Ethan looks up and he arches his eyebrows at the car. “What the fuck is that thing?”

“It was the cheapest one at the rental place.” I sit down on the steps next to him and stretch out my legs in front of me. “Is he inside?”

“Yeah, he passed out on the couch as soon as I got him home.” He puts his phone away and rolls up the sleeves of his gray Henley, revealing his extensive tattoos.

“You got a new one.” I point to a tattoo of a quote written in Latin.

Nodding, he touches the lines with his finger. “A couple weeks ago.”

Staring at Micha’s house next door, I ask, “How bad was he to get out of the bar?”

He tips his head forward, looking down at the ground, and his black hair falls into his face. “He was kind of a pain in the ass to get here. He took a swing at Denny when we were taking him out to the car.”

I slump back, resting my elbows on the step behind me. “I’m sorry you had to go get him. I just couldn’t think of anyone else to call.”

“I’m not mad that I had to. I’m mad that you had to come all the way here to take care of him.” He sounds uncomfortable.

“What?” Confusion swarms my brain.

He fiddles with a frayed area on the knee of his jeans. “I think it’s bullshit when the kids have to act like the parents.”

“Are we talking about me still?” I ask, eyeing him over. “Or is there something else you’d like to share… like something that’s going on with you.”

“I’m good.” He nudges me with his shoulder. “It’s a story for another time.”

“But you never share your stories,” I remind him.

“Neither do you,” he retorts. “Except for with Micha.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I unintentionally say aloud and he shoots me a funny look. “Never mind. I’m going to go check on my dad and then maybe we could go get something to eat. My treat for your having to come deal with this crap.”

“Is that really a treat?” he jokes with a sarcastic smirk. “Eating dinner with you?”

I make a face and walk into the kitchen, and the screen door slams shut behind me. Particles of dust float in the air and I fan my hand in front of my face. “God, it smells like a dead animal in here.”

“That’s because no one ever cleaned up before I left.” My dad appears in the doorway, wearing a baggie green T-shirt and jeans with grease spots on them. His skin has gotten a little color since the last time I saw him and he looks somewhat younger, but his eyes are bloodshot just like they used to be. He’s not wasted, but hungover, which can be equally as explosive.

“I thought I did clean up.” I glance around at the brown countertops, still stacked with vodka and tequila bottles and the table piled with overdue bills. “Dad, why did you leave rehab?”

He slumps down into a chair at the kitchen table with his shoulders hunched over and his head falls into his hands. “They tried to get me to talk about your mother.”

I grow uneasy with the situation. “I’m sure that was hard for you, but running away won’t solve the problem. It’ll only make it worse. Trust me, I know.”

“Trust you.” He raises his head and rubs his scruffy jawline. “Trust you like I trusted you to watch your mother that night.” He repeats the words he said to me when we tried to get him to go to rehab.

It’s like I’ve been punched in the gut and I press my hand to my stomach, forcing my lungs to work. “I’m sorry.”

His eyes widen and he quickly gets to his feet, toppling the chair to the ground. “Ella, I didn’t mean that. Sometimes I just say things… and I don’t know why I do.”

“It’s okay.” Just like my therapist told me to do, I breathe through the internal pain as I back for the door. “I’m going to go get some dinner. Do you want anything?”

He shakes his head and his eyes water over. “Ella, I really didn’t mean it.”

“I know you didn’t.” I burst out the back door and suck in a deep breath of fresh air.

Ethan glances up at me and then stands to his feet. “I was thinking the Drive-Inn and we can take my truck because there’s no way in hell I’m climbing into that clown car.”

I could hug him right now, but I don’t. “Sounds good to me.”

We sit in his truck eating French fries and hamburgers with the neon lights flashing into the cab. Ethan is checking out one of the waitresses who is bending over to take the order of the car next to us. It’s been quiet between the two of us.

“You heard what he said to me, didn’t you?” I finally ask, stirring the ranch dressing with a fry.

He picks a pickle off his hamburger, pulling a face as he tosses it out onto the tray secured to the window. “I didn’t hear much. Besides, it’s not something I haven’t heard before.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.” I chew my fry, scanning his eyes for an explanation.

“I’m saying parents suck.”

“Care to elaborate.”

“Not really.”

When it grows quiet again, he puffs out an irritated breath. “You remember back in, like, second grade how I used to come to school all the time with bruises on me?”

I take a sip of my soda and put it back in the holder. “Wasn’t that the year you broke your arm?”

“That among other things.” His forehead creases as he spaces off, staring out the windshield. “That year my dad got addicted to painkillers and he was always pissed off about something… anything. And he liked to take it out on my brothers, me, my mom—basically whoever he could.”

It clicks what he’s saying. “I didn’t know that… I’m sorry.”

“No one does. Not even Micha.” He balls up the wrapper of his burger and tosses it out onto the tray. “So yeah, I get that parents can be douche bags to their kids, but in our cases, it was—is more because of the addiction than their actual feelings.”

I’m not sure what to say other than thanks.

He tosses an empty cup of fry sauce onto the tray and the heaviness in the cab clears. “You owe me big time, not only for picking up your father but for sharing. I hate doing that.”

“Ha-ha.” I hand him my garbage and his smile expands across his face.

To the side of us, a blue Camaro rolls up, revving the engine. Mikey is in the driver’s seat, bumping his head to the music that’s blaring out from the stereo. All the feelings of when he made Micha crash his Chevelle into the tree rush through me.

“Fucking asshole,” Ethan mutters under his breath as he starts up the engine and lets it roar, pumping the gas.

I roll my eyes at him. “What are you doing? You’re in a truck.”

“It’s got a Hemi in it,” he says in a fake Southern accent. “And do you know he goes around bragging about winning that race?”

“Why the heck is Grantford Davis in there with Mikey?” I ask with shock, staring at the back window of the Camaro. “I thought they hated each other?”

Ethan starts to laugh. “Grantford is Mikey’s little bitch now due to a lost race. He basically has to do whatever Mikey says. It was part of the bet.”

Micha would be thrilled if he knew that. He always blamed Grantford for the night on the bridge, even though I don’t. However, it still makes me smile seeing Grantford in the back with his cowboy hat on and a miserable look on his face.

I tap my fingers on the console while Mikey yells something foul at us from over his music.

“You have a look on your face like you’re about to get us into trouble.” He slurps the rest of his drink and drops it out onto the tray.

“I feel like starting a little bit of trouble. In fact, I need to.” Eyeing Mikey through the tinted window, I pick up my half-full shake. “Do you remember that time we were driving down Main Street and I threw that shake on the windshield of that parked car because Micha dared me to.”

“You want to relive that?” The yellow lights on the marque illuminate in his brown eyes. “Because if I remember right, we got into some deep shit for that—Micha and I got our asses kicked.”

“We won’t for this,” I assure him. “And anyway, I’m not going to throw it on his car. I’m going to throw it in his open window and right on his lap.” He stays quiet, rubbing his hand across his jawline and I add, “Are you in or out?”

“Of course I’m in. I’m always in.” He lowers his hand onto the steering wheel. “I’m just thinking of the best way to ditch him when he tries to chase us down.”

I glance over at Mikey, hollering at one of the waitress on roller skates. “You think he will?”

Ethan grasps the shifter. “Maybe… he’s got his friends with him.”

I start to roll my window down. “Does it really matter if he does? I know for a fact you can kick his ass.”

He nods. “True, but he’s got Danny Farren in the car and that guy’s fucking huge.”

I withdraw my hand from the window. “Do you not want me to do it?”

“No, do it,” he says as the waitress comes up to collect the tray from the window and Ethan drops down a few dollars for a tip. “We’ll just have to drive until we ditch him… Oh yes, I fucking got it. I’ll ramp the truck over the turnout hill. His Camaro will never be able to get over it unless he wants to bottom out his car.”

“Just try not to kill us.” I roll down the window and wave my fingers at Mikey.

His eyebrows dip together. “What the hell are you doing here? I thought you ran away or some shit.”

Gripping the cup in my hand, I stick my head out the window. “I went to school. You know a place where you learn… Oh wait, you probably don’t.”

“Just do it,” Ethan coughs in his hand. “And let’s bail.”