Page 110 of Five Brothers

I’ll be a grandfather before Trace is ever married. I’m not the immature one.

I speed onto the street and stop, seeing Milo’s taillights glow bright red to my left down the lane. He turns, disappearing, and I jerk the wheel, racing after him.

Fat raindrops land like darts on the windshield, and I kick on the wipers, trying to find him in the distance.

There are several cars ahead of me.

“So, what’s going on?” Dallas asks.

“Just a little deterrence.”

I had to get him out of her house. If I’d stayed the night, I would’ve let him stew, but since I was leaving, he had to, as well.

Dallas points ahead. “There he is.”

I change lanes, going around an SUV, and stop at the light, Milo in the next lane, two cars head.

“They see us,” he says.

Milo adjusts his sideview mirror until he meets my eyes. “They’re gonna speed,” I warn Dallas.

I can’t. Not on this side of the tracks.

“If we’re lucky, they’ll get into an accident,” I say.

He chuckles. “These kinds of games aren’t like you.”

“Yeah, she’s driving me nuts.”

I say it before I can stop myself.

I’ve been thinking about her for a while. I shouldn’t have asked her to go to the strip club. It’s somewhere you go with a woman you’ve been with for a while for a fun night out, maybe. Not someone you want to fall in love with you. Someone you want to impress.

The light turns green, and Milo shoots off, speeding like his parents sit on the town council.

I punch the gas pedal, keeping my eyes peeled and accelerating faster and faster.

The rain is like rivers pouring down the windshield, and I speed up the wipers and tighten my fist on the wheel. Milo’s headlights blur through the rain.

“Just stay next to me,” I tell Dallas, “and don’t cause any bullshit.”

“He deserves to disappear,” he fires back.

Yeah, but I’m not orphaning my son by going to jail for this asshole.

I squint, trying to see through the windshield in the dark and the storm. “Fuck, it’s thick,” I gripe.

He halts at a stop sign, I’m two cars behind, and I watch him turn left.

I smile as the car between us follows him, and I approach the sign, getting ready to stop.

But Dallas yells, “Go!”

I bolt through the stop sign, but I don’t turn left, followingMilo. Instead, I spin the wheel right and hit the gas, firing down the street, the pavement going from smooth to broken in an instant. Water splashes up as I race through puddles, Dallas and I bouncing inside the truck.

There’s one road into Sanoa Bay, two converging into that one. Saints usually stick to the freshly paved street that takes them past the tourist-ridden wetlands and the airboat and fishing recreation bullshit, avoiding this nearly abandoned street altogether.

We hit a pothole, Dallas grabbing the handle above his door as he catches air, and I press my back into the seat to stabilize myself.