Page 22 of Almost Beautiful (Beautiful 3)

Parker swallowed, and then rolled up the window halfway. “Pussy car? How about your pussy dog?! Nice sweater!”

“This dog takes shits bigger than you.”

“She’s going to leave you, Travis. Abby’s going to realize what she’s done, the new is going to wear off, and she’s going to leave you, and I want to see that arrogant smile wiped right off your face when she does.”

I took a step forward, my muscles tensed and ready like they were just before a fight in The Circle. I knew if I threw one punch I wouldn’t stop, but in that moment killing Parker was the only thing that was going to make me feel better.

“Get out of your fucking car. Right now.”

Parker hid himself behind the dark tint of the window, and then drove away.

I stood with my hands in fists, my entire body trembling with anger. Toto nuzzled his nose against my jeans, and I looked down. Adrenaline absorbed back into my system as my gaze fell to his expectant eyes.

He was cold before we began our walk; now he was shivering like I was. He sniffed and kicked back a few tufts of grass like he owned the place.

I smiled. “Yeah. You woulda destroyed those skinny ankles. Pussy dog, my ass.”

I scooped him up and took him inside. The second I set him down, he trotted off to my bedroom, probably curling up on his bed for his afternoon nap.

I grabbed my wallet, phone, and keys, and headed out the door and down the stairs, sliding behind the wheel of the Camry. Even though I inhaled to breathe in the new car smell as deeply as I could, anxiety washed over me. My knuckles turned white under the pressure of my grip on the steering wheel.

Abby’s last class wasn’t over for another hour, and I was itching to vent about Brandon and Parker. Something white caught my eye, and I looked down between the seats. I reached down, fishing out the envelope that contained my mom’s letter to my future wife; to Abby. I gently set it on the passenger seat, and put the gear into reverse and backed out, driving toward Dad’s.

The streets on the way to the home where I grew up were filled with potholes and lined with dilapidated houses with broken down vehicles sitting in the yards. Dad’s placed wore chipped paint and broken porch boards and shutters, but it was where I threw my first punch and caught my first fist in the mouth.

That overgrown grass was where Thomas used to hold me back so my brothers wouldn’t beat my ass because I wouldn’t give up. And where Trenton would try to mow down anything standing between him and me—even Thomas.

I smiled as I turned into the drive, the gravel crunching beneath the tires.

Dad pushed open the screen door and rested his hands on his round middle, watching me approach the porch with an appreciative smile on his face. “Well, well,” he said. “I didn’t think I’d see you around here for a while.”

“I’m three miles away,” I said, climbing the steps to the weather worn wooden slats that made up the porch.

Dad patted me on the shoulder, and I brought him in for a hug.

“Your mom and I didn’t leave the house for three weeks after the wedding.”

“Dad,” I scolded. My face twisted into disgust, and I stepped past him into the living room to the couch.

Dad chuckled, closing the door behind us. “This weather is a son-of-a-bitch,” he grumbled. He took a peek outside the small glass square near the top of the front door, and then shook his head, waddling to his recliner.

He sat on the edge, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. “Whatcha got there?” He gestured to the white envelope in my hand.

I lifted it a few inches, surprised at how nervous I felt.

Dad didn’t talk about Mom a lot. Not that he tried not to, but I could still see the emptiness in his eyes—the same way I would feel if I ever lost Abby.

“It’s a letter.”

“The, uh, the one Mom left you?”

I nodded. “I gave it to Abby before the wedding.”

“I’d hoped you’d remember.”

“I did.”

“Good,” he said, clearing his throat. “Good.”