Page 92 of Stand: Part One

I scoffed as I steered us around the curving road. “That was a good song you just interrupted.”

“Why? Because it reminded you of Detroit?” he snapped, his tone setting up the trap question.

I shook my head quickly. “No, it’s just a good song,” I reasoned. “There are plenty of songs related to Detroit that I don’t care for. I’m not exactly the biggest Motown fan.”

A dark, seedy look flashed across Darren’s eyes. “Is that so?” he drawled, provocation dripping in his voice. And then a familiar piano solo began to play from the radio, the upbeat nostalgic melody making my stomach twist.

Oh no.

“Still a fan of this song?” he asked, his voice dripping with seedy provocation as he turned the volume back up.

The last time I heard this song…

“Don’t Stop Believin’” by Journey played through the speakers, immersing the cabin with notes of the ’80s and my harrowing regrets from the past. The words about a small town girl who lived in a lonely world was almost haunting.

My eyes shot to Darren’s, the devious expression on his face gleaming with challenge and predatory anticipation. I shook my head at him, unsurprised. He just loved to taunt me with his sadistic cruelty.

You fucking prick.

While the poison from his bait had already soured in my mouth, I dug deeper than I ever had before to channel my greatest inner brat and spit it back out in his stupid smug face.

“Born and raised in SOUTH DETROIT!” I shouted, singing the song with a vicious smile about a midnight train going anywhere.

You would have thought Darren would have been pissed that I’d thwarted his efforts to retraumatize me, but instead of the expected scowl, a wide wolfish grin curled up his lips. Entranced by his surprise reaction, I let it fuel my confidence and sang the rest of the song with vigor and pure fucking spite.

The last time I sang it, a number of scared and helpless young girls sang along with me, filling their lungs with hope and a single molecule of joy. But it had quickly been forced down the drain with firehoses and the gang rape of a friend.

I steered clear of the song when I could, but now that Darren had foolishly forced me to endure it while driving his very expensive custom Ferrari, I reloaded the song with far more satisfying memories.

My heart was elated, my soul no longer encumbered by the burdens of my past sins and selfish mistakes. I literally sang the pain away like it was some kind of inner therapeutic liberation. And fuck, did it feel incredible to have that power again.

When the song finally died down, a triumphant smile absolutely wrecked my face.

“You can’t touch me, cupcake,” I teased Darren, shaking my head, rejuvenated by my victory. “Not in this state of mind. I’m impenetrable.”

Darren hummed a quiet laugh, the cruel sound nothing more than a bad omen promising swift retaliation. But right now, I couldn’t give one single fuck. I won the shit out of this round.

“Now it’s my turn to be proud,” he stated, genuine warmth in his words.

I smirked, surprised by his reaction, but said nothing as “Panama” by Van Halen filtered out the tension in the car.

Darren remained blissfully quiet as we sped down the freeway, his eyes acting as constant surveillance as he observed everything around us—my speed, the cars I flew past, even my relaxed grip on the steering wheel.

Every now and then, I’d catch him frowning, then texting something on his phone. With the music as loud as it was, I hoped it would drown out whatever regrets he likely had about letting me behind the wheel.

My dad had felt the same way when he taught me how to drive. He would sit in the passenger seat with his eyes glued to the road while he voiced every single concern, making sure I was aware of everything he saw.

He knew I was a lead foot and a bit reckless on my dirt bike, but after a few rides, he finally became comfortable enough to let me lead. After that, we’d crank classic rock in his old Trans Am and cruise down Jefferson Avenue until the sun went down.

Fuck, I missed my dad so much.

We’d been driving for nearly fifteen perfect minutes when Darren finally spoke again, ruining the whole damn thing instantly.

“It’s time to start heading back, pumpkin.”

I blew out a disappointed sigh but grudgingly signaled to switch lanes to exit the freeway. I wanted to protest, but I didn’t want to give Darren one single excuse to deny this again. I got far more allowances with calculated compliance than I did with defiance, so I would cooperate this time.

No matter how much it killed me inside.