Page 220 of Across His Line

He laughs. Short and ugly.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He points the cigarette at the car. “He better not get out of that car. You hear me? Your rich boyfriend better not get out of that fucking car. I’ll fuck him up.”

“He’s staying in the car,” I say.

“He better.” His eyes scan the street and then back at Rafe’s car. His eyes are wide like he’s really awake.

“Where’s grandma?” I ask.

She comes out.

She’s in her blue cardigan and house slippers. She stops on the top step and looks at me. Then she looks at the car in the driveway. My heart stops because I know how expensive it looks.

“Dylan, get inside,” she tells him.

He lifts his cigarette. “I’m smoking.”

I wait for my turn. She hugs me and says, “I thought you weren’t coming.”

I stare into the house for a moment, and I mutter, “Merry Christmas, Grandma.”

She pulls back.

I lift the gift. “I got you something.”

She goes back in the house, and I follow. There’s no tree. The house looks exactly as it did on Thanksgiving. Dylan’s friends are on the couch. The girl who ripped through my bag is sitting there next to the guy who stood in the kitchen to block the entrance.

I don’t say anything. I just pass over the gift.

Dylan comes in behind us. “What’d you get us?”

The girl laughs.

“I didn’t get you anything,” I say back.

“Oh, come on,” Dylan laughs. He looks at his friend who smiles back at him.

My grandma is looking at the brown Goodwill paper. Then she unwraps it.

“Oh,” she says, pulling the tin out. “I had one just like this.”

Dylan laughs at the gift, but I ignore him.

“Open it up, Grandma,” Dylan says. “Maybe she put some cash in there.”

“Do you ever be quiet?” I say.

He leans forward. “Do you ever use your fucking brain, Tessa?” He scoffs, making an ugly sound from his throat. “Your mom’s coming by later. I’ll tell her you said hi.”

I look at my grandma. She’s staring at the tin.

I turn back. “Are you doing drugs with my mom, Dylan?”

He laughs, leaning back like he’s about to enjoy this conversation.

“I’m asking you a question,” I say sternly because he’s looking at his friend.

He shakes his head. “Nobody’s doing drugs. It’s fucking Christmas.”