The Good Guys Box Set: TRUCKER, DANCER, DROPOUT, and A Trucker Wedding

by Jamie Schlosser

  Mackenna was gone.

  She wanted me to leave? And she didn’t even stick around to say goodbye face to face. All I got was a lousy fucking letter.

  Best wishes? What kind of shit was that?

  Why would she do this?

  Pulling out my cell phone, I dialed her number. Usually, we texted. But I needed to hear her voice. I needed her to explain to me what the hell she was thinking.

  It didn’t even ring. Just went straight to voicemail. I tried again a few more times, knowing the result wasn’t going to be any different. When it was clear that she’d shut her phone off, effectively shutting me out, it felt like my entire ribcage was caving in.

  I struggled to breathe as I leaned my elbows on the kitchen counter. I thought I’d experienced heartbreak before, but I was wrong.

  What I felt after my last breakup barely registered on the Richter scale.

  This was a fucking tsunami.

  Slamming the front door so hard the house shook, I stomped down her porch steps and my pain morphed into rage.

  I felt the old me rise to the surface, and I needed an outlet for my anger.

  The flimsy garbage can was the closest thing to me, and it became my unfortunate target.

  My fists landed on the metal over and over again. Every dent was a representation of my mangled heart. It crunched and groaned until it was an unrecognizable heap of steel. At some point, the garbage bag inside burst open and trash went flying everywhere.

  I gave it one last kick, realizing the neighbors probably witnessed my meltdown.

  I didn’t give a fuck.

  Out of breath and drained of energy, I slumped down onto the lawn and hung my head between my legs.

  What was I supposed to do now? Wait for Mackenna to come back? Hunt her down, just like her ex?

  Then what? Experience what it was like to have her rip my heart out face to face?

  I was so fucking confused.

  Then my eyes zeroed in on an object in the grass by my foot. A small, thin white piece of plastic with a pink cap on the end.

  I might’ve been a guy, but I knew what it was.

  The stick was facedown, and my heart raced at what could be on the other side. My hand shook as I reached for it. Pausing, I took a deep breath before quickly flipping it over.

  Two pink lines side by side. What did that mean? Was it good? Bad?

  Not even caring about what a lunatic I looked like, I crawled around on all fours, searching the garbage for an instruction pamphlet.

  I didn’t find it. What I did find was even better—another stick. This one had a blue tip and there were no codes to crack.

  Pregnant.

  One word, and my whole world flipped upside down.

  Mackenna was pregnant. I was going to be a father. Happiness unlike anything I’d ever known filled my body until it was a physical, tangible thing. I could feel it in my heart all the way to my toes.

  I wanted this life. With Mackenna. With our baby. We were going to be a family.

  But then my stomach lurched.

  Is that why she left me that letter? Did she want me to leave because she didn’t think I’d be a good dad? Was I really so much of a fuck-up that she didn’t even think I should stick around to be there for my kid?

  I thought Mackenna was different. I thought she saw past the tattoos and the mistakes, and saw me for who I was on the inside.

  I took out the letter and read through it again, even though every word was burned into my mind.

  She didn’t say anything about a baby. Which meant she didn’t want me to know.

  The failure and disappointment I’d experienced at the beginning of the summer was nothing compared to this. This wasn’t about skipping class or not studying enough for a test.

  This was real life shit.

  This was the kind of permanent thing Grandma talked about two months ago. This was what all the other little mistakes were supposed to prepare me for.

  Did Mackenna really think they were better off without me?

  That was the only possible conclusion I could come to, and tears of anger and sadness filled my eyes. Only this time, the feelings were so overpowering that there was no possible outlet.

  No punching bag was big enough. No amount of alcohol could dull my senses.

  As I wiped the wetness from my eyes, I stuck the pregnancy test in my pocket, and went to Grandma’s garage to grab a new trash bag. I diligently cleaned up the yard and set the new bag by the curb.

  I barely registered Grandma’s voice as I flopped down onto the edge of my bed and buried my face in my hands.

  “Jimmy? Jimmy. You’re freaking me out.” She nudged my shoulder. “What the hell is the matter with you?”

  “I think Mackenna broke up with me,” I rasped out.

  “What do you mean you ‘think’? Either she did or she didn’t.”

  I shook my head. “She left me a note. Said she was gone and she wanted me to go back to Ohio.”

  “I’m confused.” Her voice turned sympathetic. “That doesn’t make any sense. That girl loves you, Jimmy. I’ve seen the way she looks at you.”

  I didn’t want to tell Grandma about the pregnancy. Because then I’d have to tell her the real reason Mackenna didn’t want me to stay, and it was too painful to say out loud.

  “She doesn’t even want to talk to me,” I said quietly. “She turned off her phone and everything. I’m guessing she’s probably at her parents’ house, but I don’t know where they live.”

  Grandma left the room and when she came back a minute later, she threw something heavy onto the bed next to me.

  “It’s called a phonebook, Jimmy. Ryan and Grace Connelly. Go get your girl.” She let out an exasperated sigh before leaving again, muttering something about ‘fucking kids these days,’ ‘Google,’ and ‘Skypetime.’

  I stared at the phonebook, knowing this was a pivotal moment in my life.

  I could push my ego aside. I could find her parents’ address, go demand an explanation, and beg her to stay with me.

  Instead, hurt and anger clouded my judgement and I made a different decision.

  Reaching under the bed, I pulled out my old duffle bag and started to pack my shit.

  I absentmindedly tossed woodchips into the bonfire, mesmerized by the orange flames.

  There were so many questions running through my mind, but I didn’t want to know the answer to any of them.

  I’d been hiding out at my parents’ house, refusing to turn on my phone. The thought of listening to Jimmy tell me why he wanted to leave—and ultimately, why I wasn’t a good enough reason to stay—was too much to bear.

  I was such a coward, and I knew it.

  It’d been three days since I saw Jimmy, which meant he was gone by now. A small part of me held onto the hope that he’d changed his mind and decided to stay.

  Tomorrow, I would find out for sure.

  “Don’t hog all the woodchips,” Krista said, holding out her hand.

  I dropped several pieces into her palm and she joined me in the pointless game.

  As if she could sense something was wrong, she’d been my constant companion over the last few days. She forced me to watch action movies, insisted on painting my toenails at least five times, and even convinced me to teach her how to knit—and she’d always hated knitting.

  She was the best distraction, and I was grateful for her company.

  “Mackenna?”

  I glanced her way. “Yeah?”

  “I’ve loved having you here this week.” She looked over at me. “But whatever it is you’re running from, eventually you’re going to have to face it.”

  A surprised laugh burst from me. “Who are you right now? Dr. Phil?”

  “I’m serious.” Her quiet voice carried over the crickets and crackling logs. “I heard you cry yourself to sleep last night. And the night before.”

  “Things are just a little complicated right now.” I sighed, not wanting to get into the details. Somet
ime in the near future, I would be telling Krista that she was going to be an aunt. And it would be really difficult for me to explain why Jimmy wasn’t in the picture anymore.

  Of course, I planned on telling him, too. Just not right now. And probably not tomorrow, either. I just needed some time to come to terms with my new reality.

  “Is this about Hot Shirtless Guy?” she asked.

  I scoffed. “When did you get so smart?”

  “I’m fifteen. I’m not a kid anymore.” She cut me a look, then her eyes softened. “I’ll always be here for you. Mom and Dad, too.”

  “Thanks,” I said quietly.

  What she didn’t realize is that I would need them now more than ever.

  Before I went home, there was something I had to do first.

  After checking into Jay’s thorough report about the young girl at the fight, I found her. Very easily, in fact. I had no idea how he got so much detailed information so quickly. And, honestly, I didn’t want to know.

  Casey Maxwell. She had just turned sixteen—mere months older than my sister—and was supposed to be starting her junior year at Brenton High School.

  At least, she would’ve been if she wasn’t preparing for motherhood.

  Brenton was a small town about fifteen minutes east of Daywood, consisting mostly of trailer parks and low-income housing—a perfect spot for someone like Jaxon to fly under the radar. He’d been renting a trailer there, and I had to assume that was how he met Casey.

  She didn’t have a driver’s license, but there wasn’t much need for it when she didn’t have a car. I learned she worked at a diner half a mile away from the doublewide she lived in with her mom.

  I also knew she had a shift in less than an hour.

  And that was how I ended up parked about fifty yards away from her little yellow home.

  I sat up a little straighter when she walked out her door. Her dark hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she wore jeans and a white T-shirt with a logo over the left breast pocket. From the puffiness under her eyes, I could tell she’d been crying recently. And, given her circumstances, that was completely understandable.

  She came from poverty, and her baby would be born into poverty.

  She was too young to be a mother.

  And as grateful as I was that Jaxon wouldn’t be involved in their lives, I knew how terrified she must be to do it alone.

  Because I was terrified, too, but at least I was an adult who had financial security.

  Slinging her purse over her shoulder, Casey hopped down the steps of the rotting wooden porch before getting onto a rusty blue bike.

  I felt like a creeper following behind her at a safe distance as she pedaled to work. When she got there, she leaned her bike against the side of Gloria’s Diner. The older building was modeled after those old train cars. It was a little rundown, with some rusty spots in the metal exterior, and the light behind the ‘G’ was burnt out.

  But at least it was a job.

  Casey didn’t go right in. Hanging her head, she took a moment to place her hand over her lower belly—the same way I’d done so many times since finding out I was pregnant.

  Just like me, her flat stomach concealed a precious secret. There were two heartbeats inside her body. Two souls. She carried an extra set of arms and legs and tiny toes.

  Then a small smile appeared on her lips.

  She loved that baby already.

  And that’s how I knew I was doing the right thing.

  After Casey went inside the diner, she slipped on a black apron and got to work. As she bustled from table to table, I gripped a medium-sized Manila envelope in my hand. I ran my fingertip along the edge as I tried to figure out how to get it to her, anonymously.

  When an elderly couple exited their black Lincoln Town Car, I had my answer.

  “Excuse me.” I flagged them down, walking toward them while clutching the envelope to my stomach. “Are you going to Gloria’s?”

  The petite woman smiled behind her giant glasses, and she reminded me a bit of Beverly. “Yes, we come here every Monday for lunch.”

  “Would you be able to give this to a waitress inside?” I held up the envelope. “Her name is Casey Maxwell and it’s really important that she gets it.”

  “Of course, dear,” she replied, taking the important package from my hand. “We know her. Such a sweet girl.”

  I thanked them and they shuffled up the diner steps.

  They approached Casey right away. I wasn’t a lip-reader, but I could see the confusion on her face as she questioned them about where the package came from. The couple gestured toward the parking lot, then shrugged.

  With a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, Casey slipped the unopened envelope into her apron before leading the couple to a booth in the back. She got called over to several tables for food orders and coffee refills, but I waited because I wanted to watch her open the gift.

  When she finally got a moment to herself, she slipped behind the counter. I couldn’t see her hands but I knew she opened it. The expression on her face said it all.

  Casey’s hand flew to her mouth as she looked down at what I gave her: five-thousand dollars in cash, and a short letter with words of encouragement and a list of local resources for teen moms and battered women’s shelters.

  I told her things she probably needed to hear. That she wasn’t alone. That she’d be okay. And to use the money wisely for her and the baby.

  Stuffing the envelope back into her apron she hurried toward the door, probably to search for the anonymous do-gooder.

  I hunched down in my seat for a minute, and when I poked my head above the dashboard, she was gone.

  On the drive back to Tolson, the familiar chords of ‘If Only’ came through the radio, followed by the vocals from The Princess and the Pariah.

  Normally, I would change the station because I’d heard this song a thousand times, but something made me keep it on.

  Most people assumed this was a breakup song when, in fact, it was about the duet’s father. But as I listened to the lyrics, they took on a new meaning while I thought about going back to my empty house.

  I can almost hear your voice,

  Through the halls of the house that we built,

  Days go by and your memory won’t fade,

  A piece of me died when you walked away,

  I hope you find what you’re looking for,

  Because I’d give anything to hold you in my arms again,

  You could take the pain away,

  If only… If only for a day…

  When I turned onto my street, I held my breath as I searched for Jimmy’s station wagon.

  I didn’t see it.

  I pulled in to my driveway and craned my neck, desperately searching for that damn car. The saggin’ wagon was nowhere to be found.

  But I still needed closure.

  I stepped out of my car and bypassed my house, walking across the yard to my neighbor’s front porch. Giving myself five solid seconds to mentally prepare for any outcome, I took a few deep breaths while anxiously shuffling my feet.

  Then I knocked.

  When the screen door creaked open, Beverly’s head popped out. “Well, hi!”

  “Hi, Beverly.” I forced a smile. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m feeling great,” she said, her voice hushed. Quickly glancing behind her, she turned back to me. “But don’t tell Ernie. He’s doting on me something fierce, and I’m milking it for all it’s worth.”

  That time I smiled for real. She was so crazy.

  Mustering up the courage, I asked her what I came over to find out. “Is Jimmy here?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Mackenna,” she replied with a sympathetic look. “Jimmy moved out two days ago.”

  “Oh,” I breathed out, my heart breaking into a million pieces.

  “I’ll tell you what.” She smiled broadly. “You come visit me tomorrow, and I’ll have a fresh batch of lemonade for you, okay?”

  Swallowin
g hard, I nodded. “Okay.”

  After the door shut, tears filled my eyes. It was so silly of me to think he’d be here waiting.

  At least now I had my answer.

  Forcing myself to put one foot in front of the other, I traveled the short distance back to my house while trying to work out the details of the future in my head.

  I could be a single mom. I made enough money to support myself, and working from home would be ideal for raising a child. Once I told Jimmy the news, I could let him decide how involved he wanted to be.

  I had yet to turn on my cell phone, and I dug it out of my purse to do just that. Stopping in the grass, I stared down at it.

  Changing my mind, I dropped it back into my bag.

  No phone calls today. No texts. I just wanted to give myself one more day to grieve while eating mass quantities of ice cream sandwiches.

  Then I would face reality.

  Before I could reach my door, I stopped. There was a purple guitar pick taped to the knob. When I grabbed it, I realized there was a tiny piece of paper taped to the back.

  My heart pounded as I unfolded it.

  Rule #1- I hope you think of me every time you use this pick.

  This was it. This was his goodbye.

  The night we made those silly rules seemed like a lifetime ago, and I hadn’t thought about them much since then. But Jimmy remembered the part about the guitar picks.

  The first thing I did when I got inside was head to the kitchen, ready for my ice cream sandwich binge. Hot tears streamed down my face and a sniffle turned into a hiccup as I dropped my purse onto the counter.

  The silence I used to love so much was unsettling.

  Hollow.

  So lonely.

  I could hear the faint ticking of the clock on the mantel in the living room, and every quiet click taunted me.

  Then I looked down at my belly. This house wouldn’t be quiet for much longer. Part of Jimmy was still here—would always be here—no matter what.

  I walked to the fridge, but I stopped short again because another pick was taped to the freezer door.