my tears ricochet // Taylor Swift

Holly

Standing at the curb while facing my house isn't something new. I've walked up the pathway to open the door more times than I can count. But today is different.

I hold my keys in one hand and my phone in the other. Jackson called me just as I'd gotten finished with some errands to pick up meds for my mom. I was down the street from here, knowing my dad could be close by but not feeling nervous about it. Not feeling anything about it for once. Maybe that's because Jackson has become a stronger presence in my life than the threat of my father. Or maybe I'm just in denial.

I take a few steps down the sidewalk to the dirt driveway. It runs past the house several feet to the run-down garage, actually in worse shape than the house which might be why I'd never paid close attention to the disrepair our home has come into. The house always looked better than the garage so I figured it would do. But now, the blinders are off and it all looks like shit. I take a deep breath and make my way down the dirt path leading to the back of the house and right toward the garage.

I always wondered what my dad kept stashed out back. Our garage is more of a shed than anything else. Mom's car took up most of the space when it became inoperable. It's a rat's nest, literally. I'd put out traps, but I don't think I could stomach cleaning them out as often as I'd have to. I try not to picture what could be crawling around in here as I wiggle the key into the lock. It's a padlock on a wooden door so riddled with dry rot I'm shocked no one's busted it open. This neighborhood isn't one to watch out for each other, more likely to take the opportunity to rob their neighbors blind if given the chance. This rotten door is one giant welcome sign for any petty thieves lurking around.

It occurs to me that the mere threat posed by my dad's name might be keeping criminals away from here. How ironic that his reputation strikes enough fear in others to protect our home but it's the very thing I want to escape.

The lock clicks open. I undo the latch and pull the doors wide. Suddenly paranoid, I look down the driveway to the street, looking for any sign of my dad. But I see no one. Rather than leave the doors open giving an obvious sign of my presence, I slip inside and pull them shut behind me.

There's no light in here but there are enough cracks in the walls to let what little outside light is still present to illuminate the area. It's dim but still enough for me to see what I need to see as long as I work fast. The sun will be going down soon. My phone light will come in handy.

I start at the back where my dad keeps his motorcycle covered with a tarp. The fact that it's still here is a good sign. He might have already left for another haul. He doesn't drive his cab around when he's home as a general rule. The gas is too expensive for that, or so he says. I think he just prefers the noise the motorcycle makes. He's modified the muffler to within an inch of its life and I swear he's got hearing damage because of it. I'll admit that's come in handy a few times when I've been moving around the kitchen early in the morning and he's been snoring on the couch. My worst fear was waking him up before he was ready and suffering his wrath before I left for the day. I never knew if he'd end up taking it out on Mom who had no way to defend herself. I take a deep breath at the sobering thoughts, hopeful that we're out of that dark time of life.

Moving gingerly around his motorcycle—I have anxiety remembering him yelling not to touch the thing when I was a child—I find a few boxes stacked close by. Might as well start here. I don't know when Jackson might show up with the others and part of me needs answers now that the questions have been asked. What is Dad hiding in here?

I pull the lid off the top box, covered with dust and smelling of mildew. Inside are a bunch of random bike parts. I sift through them here and there, trying to see if anything stands out to me, but nothing does. The box is heavier than it looks when I try to move it off of the stack but I'm able to slide it over and lower it down to the floor without hurting myself. The next box is more of the same. And the next. It isn't until I absentmindedly slide the last box over, most likely because it's the pattern I'd gotten into with the other boxes, that something unusual finally stands out.

Peeking out from under the box is the corner of a paper. I lift one side of the cardboard off the ground to reveal not a paper, but a manila envelope. This discovery is so cliché I can't imagine it could actually be anything significant. I pick it up regardless then lay it on top of the stack. The envelope is latched with the little metal tabs. When I lift them up to open it, the tabs break off causing me to wonder how long it's been there. Removing the documents inside gives me my answer.

I find what looks like a deed to our house. It's dated a few years after mom started getting sick. I was 10 the year this was signed, yet I know for a fact we've been paying rent on this place because I'm the one writing the check to someone named Willis Schroder who I assumed was a slum lord considering he's never repaired a damn thing here. Any fixing has been done by me which is nearly nothing because I can't afford it.

I scan the rest of the document, stating my dad's name as the sole owner. I don't know much about such things other than property ownership is public record. I'm sure there's a way to look into this and see if he's still the legal owner.

My nerves are on edge as I slide the deed back into the envelope, but not before taking a picture of it with my phone. I return the folder to the place I found it under the boxes in case Dad comes back looking. I try to restack the boxes the way they were but they're too heavy. I'll have to ask Jackson to help when he gets here.

There's nothing left to look through on this side of the shed, so I move around the motorcycle to the side where a few more boxes are stacked. These are similar but instead of motorcycle parts I find random tools. I never spent much time out here, but I don't remember Dad working on cars or even his bike. He'd take it to Grinder's building where he and some of the other Reapers were given free rein in his garage full of tools next door to his tattoo parlor. Why would he have boxes of tools? Boxes of random parts?

"Holly!" Jackson's voice carries into the shed from outside. I gingerly move around the motorcycle and back to the doors, pushing one open.

"In here," I say watching as Jackson visibly relaxes once he sees me.

"I've been texting and calling you. Why didn't you answer?"

Confused, I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone. Sure enough, I have a screen full of missed calls.

"Sorry. I must have been really focused because I didn't hear it ring."

Jackson blows out a breath while running a hand through his hair.

"I was freaking out. I thought he came back."

I wrap my arms around him, pulling him into me. He does the same. I don't reassure him by telling him I'm okay because honestly, I'm not. I don't understand what I found in there but maybe Jackson has some clues.

Before I can talk to him about the deed and the tools, Grinder pulls down the driveway on his motorcycle. He parks, pulls off his helmet and shocks me with the length of his loose hair blowing in the breeze. He starts speaking as he works to tame his locks in a knot at the back of his head, displaying the undercut with a messy man bun.

"What're we looking at?" he asks, tipping his chin toward the shed.

"Not sure, I just got here myself. Holly scared the shit out of me not answering her phone." Jackson looks back at me. "Did you get a chance to look around, yet?

I nod. "Nothing Earth shattering but I did find things that have me asking questions."

"Show me." Jackson grabs my hand and leads me back into the shed. Grinder follows us.

"I moved those boxes behind his motorcycle. There's some random bike parts inside. But when I shoved the bottom box, I found an envelope with a deed to the house in my dad's name. But I don't understand how he could be the owner since we've been renting it the entire time. I write and mail the checks myself. I see the bank statement showing they've cleared."

"Huh." Jackson glances around the shed as he listens. "Anything else?"

I wave toward the other stack of boxes I looked at.

"Tools. Just shoved in boxes as well. The only strange thing is that he never does any work on his bike or cab here at the house. He's always done that at Grinder's garage."

Grinder grunts. "No one worked in that garage for years until Brax came back into town. And then it was only him until I had him set up shop in his own garage. He took most of the tools with him." Grinder strides toward the boxes, peeking in the one on top.

"These're junk." He digs through the box a bit more. Jackson turns to me while Grinder continues searching the boxes.

"Where's the deed?" he asks. "I'd like to take a look."

"I have a picture on my phone." Jackson kisses my cheek as I pull the photo up.

"That's my girl. Smart thinking."

I hand him my phone and watch as he zooms in and scrolls around the different sections of the deed.

"No, no. This is forged."

"Are you serious?" I lean in, taking a closer look.

"I'm 99% positive. First of all, it's not notarized. This type of document should have a notary seal. Second," he points to a section of the photo that he's magnified even more. "This statement would never be on a grant deed: forthwith in perpetuity. What century was this written in? It's like someone was playing banker and made a phony deed for funzies."

"Why would he have that hidden in his shed under a stack of motorcycle parts?"

"Because he thought it was a decent knockoff," Grinder says from where he's leaning against the stack of boxes. "He probably thinks he's got some kind of ace in his back pocket with this. Dumbass wouldn't know what an actual deed looks like."

"That really isn't hard to find out," Jackson says.

"For someone who puts out effort, true." Grinder pulls on his beard. "Judge isn't one to put effort into anything except intimidation. Why would he start now?"

I feel a little dizzy thinking about all of this. I already knew there was a lot about my dad I don't know, but this is so much bigger than I thought. I don't understand what's going on.

"Is he trying to take our house?" I touch my forehead, visions of my mom and I homeless.

"Babe, you don't live here anymore," Jackson says in all seriousness. "I'm taking care of that. For now, your mom has a place to stay. And so do you, with me." Jackson levels a look deep into my eyes. I nod, unable to speak at the moment with everything whirling in my head.

"You said you needed to get something from the house?" Jackson asks.

"Oh, right." I'm worried I won't have another chance to get my own things. If my dad is sticking around, or if he does do something with that phony deed to take the place out from under us, I want to take the opportunity to grab the rest of my personal things.

"Come on, I'll help you." Jackson takes me by the hand and leads me to the open doors.

"I'm going to snoop around a little more. Wondering if he has anymore forgeries under boxes." Grinder says as we exit the garage.

"Keep an eye out for Judge." Jackson's warning is somber. Grinder just grunts in response.

I want nothing more than to get away from here as soon as possible but it's going to take some time to gather everything I want to take. My mom has things stashed away under beds and in closets that I know she'd be sad to loose, the sentimental tokens of motherhood and family. Although it's a family torn apart at the moment, even I have some good memories to hold onto. I look at Jackson, realizing not for the first time that the memories I'm making with him are my favorite of all.

"Let's move quickly," I say as I grab his hand. "I don't want to spend any longer here than necessary.

Once again, he kisses my cheek and we go to work searching through boxes and grabbing albums. I'm ready to walk away from the life I've known with Jackson by my side.

Couple quick things:

1. I realized I have a plot hole with Holly's car. I had her taking the bus at the beginning of the story specifically because she DIDN'T have a car, but totally forgot when I had her driving home and talking with Jackson on a bluetooth. I realized I couldn't change that scene easily so I started thinking through the existence of said car and how it would come to be...plantser problems, I swear! SOOOOOO, I'll be adding a "bonus" scene sometime this week which goes back to when Jackson came to get Holly for date night but they ended up staying home and watching a movie with her mom. He's going to find out her mom has a car in the garage that hasn't run for years. Then he's going to want to get it running for Holly so she doesn't have to rely on the bus or rides from others. That's also going to have some kind of clue leading back to this chapter.

2. The bonus chapter will be posted before Friday Feels and stay in this spot for 2 weeks. Then I'll move it up to its chronological position. I might be editing parts of this chapter in order to align with the new one depending on how it turns out but I'll mention it, or post those edits on my page so you don't have to reread the entire chapter to know the changes.

My tears ricochet is Holly's new mindset regarding her dad. I pictured it being posted with some kind of confrontation chapter but I liked the tension in it for this one.

[There should be a GIF or video here. Update the app now to see it.]

Happy Holidays to you all, whatever you're celebrating!