Me and Aaron.
“You were well worth the wait,” he whispers against my hair, and I snort.
“I could say the same to you,” I murmur as he wraps his fingers in my hair and encourages me to pull my head back for a kiss. Our mouths meet, and I swear to god, he tastes like happy endings and heartbreak both at the same time. “Don’t you dare leave me again, Aaron Fadler,” I warn him, touching the side of his face as he turns to press his lips against my palm. “I mean it.”
“If I have any control over my fate, Bernadette Blackbird, I promise that I’ll never leave you again.”
Aaron and I take our time smoking a joint and eating our food. We even put in another order for dessert, and our bitchy ass waitress brings over two sundaes shoved into plastic cups and covered in molten hot fudge.
“I think I burned my tongue off,” Aaron tells me, glancing my way as he starts up the Bronco. I grin back at him as I dig at the bottom of my cup for the last few nibbles of peanuts and ice cream. “But it was worth it.”
“So worth it,” I agree, trying to keep my face neutral. “And I don’t just mean the sundaes and the fudge. I’m in desperate need of a shower.” Aaron chuckles at me, his gaze sweeping over me as I glance back at him. We are not done tonight, not even close.
Victor stays the whole time, sitting on one of the picnic tables in front of the spot where his bike is parked. Pretty sure he’s watching over us which, unsurprisingly, makes me like him more. He leaves me and Aaron alone; he keeps watch.
That’s how Havoc is supposed to fucking work.
We might actually be able to wing this thing, huh?
Vic doesn’t bother to get on his bike and leave until he sees we’re doing the same.
Aaron brings the Bronco to a stop at the edge of the parking lot and then pauses, turning his head to look left, out his partially cracked window.
“What the actual fuck?” he asks as I crane my neck to see what he’s staring at. “Is that the Thing’s partner?” Aaron takes his time at the stop sign, and the other cars behind us wait their fucking turn.
They know who the ‘96 Ford Bronco belongs to.
I set my empty ice cream cup in the cup holder and then scoot forward for a better look.
Sure enough, there’s Sara Young, unmistakable with her bright blond hair and petite white face. She’s sitting in a maroon-colored Subaru with the headlights off, eating a burger. She’s not looking at us right now, but I can’t imagine a cop who lives in the Fuller area of Springfield goes out of her way to visit the southside grease pit known as Wesley’s.
Trust me.
If a cop started frequenting this place, we would all know.
“Do you think she’s following us?” I ask, but Aaron just turns back to the windshield with his lips pursed into a thin line. He says nothing as we very carefully pull out of the parking lot and onto the dirt road that cuts between two empty pieces of property. I saw the word property very loosely; these lots are nothing but shrubs, broken glass bottles, and graffiti proclaiming this to be Havoc territory.
“I would say …” Aaron starts as we finally hit the paved road that leads back into the suburbs between Fuller and Prescott where his house is. Headlights turn behind us, keeping a careful distance. It’s the motherfucking Subaru. “Yes. Jesus fucking Christ. Call Vic.”
I pull my phone out and dial up our fearless leader.
He doesn’t answer on the first ring—probably because he’s on the Harley. But he calls me back less than a minute later.
“Talk to me, baby,” he says, making my stomach muscles tighten in appreciation of that rumbling voice.
“We need to untangle a mare’s nest,” I say carefully, unsure as to how much I should say here. There are plenty of ways for someone to pick up on our phone conversation if they really wanted to. “And we need to do it before we get home.” I’m hoping he catches the meaning in my words as I lick my lips. They still taste like Aaron, like cherry cola and teenage fucking dreams. “Anything you need from the store before we get there?”
“Ah,” Vic says with a deep chuckle. It vibrates my body, even over the phone and separated as we are. “Tell Aaron he should take you mudding. Makes for a fun date. I’ll see you when you get here. Stay safe, princess.”
He hangs up before I can metaphorically bite his dick off for calling me princess again.
“He says you should take me mudding,” I tell Aaron, my voice clearly showing that I have no idea what this backup plan means. Aaron smiles tightly and nods, pulling into an empty parking lot to turn around. Within two minutes, Sara Young is behind us again.
“I can’t wait for you to see this,” Aaron tells me, taking us through some seedy back areas of South Prescott—by seedy, I mean like prostitutes on every corner and people passed out with needles in their arms—and over to the racetrack. It hasn’t been in proper use since the late fifties, but the local kids keep it up and running all on their own. Sometimes Prescott guys come here to race classic cars.
The most famous racer of all of them though is Scarlett Force, a girl who graduated just a year before the guys and I started at Prescott High. She’s made a legend of herself, as famous for her cars and her racing prowess as she was for seriously dating three men all at once.
You go, girl.
“Okay, this I can’t wait to see,” I say as Aaron flashes a grin that in any other school in the state would grant him the title King of the Cocky Assholes.
“Put that seatbelt on, Bern, and I’ll fucking show you.” Aaron hits the gas, sending the Bronco through the gate (that’s really just an opening as the actual gate has been missing for years) and onto the property. There’s a small driveway to the right that cuts through what used to be the stands for the crowd.
We blast through that and skid onto the track. Since it’s December, and it’s rainy as fuck in Oregon, the dirt track is filled with potholes and mud puddles. We don’t make it five seconds before we hit the first one and the windshield is spattered in mud.
I lean forward and put my hands on the dash as Aaron takes us around the track, hitting every bump and sending the Bronco flying. My stomach ends up with wings, fluttering into my throat as we hop up and crash down like we’re on a rollercoaster. Aaron lets out a whoop and turns the music up; “Tears Don’t Fall” by Bullet For My Valentine is playing now, like a soundtrack for our quickie date.
On the far side of the track, Aaron slows slightly and rolls down my window.
“Do you see her?” he asks, the sharp sound of his words cutting through the music. This part of the racetrack dips much lower than the starting line where the stands are. It’s easy to see the parking lot from here, and to note that Sara Young’s car is, in fact, there with the lights off.
“Yep,” I reply, wetting my suddenly dry lips. We need to lose her without, you know, letting her know that’s what we’re doing. Obviously, I’m sure she could find out where Aaron lived if she really wanted to, but she doesn’t need to know that I’m there tonight. Or that Vic’s there. Or that the other Havoc Boys aren’t.
Best to just leave the cops with as little information as possible.
“Fucking fantastic,” Aaron says, accelerating again and shooting us off the side of the track and into the woods. There’s a cleared path here, one that’s obviously been around for a long time. I’ve never been into the racing scene at Prescott High, so I didn’t know anything about it. Aaron turns his lights off and manages to weave us through the dark of the trees like he’s done this a million times before. Either that, or I guess he’s just a phenomenal driver. I remember him navigating through the dark woods to Principal Vaughn’s cabin; he didn’t use his lights then either.
“What the hell is this?” I ask and Aaron laughs, rolling his head over to look at me with a saucy expression on his beautiful face.
“This is where your grandparents probably came to fuck,” he says, and I make a face as the Bronco emerges from the woods and pulls into an old camping area buried in the woods. The signs are old as fuck and one of them clearly has a metal plaque attached that says Campground Closed. “This used to be the hookup spot before they expanded the Springfield suburban sprawl,” Aaron explains, turning left and snaking up a narrow single-lane road that connects to a neighborhood at the edge of the forest. “You could actually camp here and not see city lights.”
I look out my window at the darkness of the trees as Aaron rolls slowly down the quiet street and turns left again, sending us deep into a pretty Fuller neighborhood. It’s funny to me, because I know the kids who live here, on the outskirts of the neighborhood, are considered the ‘poor’ ones at Fuller High.
“That was fucking cool,” I tell Aaron as he holds out a palm, and I slap him a high-five. Even that small amount of contact makes my hand tingle, and I suck in a sharp breath. “Is that where you guys always go if someone’s following you?”
“Not someone,” Aaron corrects, his eyes equally as focused on the rearview mirror as they are the windshield. He’s watching for Sara. I turn around to look, so he doesn’t have to. “Law enforcement. Most Prescott kids know about the road, so it doesn’t help much there.”
“Well, it looks like it worked on Sara; I don’t see her anywhere.” I twist back around until I’m sitting properly in my seat.
“We do have a rendezvous point around here though,” Aaron says, slowing the Bronco and rolling down my window, so he can point out the twenty-four-hour convenience store on the corner. “They have a bathroom with a steel door, and a lock. If you’re ever on the run, and you need somewhere to hide, try this place. Even if you don’t have access to your phone. If one of us goes missing, we always check here.”
“Yeah?” I ask, feeling sassy as I lean back against the seat and look Aaron over. “And how often does one of you go missing?” Aaron just laughs and shrugs.