On Thursday afternoon, the kids were at Del’s, and Justin was at his place waiting for Lloyd’s friend the car guy to turn up and taking the opportunity to actually get some cleaning done. This house, the one he’d grown up in, felt less like home than it ever had. Justin was scrubbing down the cabinet doors in the kitchen—some of the stains there went back generations, probably—when he heard the crunch of tires on the dirt. He headed for the front door, but the car continued on around to the back.
Justin went back into the kitchen and pushed that door open.
A man was climbing out of an old black Dodge Challenger that was more rust than car. Justin knew that car.
Fuck.
“Is that you, Justin?” The man squinted at him, then brushed his lank dark hair back from his face. He was bigger than J
