Wicked. Stupid. Fuck! That’s what I was, seeing the situation I was in. Fuck, how didn’t I see it coming?! Shit!

Dammit! I should probably tell ya what’s going on, here. Best to start at the beginning, though.

Prologue: Luck o’ the Irish ... not! 1989 - 2008

My name is Richard Donnelly, but everyone calls me Rick. I’m the son of James and Erin Donnelly. Yeah, full blooded South Boston Irish, here. Hot temper? Check. Iron jaw? Check. Fists calloused from multiple fights? Check. Stupid fuck from Southie? Check. Yeah, I grew up in South Boston, where the Irish Mob ran the show. You ever see The Departed or Black Mass? Those movies barely scratched the fuckin’ surface.

Life wasn’t easy on us. Mom and Dad did what they could for me, but school still sucked. I had a few close friends, but there were always stupid fuckin’ assholes around, too. I never shied away from a fight, and I usually ended up either in detention, or suspended. It took me two tries to get through eighth grade, because of stupid fucks picking fights with me. I won more than I lost, I’m proud to say. No matter what, though, I’d promised my Mom that I wouldn’t do or sell drugs.

Why did I promise her that? Simple answer: She died of breast cancer. By the time the doctors caught it, she was already in Stage 4. Nothing they could really do for her. I made her that promise on her death bed, right before I started High School.

Dad took Mom’s death really hard. He soon found himself at the bottom of a whiskey bottle, every damn night. Luck of the Irish? What a fuckin’ joke!

If you want to know what the luckiest day of my life was, it was when I got arrested at the age of 17 for assault and battery. Hey, the asshat that I smashed was trying to rob Old Lady O’Connor. Not in my neighborhood, dammit! I guess if I’d stopped beating on him when he finally let go of the purse, I wouldn’t have faced any charges. Was I that smart, though? You already know the answer to that.

The cops pulled me off the stupid fuck and slapped me in cuffs, as I wailed away on Dwight Fisher’s face. Imagine the scene in Game of Thrones, where Jon Snow is beating the shit outta Ramsay Bolton, and ya get the idea. My fist, his face, ‘til the fat lady sings. Or in this case, ‘til a couple of Boston’s “Finest” pulled me off the fucktard!

Anyways, to make a long story a bit shorter, I only got six months in Juvie for that dust up. Thanks to witnesses who testified that I was only helping out our neighborhood matriarch. The judge wanted to make an example of me, though. Hey, it coulda been a lot worse.

Strangely enough, I didn’t get into nearly as many fights in the joint, as I did on the outside! I had to fight one guy on my first day. After that, they left me the fuck alone. Go fuckin’ figure, right?

While I was inside, my life took another shit biscuit on me. My Dad died. Grams and Gramps found him after he didn’t answer his phone for two days, and they went over to check on him. From what they told me, he’d drunk three fifths of Jameson, and that was all she wrote. He never got over Mom dying, and I hoped they were together in Heaven. At least they let me out, to attend his funeral.

Yeah, it hurt like hell! But that was when I met Ms. Murphy. Ms. Amelia Murphy was an older black lady, who acted as a counselor in Juvie. She was the no-nonsense type, but deep down, she had a heart of gold.

After hours of talking through my problems, she asked if there was anything I liked doing as a hobby. When I told her that I liked computers, since I’d fixed my Dad’s PC a few times before he died, she asked if I would like to train on them. I jumped at the chance!

She set everything up for me, for after I got out. She talked to Grams and Gramps about it, and said that the City of Boston would foot half the bill for my training. They footed the other half. With my credits from the education in Juvie, I went on to finish my junior year, and managed to keep my nose clean through senior year, too.

Ms. Murphy stayed in my life, even after I got out of Juvie. She and her daughter, Alysha, became regulars at Grams and Gramps’ place for Sunday dinner after evening Mass. Alysha was a year older than me, and I went over to their house some nights, so she could help me study. It didn’t hurt that she was wicked hot, either!

Nothing happened, though. I guess it was the color barrier, or whatever they call it. I was scared to ask her out, thinking she’d probably turn me down flat. For reference, she looks a quite a bit like Aja Naomi King, but taller and with bigger tits. I eventually came to think of her as my best friend. She already saw me as one of her best friends, so that made it easier.

So, yeah. I’d gone to live with Grams and Gramps McKinnon, Mom’s parents, after I got out. Dad’s folks died before I was born, so I never knew them. Senior Year, I had a breakout season in Baseball, and ended up with a full ride scholarship to the University of Florida. Hey, I thought my luck was finally turning around.

Part 1: Damn Yankee! 2008 - 2015

Now, Mom and Dad raised me to always treat women right. They taught me that if a lady was in trouble, to do what I could to help her out. So in my freshman year as a Gator, I ended up in my umpteenth fight. The result of which, led to my first date with Sophie Randall.

Fuck, she was hot! Sophie wore her long red hair in a ponytail, most of the time. When several frat boy fucktards tried to get her to go with them, and she told them fuck no, I had to step in. It was just their shitty luck that I’d just finished batting practice. I was on my way back to my dorm, bat in hand.

I know what you’re thinking. No, I never went looking for trouble. Trouble just had a way of finding me. In this case, I wasn’t going to allow Sophie to get raped by these stupid fucks.

When two of them grabbed her, I saw red, and not the red on her head. So, with aluminum bat in hand, I waded into the fray. Nah, I didn’t go in swinging wildly. Shit, gimme some credit here! I used it more like a night stick, using each end to deliver shots to ribs, nuts, or to the jaw of an unlucky fucktard. I took a few hits, myself, but not enough to feel through the adrenaline. I’d feel it in the morning, though!

Nah, I didn’t try any of that “let the girl go” shit, either. I fuckin’ hate clichés, ya know? Besides, why warn the stupid fucks? No point to it, really. If anyone has a problem with me not fighting “fair” then they can go fuck themselves.

Sophie had called Campus Security, while I beat the shit outta those fucktards. They arrived just after the last douchebag hit the ground.

Their first act was to slap me in cuffs, of course. I wasn’t any stranger to police procedure, but Sophie squared it all away with a few statements. She identified me as the guy who’d rescued her after those fucktards tried to manhandle her over behind a dumpster. I looked where she pointed, and sure enough, there was a dumpster! So, that’s where they’d planned to take her. Oh, well. At least they wouldn’t get her, now.

Once they got their reports filled out and took our names and student ID numbers, they let us go. In turn, they placed the fucktard frat boys in cuffs and called the local cops to come get them.

“Are you ok?” I asked. “Did those stupid fucks hurt ya?”

“I’m ok, thank you,” she replied in her southern drawl. She smiled as I stood there. “Your eye is gonna need some attention. Why don’t y’all come back to my dorm room, and I’ll give you some ice for your eye. I’m planning to go for a nursing degree, so you’re in good hands. What’s your name, sir?”

I laughed at that last part. “My name’s Rick Donnelly, not ‘sir’. I already know that you’re Sophie Randall. We have English 101 together.”

“Oh! That’s right! You’re the new shortstop, ain’t ya?”

“That’s me. You a Baseball fan?”

“Are you kidding? I love the Devil Rays!” Sophie replied, making me smile. Super cute, sexy, smart, and loves Baseball? Fuck yeah! “Now, c’mon. Where y’all from?”

“Boston,” I said, smiling as we started walking towards her dorm. “South Boston, if it makes any difference.”

“So, you’re a Yankee,” she snorted and gave me a disgusted look. When I raised an eyebrow, she laughed lightly and winked at me. “Don’t worry, honey. I love your accent. It’s cute!”

“Well, your accent is sexy as fuck,” I retorted, before my mouth filter could kick in.

“Well, ain’t you a smooth talker!” she laughed again.

“Sorry about that,” I blushed. “No filter, sometimes. We’re kind of blunt, where I come from.”

“I think ‘blunt’ is an understatement, Rick. Don’t worry about it, though. I like bluntness. It shows that y’all are honest. C’mon up, we’re here.”

Sure enough, while we’d walked and talked, we’d also arrived at her dorm. I checked my watch, and saw that it was only a little past 9pm. I remembered from orientation that dorm curfew hit at 10.

“Lead the way, Sophie,” I shrugged.

Once we got to her room, she gave me an icepack in a towel, and I put it on my eye. In spite of that, I knew I’d have a shiner, the next day. But with the ice pack on, it wouldn’t be as swollen, so there was that.

“So, what’s your story, hon?” Sophie asked, once she’d given me a few Band-Aids for some scrapes on my jaw and arms.

My green eyes looked into her blue orbs, and I ran my hand back through my reddish brown hair. I just felt the need to be totally honest with her. I told her about my life in Southie, and how badly it had gone, so far. I didn’t leave out anything major, even telling her about my stint in Juvie.

“Y’all have had it kinda rough, huh.” She said, sympathetically.

“That’s one way to put it,” I shrugged back with a smirk. Then I had to go and open my big mouth again. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you’re wicked gorgeous!”

“Wicked?” she said, raising her eyebrows with a look of confusion mixed with offense.

“Sorry, ‘wicked’ means totally or really, as in you’re really, totally hot!”

“Well, thank you, Rick,” she said and blushed. “You’re wicked cute, yourself.”

“I prefer ‘ruggedly handsome’ with a face full of character, but I guess I can settle for cute,” I shrugged again. Then she surprised the fuck outta me by giving me a really hot kiss.

Before I knew it, I’d dropped the ice pack, my arms went around her, and we engaged in a full contact game of tonsil hockey! Holy Mary, Mother of God! I felt my cock getting harder than a fuckin’ girder, and almost as big! That woman could kiss! She broke that sexy fuckin’ kiss way too soon, though.

“Slow down there, cowboy,” she giggled, as she saw the confused look on my face. “That was a ‘thank you’ for saving me earlier. It wasn’t an invitation into my panties, though. You should know that I’m a good girl, not some sorority slut. Ok?”

“I understand,” I nodded and gulped. “I just really want to kiss you, some more. You’re wicked awesome at it!”

She giggled, retrieved the icepack from her bed, and gently placed it over my eye again. Then she leaned in, and gave me the softest, sweetest kiss that I’d ever had. “Now, you just hold that in place, ya hear?”

“You got it, girl,” I replied, holding the pack over my developing shiner. Then I looked around the room, noticing that the other bed didn’t even look used. “Don’t you have a roomy?”

She giggled again. “Nope. I guess I got lucky on that. The girl who was supposed to room with me, got expelled before I even got here. Nobody would say why, though.” She shrugged as she finished the explanation.

“Shit, you got better luck than I do!” I chuckled and shook my head.

“Well, Mr. Donnelly,” she said, giving me a sexy smile while biting her lower lip. “I think your luck is about to change for the better. And so is mine.”

^^^^^

The next three years flew by, but in a good way ... mostly. The frat boys that assaulted Sophie got expelled, since ... surprise, surprise, it wasn’t their first near miss with a rape charge. In fact, the Sophie incident turned out to be their third strike. Stupid fucks.

Sophie and I started dating, and I excelled at Baseball. What can I say? I know how to swing a bat! No pun intended. I also excelled with Sophie, and by our third date, I slid into home. Pun intended. She “scored” several times on my home run, too. Ok, ok. Enough baseball sex puns ... for now. Honest!

Most of our dates went great, and the sex was awesome! That is, until I discovered a dark side to my redheaded love. You know the saying, “red on the head, fire in the bed?” Well, she also had a fire inside her head. Even though her eyes were blue, they turned nasty green whenever she saw me even talking with another person of the female gender.

First time we had a huge fight, I stood my ground while she called me everything but a Child of God. Then I told her, in no uncertain terms, that if she couldn’t trust me, we were done. Then I walked out on her. No, I hadn’t cheated on her. I wouldn’t cheat on her. Shit, I thought she would’ve known that by the end of Sophomore Year!

I took that time, after our breakup, to get my CompTIA A+, Network+, Security+, and Server+ certifications. Those tests are wicked hard, but I passed ‘em all. Hell, it kept my mind off the shit biscuit my love life had turned into, anyway.

Sophie and I didn’t talk for five weeks, until she sent me a text, asking me to meet her. I seriously considered telling her to fuck off. Maybe in hindsight, I should’ve done just that. But shit, I couldn’t see the future! I was young, stupid, and fuck if I didn’t still love her! When I met her at what used to be our usual spot, she sat beside me and wouldn’t look at me for a long moment. When it was obvious to her that I wasn’t going to say shit, she spoke.

“I’m sorry, Rick,” she whispered. “I’m sorry about what I said, after I saw you talking to that bitch.”

“Ok,” I said. “Sophie, if you don’t trust me, there’s nothing I can say or do to make you. Since you never asked, Kate was telling me that she and Ted wanted to invite us to their engagement party. I had to go alone, because you don’t trust me. By the way, Kate isn’t a bitch. You should’ve known that.”

Then she surprised me as the waterworks started. She held her face in her hands and bawled her eyes out. It broke my heart, so I leaned over and put my arm around her shoulders.

“I’m so, so sorry, Rick!” she sobbed, wrapping both arms around me. “I should’ve trusted you, baby! I will from now on. I promise! Please give me another chance. You won’t regret it!”

“Why don’t you trust me?” I asked, now curious.

“You remember when I told you about Mom and Daddy getting a divorce?” she asked.

“Yeah, but you never said why,” I recalled.

“Daddy cheated on Mom,” she sniffled, looking me dead in the eyes. “When I told Mom that I was dating you, she said that all Damn Yankees were the same. Daddy’s from New York, originally.”

“Well, I ain’t from New Fuckin’ York,” I snorted in derision. Yeah, you know about the Boston-New York rivalry, right? If you don’t know about it, crawl out from under your rock!

“I know that, baby,” she said, tears still streaming down her face. “Mom wouldn’t stop talking about what you’d end up doing to me, though. She just knew that you’d cheat on me, or betray me somehow. I’m ashamed to say that I listened to her. You have to believe me, Rick. I love you, and I swear to God, I trust you! Give me a chance to prove it, ok?”

A bit dramatic? Damn right, it was! Did I believe her? Yeah, I guess I did. The make-up sex that night was fuckin’ wicked awesome!

We dated throughout the rest of college. Sophie helped me a lot, when in my Junior Year, shit went sideways for me again. Twice. In rapid succession. No joke.

First, Gramps died of a heart attack, followed shortly after by Grams. No, she didn’t die of a heart attack. She died of a broken heart, since Gramps was the love of her life. She just didn’t want to go on, without him. To anyone who says that dying of a broken heart is a myth, fuck you. I know it’s true.

Coach Winston gave me two weeks to fly back to Boston, and get my shit sorted out. I also got special dispensation from my professors, telling me I could make up the work when I got back. The shit being double funeral arrangements. Ms. Murphy and Alysha helped, of course. God Bless them, always! Grams and Gramps had decently sizeable life insurance, and they named me sole beneficiary in their joint Will.

Alysha and I became even closer friends than we were, before. Ms. Murphy never talked about her husband, but Alysha told me that her Dad died when she was young, too. Drunk driver ran him off the road and died, too.

“Are you still hanging around these parts?” I asked, making conversation after the heavy talk was over.

“Nah, I got a scholarship to Cal Tech, out in California,” she answered. “I’m going for my Masters in Engineering. Are you still going for Computer Science, down at Florida?”

“Yeah, I’m getting my Bachelor’s when I graduate,” I confirmed, with a sad smile. “There are a couple MLB teams scouting me, too. I just wish Grams and Gramps were still alive, not to mention Mom and Dad. I just want to make ‘em proud, ya know?”

“I know, hon,” she sniffed, giving me a hug. “I wish Dad was still alive, too. They’re all up in Heaven now, looking down and being wicked proud of us, though.”

“You’re right,” I grinned, in spite of myself. “I know they are, too.”

“So, Mom tells me you got a woman. Is she good to you?” Alysha asked, taking me aback for a second.

“Yeah, Sophie is amazing,” I replied, a smile of happiness coming to my face. “She’s wicked awesome. I’m thinking of asking her to marry me.”

First thing I saw on Alysha’s face was surprise, followed by a look I couldn’t quite place. “That’s good, hon. I’m glad you found someone. You deserve some happiness.”

“Hey, what about you? Anyone special in your life?” I asked, smiling.

“Not at the moment,” she said after a long pause. “My last boyfriend turned out to be a wicked asshole. So no, and I’m not really looking, right now.”

“Sorry to hear that, sweetie,” I replied, hoping she found someone good, and soon. “You deserve to be happy, too.”

“Thanks, Rick,” she gave me a radiant smile, hugging me and kissing my cheek. “I have to go, but here’s my number, if you ever need anything. And I do mean anything, ok?”

“Hey, same here,” I told her, earnestly. I gave her my number too, and we programmed them into our respective cellphones. “You need me, I’m there.”

She hugged me again, and I hugged her back. We said our goodbyes, and went our separate ways. Thinking back, I’m pretty sure that Alysha is the only friend I know from my childhood, who didn’t go to prison. Go fuckin’ figure, right?

The lawyer read the Will, and I collected my grandparents’ estate. Only Ms. Murphy was there with me, since Alysha took an early flight to Los Angeles. We said our goodbyes, when she dropped me off at the airport for the flight back to Florida.

Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. Nope. I didn’t become wicked rich. I did inherit a tidy sum, though, even after funeral expenses. I also inherited Grams’ engagement ring, as well as a bunch of other family heirlooms. I made arrangements, and had everything shipped to me, down in Gainesville. I rented a long-term storage unit there, and put everything into storage, while I finished my degree.

You might think I’d suffered enough, right? Not by a fuckin’ long shot, kids.

No, I don’t mean Sophie. I mean my burgeoning Baseball career, and how it all came to a fuckin’ screeching halt. And by fuckin’ screeching, I mean that literally. When I said it all happened in rapid succession, I wasn’t kidding! First game back, BOOM!

We’d made it into the College World Series, and Game 1 was going well. I’d already hit a double and a homer with 2 RBI’s, and we were up by 5 going into the Ninth Inning. Our pitcher threw a slider, and the batter hit a bouncer in my direction. They had runners at 1st and 2nd, so I moved as fast as I could. I had to run into the baseline to grab the bouncer, and turned just in time for the runner to slam into me hard. He pushed me down, and stomped on my left kneecap as he ran over me. That caused the aforementioned fuckin’ screeching, from yours truly.

I’d held onto the fuckin’ ball, at least. I then somehow threw it in the general direction of second, from flat on my back. Got a double fuckin’ play! I found that out later, though.

When the play finally ended, the Ump ejected the stupid fuck that ran me over, not to mention half of each bench as the dugouts cleared for an infield brawl.

When all the dust settled, my left leg was in a cast in traction, at the University Hospital, and my girlfriend sat beside my bed, holding my hand. Then the doctor came in, and told me the bad news. Oh yeah. The good news was, we won the fuckin’ game. Now for the bad news.

My kneecap was shattered by the stupid fuck’s cleats. Not to mention extensive tendon and ligament damage. I stared down six months of rehab, and that was after they put in a new kneecap for me. One of those new artificial knees, made from titanium and silicone. I’d be able to walk, and even run a bit, but I’d never be able to play college Baseball again. As for the Majors, yeah fuckin’ right!

My Baseball career ended on that field in Gainesville.

I kinda slipped into depression at that point, and only Sophie kept me alive, so to speak. Yeah, I actually considered suicide, at one point. I never said anything, but I did consider it.

Sophie was there for me, every step of the way, though. She had finished her Nursing degree, and now had a job as an RN at the University Hospital. She pulled a couple strings to get assigned as my nurse, assisting the Physical Therapist with my recovery. Then she’d drive me home every night, and make sweet love to me. As much as I felt sorry for myself, right after it happened, she helped me through it all.

I’m just glad that the University didn’t yank my scholarship after my injury. That would’ve sucked ass, but Coach put me at ease. He felt just as shitty as everyone else, over what happened.

Well, everyone except for the stupid fuck who stomped on my knee. He didn’t seem to care, when we went to the NCAA hearing on the incident. Yeah, Coach Winston filed a complaint with the NCAA! But since Dwight Hollister was a rising star, destined for the MLB, the hearing was pretty fuckin’ one-sided. Even though the video showed him purposely stomp on my knee, he claimed that he just lost his balance. He gave an insincere apology, and they let him off with a warning.

After the hearing, he came up to where I stood with Coach and my NCAA rep. Then he stuck out his hand. I shook it, out of reflex, but he wouldn’t let go as he spoke. “Hey man. I’m sorry I stepped on you by accident. You know it was an accident, right? I don’t want there to be no misunderstanding, you know?”

In answer, I squeezed hard. He’d tried squeezing my hand as he spoke, but my Dad had taught me to always extend my index and middle fingers along someone’s wrist, just in case. He hadn’t taken that precaution, though. So I squeezed back as I spoke back to him.

“Karma is a wicked bitch. Be careful now, Dwight.” Then I let his hand go, and he stepped back. The stupid fuck looked like he wanted to take a swing at me. I think if Coach and our rep hadn’t been there, he might’ve tried. I really wanted to shove my crutch up his stupid fuck ass, but he never gave me an excuse.

I’m just glad that I picked a good career field to fall back on, in case Baseball didn’t work out ... which it didn’t, as you can see. So, once I graduated, I started making money as a freelance IT guy. Word spread pretty fast, and the students at the University became some of my best clients.

I also met Sophie’s Mom, Diana, and she hated me from the get-go. No matter what I said, she glared at me like I was the Devil himself. I guess I was a Yankee Devil to her, after what her ex did. She got in little digs at me, every time she opened her mouth. You know how Southern Belles are, right? If not, they can give you a compliment, while insulting you at the same damn time. Fuck if I know how they do it, but they do it!

Finally, I’d had enough. “Look Ms. Sterling,” I said tightly, addressing her by her maiden name. “I’m not your stupid fuck ex-husband. I ain’t even from New Fuckin’ York! I’m not going to cheat on your daughter! If you want me outta here, well that’s just too fuckin’ bad. I love Sophie, and I ain’t going anywhere!”

Diana got a look of pure shock on her face, and so did Sophie. Nobody talked to her Mom that way! Well, nobody but an Irish hooligan from Southie.

“No one talks to me that way, young man!” Diana said, the look of shock still on her face.

“Nobody ‘til now, you mean,” I shot back. “I’ve been taking your veiled insults for the last four fuckin’ hours, and I’m done taking ‘em. I get it. You don’t think I’m good enough for Sophie. All I want, is a chance to prove you wrong. If you won’t give me that chance, that’s still too fuckin’ bad. We’ve been together since Freshman Year. I haven’t cheated on her, and I won’t ever cheat on her!”

“Fine,” she said, after a long few moments. “You want a chance, you got one, Rick. You hurt my daughter in any way, and I swear to Almighty God, you will regret it!”

“Accepted, ma’am,” I replied, holding out my hand to her. We shook once, nodded to each other, and that was that.

Diana started treating me a lot better, after that day. She stopped with the backhanded compliments and little digs. She was even cordial, now. Life started to look up, again!

Sophie and I lived together for six months, before I popped the question. I had enough money saved up, to give her a fairly nice, but small wedding.

I’d been working up to the proposal. I kept up the rehab on my knee, and could finally get down on one knee with only minimal pain. I surprised her when I pulled out the black felt ring box, and surprised her again by moving smoothly down to my right knee. I didn’t even wince as I opened the box and smiled up at her.

“Sophie Randall, will you marry me?”

Her hand flew to her face, and I saw tears rolling down her cheeks. “Yes! Yes! Oh my God, yes!” she giggled as she jumped up and down for a minute. Then she let me slide the ring onto her left ring finger.

Yeah, I gave her Grams’ engagement ring. It had given Grams and Gramps fifty-six good years together, before his heart attack and her passing, a week later. I hoped we could beat that record.

Diana took the news surprisingly well. Spending Sundays together with her and Sophie after Church, probably had a lot to do with it. It felt good that she’d finally started to like me, if not trust me.

Breaking the news to our ... mostly her ... friends was a mixed bag. Most of her girlfriends liked me, already. Most of her male friends were also fairly cool with it. However, Brad Douglas, Gerald Shoemaker, and Dwight Bagwell hated me, already. News of our engagement just made it worse.

See, Dwight was Sophie’s ex-boyfriend from High School. She dumped him after a huge fight, when she wouldn’t give it up to him on a regular basis. He thought that since he took her virginity, she owed him sex whenever he wanted it. She didn’t see it that way. He never got over the breakup.

Dwight also had a rough life, or so he says. His mom died when he was a baby, leaving his asshat overbearing father to raise him. So, I guess he came by it honestly. It didn’t hurt him that his daddy was also the Town Sheriff, either. He got a pass on some serious shit, from what Sophie told me.

What made things worse, was that I started getting harassed by the cops. Yeah, you guessed it. Dwight and his cronies were on the Force, in the small burg just south of Gainesville, where we all lived. So, shortly after news of our engagement got around town, the cops started following me. Yeah, no nepotism there, with Dwight’s douchebag father employing his douchebag son, right?

As a nurse, Sophie worked long hours at the Hospital in Gainesville, while I worked odd hours some days, too. I’d kept up my freelance IT business, and got calls at all hours to help someone with this problem or that. I’d been able to buy a sweet ride for cash, shortly after graduation. A local used car dealer sold me a 1969 Chevy Camaro for a reasonable price. I paid five-thousand for it, out the door. I took it to a local mechanic, and he was impressed by how good of a condition it was in. It had a few little things wrong, but three-hundred bucks later, it was running like new.

It wasn’t my first car, but it was sure as shit better than the old Honda Civic that Dad left me when he died. I’d sold that one for two hundred, before moving down to Florida for school.

Having that big muscle car was a blessing and a curse. As long as I wasn’t in town, it was pure fun on the road! Whenever I was in town, I kept it right on the speed limit. I signaled every time I changed lanes or made a turn. Last, but not least, I made damn sure I didn’t give Dwight or one of his flunkies an excuse to pull me over and ticket me.