Page 2 of Reaper
I shake my head. “No. He hasn’t been right since Mama died, and he’s got that heart thing that bugs him whenever he’s stressed.”
Reaper rolls his eyes to the side as though he has things to say, but he’s choosing not to say them.
“I know how ridiculous my life is. You don’t have to tell me.”
He shrugs. “I’m just here to take you to the feed store.”
I scratch Red on the nose before stepping through the tall double doors into the sunlight. From this spot, the front porch on the house is empty and reality is clearer than ever. I hate it down here.
Down here, my mother is dead. Down here, she’s not baking a pie. Down here, my father is depressed. Down here, I’m in a prison.
My stomach turns at the thought of how many years I’ve wasted. I should have a life, a story of my own. Instead, I’m here, in perpetual childhood, placating to a man who I’m pretty sure will lose his mind and possibly have a heart attack if I leave.
Reaper lands his hand on my back. It’s big and even through the cotton of my dress, I can feel how rough it is as his palm snags the fabric. “I’ll talk to your dad. You should get your license.”
It’s sad that someone has to talk to my dad about me getting a license. “Trust me, it’s a wasted effort. I talked to him about it last week and he went into one of those breathing things that he has. We had to call the ambulance, and he spent four hours in the emergency room.”
“So, you’re just going to do whatever he says until he dies? I love the man, but that’s insane, little cat.”
My thighs ache when he calls me little cat. Maybe it’s because I’ve been void of all affection for so long. Sometimes at night, I fantasize about the things Reaper could do to me. Dirty things. Things I shouldn’t be thinking about.
“Yeah,” I laugh, “I think that might be the plan.”
“That’s a shit plan,” Reaper laughs under his breath. “Let me talk some sense into him for you. He can hire someone for help.”
“It’s not that. He doesn’t want to hire anyone. He lost Mama and now he’s afraid to lose me. When I assert any kind of independence, he just has an episode.”
Reaper narrows his brows and stares at me. “You think maybe he’s doing it on purpose?”
“Wow, some friend you are,” I laugh.
“Seriously though, we both know your dad can be dramatic. He loses it at the slightest inconvenience. Maybe he needs a reality check.”
“And you’re going to be the guy to give it to him? No thanks. Survivor is on tonight and I don’t want to end up in the hospital. It’s the last episode before the finale and all this crazy shit is going down.” I glance toward his bike. “You know what I do want, though?”
“What’s that?”
“A ride on your bike.”
He lifts his brows and brushes his hand down over his beard. “Yeah right. Can’t bring baby chicks back on a bike. You said so yourself.”
“So, take me for a spin and then we’ll stop back and grab the truck.” My tone is pleading. “Come on. It looks fun. I never get to leave this property. I need twenty minutes of freedom.” I’m not sure what’s come over me, but the second I see his motorcycle, I know I have to leave on it.
He stares toward me and then toward my father, who’s out in the far field plowing. “I don’t know, little cat.”
I glance toward the tractor. “He’s far enough out that he won’t even notice we’re gone. Twenty minutes. I deserve something fun, right?” I pout my lip playfully. “You said so yourself. Plus, tomorrow is my birthday. So…”
“Tomorrow is not your birthday!” he groans. “You forget I’ve known you forever?”
I grin. “I didn’t think you were paying that close attention.”
He rolls his eyes. “Get on, but you’re wearing the helmet.”
“You don’t wear a helmet!”
“I don’t wear a helmet because I know what I’m doing. You’re wearing a helmet, because if anything happens to you, it’ll kill your father.”
“You’re the one driving. If you know what you’re doing, why do I need a helmet?”