marijuana to indecent exposure to littering. You agree to this deal, you get charged with disorderly conduct, which is a minor misdemeanor that you can have wiped from your record in a year. That is, if you can stay out of trouble for that long. That remains to be seen. With everybody doing background checks these days even for minimum wage jobs, trust me, that’s gotta be worth something–even to you. So, that’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”
My first inclination was to say, “Fuck that, I don’t give a damn.” Or to tell him I at least needed to think about it if not to simply yank his chain. But I’d never seen the old man so furious, and I was stupid to press my luck any further. Besides, if I didn’t accept the deal it’d be biting off my nose to spite my face.
My father had used his position to make this deal, and even though the charges would all be misdemeanors, I knew that having multiples at the same time would make them unexpungeable. Fuck that. I didn’t need that kind of negative shit following me around for the rest of my life.
My old man had me; that was obvious. I wasn’t about to let him think he’d won though.
“You know. That just might be dope. It will at least get me out from under your watchful eye. I can hang.”
“Well that’s good to know, Bryce,” my father replied, “Oh and until then? Yeah, we’ve taken your car and are storing it at an undisclosed location. You’ll get it back… when you turn your life around. That’s up to you.”
“What?” I yelled. He now had my full attention. “How am I expected to get to and from school?”
“The bus. Just like Sidney does,” my mother answered, referring to my douche bag younger brother who was a freshman.
Oh hell to the fucking no.
“Well what about when I’m in wherever-it-was Virginia?”
“You won’t need wheels there, son. Everything you need is right there or within walking distance.”
“That seriously blows,” I blurted, totally pissed at the fact that he appeared so smug and righteous as he towered over me.
I stood up so that we were now facing one another as equals–in height anyway. “Is that all? Can I go to my room now, or do you have any more punishment you want to lay on me?”
“That’s it. Well, except it goes without saying you’re grounded. School and home. That’s the extent of your life for the next six weeks.”
“Got it,” I snapped, making my exit from the living room and heading up the stairs. I managed to hear my mother’s parting comment, although I refused to acknowledge it.
“We really do love you, Bryce. We want you to succeed, don’t you get that?”