I pushed my tongue into the side of my cheek. “You know ... I think I can sleep at night knowing that.”
The flash in his eyes was so gratifying that I almost grinned, but I managed to tamp it down.
“Figure out a way to make this community service benefit you. The worst thing you can do is have a bunch of holier-than-thou do-gooders take advantage of this. They’re all martyrs who think they’re better than everyone. Better than you.” He poked me in the chest. Hard. “But you’re an Evans. Don’t fucking forget that.”
“As if I could.”
His eyes glinted, and for a moment, I thought I’d gone too far.
But in the end, he let out an annoyed puff of air and yanked open the door of his vehicle, disappearing without another word. As the engine roared to life and he took off, I could finally breathe again. Space from him always had that effect. Like someone had unlocked an iron band around my lungs.
The guys with the cameras had left at some point during the exchange, and I pulled myself into my truck and leaned my head back with a sigh, closing my eyes for a few moments while I untangled how fucked up this had gotten so quickly. I unfolded the piece of paper that explained my sentencing.
Fifty hours of community service at Second Leash Animal Sanctuary.
A provisional license to go back and forth between work and community service, for three months.
And a fine of $5,000 to cover the damage to the building.
To be honest, I’d gotten off easy. A suspended license was what I’d expected, but that was the one battle my father had won for me.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and tried to breathe through the weight pressing on my chest, but it simply kept getting heavier and heavier.
Three beers, slick roads, and the shadow of a dog darting across the street. With my eyes closed, I could still hear my sister’s frantic shriek when the car jumped the curb and plowed through the fencing.
The muscles in my neck were tense again, and I tried to roll them out. Maybe some extra time in the treatment room after workouts the next day.
“The rescue will be expecting you,” the judge had told me, peering over her wire-rimmed glasses with a steely glint in her brown eyes. “Take this as the opportunity it’s meant to be, Mr. Evans. Do you understand me?”
Understanding was fine. Application was something else entirely.
According to my dad, Evanses weren’t meant to humble themselves, but as I turned the truck on and entered the address to the rescue, I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen when they were forced to. Like shoving an elephant through the eye of a fucking needle.
The drive from the courthouse to the rescue took about twenty minutes, and in that time, I thought about the disappointment I’d faced from different people in my life over the last couple years. Some, like my father, hardly registered. Others, like Coach King, hurt more.
Even worse was that Coach hadn’t even had to tell me he was disappointed the first time I came into the facilities after the DUI. It was all over his face. My teammates’ faces too.
I’d hardly spoken to any of them since.
I got there early, did what I needed to do, and left with as few words exchanged as possible.
What was I supposed to say?Sorry you thought I’d changed? That you thought I’d turned into something different?
It was better not to expect anyone to think well of me at all. If I could just find a way to do my job free of the burden of those expectations ...
To be a good man. To lead the team by example. All the things they wanted from me.
I didn’t knowhow.
For the first time in a week, a flash of pretty eyes and red hair went through my mind. She’d been disappointed in me too. Whenever the opportunity to do the right thing was in front of me, I always endedup veering sharply to the left of what that was. My moral compass was skewed so fucking badly that I didn’t know how to correct it.
All their individual reactions still sat heavy in my gut, like a rock that kept tumbling around in my stomach. Something impossible to break down. Eventually it would have to, though, right?
Frustration built and built under my skin, a low hum of energy that I couldn’t expel. Frustration with myself. With my dad. The judge who was using me to make a point.
Like I needed anything to make me feel worse.
My hands tightened on the steering wheel as an uneasy feeling turned my stomach into knots.