Dub
It was Valentine’s Day, and Dub’s heart was broken.
Since he’d moved in with his mother, he’d only been able to contact Jenna once. He couldn’t risk calling her from his mother’s phone and having someone track him down, and he didn’t have enough money to buy a prepaid phone. He’d walked all around the neighborhood and finally found a pay phone inside an old laundromat down the street.
He’d tried her cell number first, but it went straight to voicemail. He’d gotten the Seavers’ home number from information and tried that next, crossing his fingers that Jenna would answer.
She had.
It hadn’t been easy to talk over the thunk-thunk-thunk of someone’s heavy towels in a nearby dryer, but at least he’d been able to tell her how much he missed her. She’d cried on the phone, which only made him feel worse. He’d hoped they’d be able to sneak away, maybe meet up in a park somewhere, but her parents had grounded her and taken away her cell phone when they found recent selfies of the two of them in her camera roll. Jenna’s parents didn’t think Dub was good enough for their daughter. They were probably right. Jenna deserved the best, not some juvenile delinquent who’d been caught burglarizing houses and in possession of crystal meth.
And now he was a dropout, too. When he’d left his life in Fairmount behind, he’d had to cut all ties with Trent and Wes and had stopped going to school, where his foster fathers or CPS or the police could have easily found him. He couldn’t protect his mother if he were rounded up and taken back to Gainesville or a foster home or a detention facility. He knew that. But it didn’t mean he was happy with this decision. Hell, it didn’t mean he was happy at all.
He was only doing his duty.
After calling Jenna, he’d placed a quick call to Wes and Trent, dialing their home number rather than calling their cell phones because he didn’t really want to talk to them. It would be too hard. He’d left a message on their answering machine that was half lie, half truth.
I liked living with you two. But I think it’s best if I go back to my family in Memphis. Thanks for everything, and … I’m really, really sorry.
He hoped the message would throw them—and anyone else who might be looking for him—off track. He also wondered how they’d reacted, whether anyone had searched his room. Had they found the brass knuckles he’d hidden? God, he hoped not. The things were illegal in Texas. But you could buy anything online. They’d wonder why he had them, whether he’d ever used them …
Damn, he was miserable. But just because he was miserable didn’t mean he couldn’t make his mother happy. He had twelve dollars in his wallet. Why not go get her a little something to celebrate the day, surprise her when she arrived home from work tonight? Other than the cards he’d made in elementary school, he couldn’t remember anyone ever giving her anything for Valentine’s Day.
He left the apartment and walked down the street to the grocery store. Weird how warm it was outside. But that was north Texas weather for you. One minute you were freezing your butt off, the next minute you were hotter than hell.
When he reached the store, he looked over the special display of Valentine’s gifts at the front.
Flowers.
Bath oils.
Wine.
Nah. He’d stick with candy. His mother looked so much better with some meat on her bones. She could stand to add a little more.
As he looked over the various boxes of candy, he scratched at the tufts of hair on his cheeks and chin. Dang, it itched. But he knew the facial hair made him look older, tougher. It would also make it harder for anyone to recognize him if the police or social workers came looking. No sense spending any of his money on a razor or shaving cream.
After thinking things over, he chose the most expensive box of candy he could afford, a $10.99 box of assorted chocolates that came to $11.90 with tax. He took the dime from the cashier and slid it into a charity box with a photo of a sick, bald kid on it. Maybe he didn’t have it so bad, after all.
As he walked back to the apartment, dark clouds formed in the sky. The wind seemed to be picking up, too, blowing plastic bags and trash and grit around, shaking the trees. Looked like bad weather was on the way.
He tucked the candy heart under his arm and picked up the pace. No sense getting caught in the rain.