Page 93 of No More Words

Dwight’s head had lurched back with the impact of Lucas’s fist. He stumbled backward.

Lucas advanced, throwing the second punch.

“That’s for cheating on Mom.”

Dwight had dropped onto the chair, his momentum tipping it over. He crashed to the floor and his old man’s legs flipped over his head until he lay sprawled on the ground. He started laughing maniacally.

“Shut up,” Lucas growled.

Dwight lifted his head. “I’m the cheater? That what she told you? She’s been cheating on me since we married.” He laughed again, his forehead dropping back to the floor.

“Stop lying.” Lucas flipped Dwight onto his back. He squeezed Dwight’s throat, out of control. “You’re a sick motherfucker.” Charlotte would never cheat. Dwight’s affairs tore her up.

“What are you doing?” Dwight gargled. He inhaled a ragged breath, struggling for air. He clawed at Lucas’s hand.

“Remember when I was attacked in juvie? Remember when you wouldn’t press charges? You wanted everything to go away? Well, it’s your turn to go away.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Dwight gasped.

“Need to knock some sense into you. Maybe you’ll remember then.”

This one’s for me.

He punched him again. Gratification pulled his mouth into a sneer. Years Dwight held back his love until Lucas, humiliated, stopped asking and acting out for it.

“Don’t fucking come home. Ever. When Mom sends you the divorce papers, sign them,” Lucas ordered, spittle raining on Dwight’s face.

The last thing Lucas recalls before coming to in his truck was pummeling Dwight’s face. He was shaking all over, sitting in his truck, parked on the side of the road. It was half-past three in the morning, so he’d only blacked out a couple hours.

He reached for the gym towel in the back seat and soaked it with water, emptying the plastic bottle. It bounced to the floor. He wiped the blood off his hands and almost threw the soiled towel out the window.

That’s evidence.

The warning seethes in his head.

He stuffed the towel into his gym bag and threw open his door. He needed air.

The night was cool and he was sweating. He fanned his shirt. God, his back was on fire.

With a grunt, he twisted his torso to ease the ache. A car passed, its headlights splashing across the small valley below. Metal and glass reflected the light, winking at him like a joker card.

Shaken about what he might find, he leaned over the side railing to get a better look. He couldn’t see a thing. He turned on his phone’s flashlight, directing the beam below, and stumbled against his truck. He almost dropped his phone over the side.

Fresh sweat dripped into his eyes. Sick fear knotted his throat.

Dwight’s car was down there.

How the hell did it get there? When had he left Dwight’s hotel?

He didn’t have the answers but his gut told him he’s the reason Dwight crashed.

Panic pushed him back into the truck. Desperation had him firing the engine and gunning the gas. At the last second, he eased up on the pedal so he wouldn’t burn rubber.

They’ll track the make of your tires.

Dots would be connected.

With forced calm, Lucas eased from the roadside and left the scene.