I glanced at my watch and cleared my throat. “I was gonna go grab a pizza, too. I’ll get you one.”

He grumbled some more before turning to walk back to his house. “And some beer.”

I always casually forg0t the beer.

“Tuck, you wanna go for a walk?” I asked my dog. He lifted his head to look at me, wagged his tail, but then plopped right back down and went back to sleep.

That was a clear no.

Going downtown was always a bit stressful. My father and I didn’t belong in a place like Chester, but still, there we were. Over the years, my dad had done a good job of getting everyone to despise us. He was the town drunk, the filth, and the OM—original monster. I was twenty-four years old, and I harbored more hate inside me than the average man. Everything I’d learned about hating people, I had learned from my father.

Nobody took the time to get to know me because they knew my father’s reputation well enough. Therefore, I never introduced myself to them and their judgments.

Plus, I was a monster all on my own, and it didn’t take anyone long to realize it.

I took right after my pops.

As I approached the pizza shop, I heard the whisperings of the people around me. I always noticed how they moved away whenever I approached. They called me a junkie because I used to use drugs. They called me a drunk because my father was one. They called me white trash because it was the only clever title they could come up with.

None of that bothered me because I didn’t give a damn what they thought.

Small-town people with small-town minds.

When I was younger, I’d get into a lot of fights with people who would talk shit about my father and me, but eventually, I learned they weren’t worth my time or my fists.

Every time I got into a fight, they savored it. Every time my fist met a jerk’s face, they used it as justification for their fabricated lies. “See? He’s wild. He ain’t nothing but a lowlife.”

I didn’t want them to have that power over me; therefore, I became silent, which seemed to scare them even more.

When they whispered, I kept quiet.

When they spat at me, I walked on, though if I was feeling wild, sometimes I’d growl at them. It scared them shitless. I was certain some of them actually thought I was a werewolf or something.

Idiots.

“He’s just like his father—a no-good piece of trash,” someone muttered.

“I wouldn’t be shocked if Mad Mike died in his own vomit,” a fellow customer remarked, his voice low but not low enough for me to miss his comment.

I paused my footsteps and took a deep breath.

Those words hit me the hardest because I wouldn’t have been shocked either.

I listened to them talk about my father dying, and flashes of my past shot through my mind. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I wanted to use. I needed something to fix my current fucked-up mind. Just a little, nothing too major…just one small hit…

My heart pounded against my chest, beating me up inside, crying for numbness, crying for me to bring it back to a level of comfort it missed.

I looked down at my wrist and saw one of those stupid ass plastic bracelets that read Powerful moments. Dr. Thompson had given it to me a few years back when I entered rehab. I could almost see his aged head of hair and kind eyes staring into mine, reminding me that I was stronger than my worst moments.

“Those times you feel lost and afraid and weak—those are your moments for a breakthrough. Hidden beneath those dark moments is your power. Take those weak moments and make them powerful. Make them matter, Jackson. Make them count.”

Dr. Thompson had me snap the bracelet against my wrist whenever I felt weak had or got the urge to use.

My wrist was currently red as hell.

Even so, I kept snapping it. It was a reminder that my next move would be real, just like the pain. The next choice I made would control my other choices down the line.

My choice couldn’t be drugs.

I didn’t use those to curb my emotions anymore.

I didn’t use those to make me feel empty inside.

I’d been clean for years, and I didn’t want that to change. Especially due to the people of Chester.

Doing my best to ignore the ignorant people around me, I glanced outside then paused when I saw a car flying through the one and only stoplight in town. By stoplight, I meant the flashing yellow light. The car moved recklessly, and a knot formed in my gut as I realized it had no plans of slowing down.

I groaned. “You’re going to crash,” I muttered to myself before releasing a heavy sigh and breaking out into a run toward the unstable vehicle. “You’re gonna fucking crash!”