The Keys to Jericho (3 page)

Wanting to get moving, before Dash schedules a nightly dinner with my dad, I glance at my dumbass friend and nod at the door. “We’d better go. You know how Rio gets when we make him wait too long.”

Dash scowls. “I doubt he’s there yet, and he wouldn’t care.” True. Hardly anything rattles that guy.

I widen my eyes at him and grit my teeth, wordlessly promising him a certain ass kicking if he doesn’t shut his damn mouth. Flinching, Dash wisely sucks in his lips, clamping his mouth shut.

Interrupting my wordless death threat, Dad asks, “You have the spare key, don’t you?”

I slowly look away from Dash. “Yeah.”
Please don’t lecture me about what time I should be home.
I just might have to move into a hotel. In Philadelphia. Tonight.

“If you have too much to drink—”

I loudly sigh, displaying my irritation. “I know, Dad. Dash, here, said he’ll be my DD, so don’t worry.”

“I did?” Dash sadly questions.

With my hands on my hips, I clear my throat and glance down at the blue carpet, scrounging the last of my restraint from kneeing him in the nutsack.

Dad says, “Jared, I mean it. If you need a ride, call me.”

I agreeably nod at the floor, just to get him off my back. “I will.” I fleetingly glance up at my dad to see if he believes me. I’d ride naked in the back of Rio’s truck, hanging off the tailgate, before I call my daddy to pick me up like some teenager. Even back then, I never called him.

Doubtful, he nods and I silently let out the breath I was holding. Lying to my dad is an art I’ve perfected over the years. That may make me a typical person who lies to their parent, but I also know it makes me more of a horrible person than I already am because I keep doing it and have no remorse. I just don’t know how to be any different. I’m not even a friendly person most of the time. I don’t date. I’ll put on my mask and fake it when I see a pretty girl, but when I get what I want and I’m through with them, I get them as far away from me as possible. No strings. I cut every single one. I don’t even know how I’ve made friends and actually kept them. I’ve always had to be on the offensive because being on the defensive only exposes weakness to others. It’s a pre-emptive strike, really. I refuse to be a victim.

Not waiting around for more lectures, I brush past Adam Beckett and out of my room. When I reach the porch and hit the cement stairs, Dash shuts the door, trailing me in a rush. “Where’s the fire?”

Agitated, I pick up my hat and run a hand through my hair as I hiss, “Does your mouth have a damn leak?”

“What? Your dad is a nice guy. Why couldn’t he go to dinner with us? Rio likes him, too.”

Opening my driver’s side door, I glare at him over the roof. “Are you serious right now or are you having a stroke? Because if you are, I’ll leave you here for the ambulance to pick you up.”

I hear the crackling of a wrapper and roll my eyes as he pops an ever-present sucker into his mouth, twisting the candy with his tongue so that the stick wobbly spins. He garbles around it, “You wouldn’t even take me to the hospital?”

Shaking my head at his absurdity, I duck into the car and upon shutting the door, I start the car, shouting, “I’m hungry!”

Dash gets into the car and petulantly yanks on his seatbelt. He removes his lollipop long enough to whine, “Ice cold, Jericho.”

I try to keep a straight face as I back out of the driveway. Still, I can’t resist the urge to shove the back of his head. “I’m kidding. I’d at least drop you off at the ER doors.”

Sitting up, he crams the orange sucker back into his mouth and says a mangled, “What a true blue pal, jerk.” I bite a smile as I pull away from the house.

We’re quiet as we head to Glen Burnie, backtracking to Baltimore, but it’s not far and it’s the halfway point, since Rio will just be getting off work. He’ll be away this weekend with his warden, so tonight is the only night he’ll be free for a couple weeks—also due to the fact she has Rio reserved for other shit. It’s infuriating me how she can just step in and prohibit my best friend from spending time with me anymore. With Dash’s motor mouth, I’d rather the bitch date
him
.

“He’s only looking out for you, you know.”

I momentarily glance at Dash, confused. “Who?”

“Your dad.”

“Oh. What the hell does that have to do with shit?”

He waves his nearly finished candy in the air. “The way you blow him off and think of him as your mortal enemy. It’s weird.”

“Drop that thing in my car and I’ll ram that stick down your throat.” He rolls his eyes and I argue, “Why does it matter to you anyway? Your dad is pretty great. He owns a strip club for Christ’s sake! Why do you care about mine?”

“Because yours is pretty damn great, too, and you need him.”

“I am not a little kid who needs his daddy to fix his problems.” I grip the steering wheel as I impatiently shift gears.

“I’m not saying that. He went through hell right along with you, if not more. You don’t even remember your mother leaving you. He does.”

I stomp on the gas, passing slower traffic. “Yeah, but he didn’t have to grow up without
his
mother.”

“Right, but all you do is complain about your grandmother or make fun of
my
mom. What really are you missing out on, if you think of it that way?”

I look at him in disbelief. “You’re actually suggesting that I’m crazy for being crazy? Rio’s the psych major. You’re a fucking elementary school gym teacher.”

“Yeah, and I had to take psych classes!”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was unaware that to be Richard Simmons, you had to study Barney the Dinosaur’s social anxiety and mommy issues.”

“I’m only trying to help!”

“Can we not talk about this? Fuck, Dash. What’s your problem?”

“I just feel bad for the guy when you treat him like he’s nothing.”

“Then on Father’s Day,
you
can send him a cheap card and give him the obligatory phone call.” I look at him again with suspicion. “Why are you acting like such a girl? Are you ragging it?”

“Yeah. That’s it.” Sighing, he shoves the sucker back into his mouth so he can check his phone and distortedly mumbles, “You’re definitely an Aries, through and through.”

Another fun fact about Dashiell Calder: he reads his horoscope every day and makes damn well sure that Rio and I have our daily dose, as well. It’s annoying as fuck, but they sometimes have some truth to them, weird as that may be. He alleges that an Aries is a born leader, independent and surprisingly, has an engaging personality. On the downside, we’re also very moody, have the propensity to be childish when we don’t get what we want, and we loathe taking orders from anyone.

That’s way off.

I pull into the parking lot and antsy as usual, Dash is out of the car before I turn off the engine. Looking out the passenger window, I see him jogging over to Rio’s black truck—the color of choice for all three of our vehicles.

Getting out of my car, I already hear Dash excitedly yipping at Rio about nothing in particular. When I’m closer, I see Rio rolling his eyes and hear Dash say, “Scorpio,” which makes me laugh because Rio has to put up with him now.

Dash reasons, “Like I told you before, Scorpios are extremely determined, loyal, temperamental on a dime, and control freaks.”

Rio coolly counters, “Yeah, and you also said we have excellent memories and rarely forgive, but never forget. So, before I hate you forever and never forget why, put a cork in it.”

When I stop next to Dash, I see his face fall. “Damn. Did you and Jericho take the same bitch pills this morning? I think it’s
you
two who are on the rag.”

Rio’s eyes lift to mine. “Hey, Beckett,” he greets with a relieved smile, probably because he doesn’t have to listen to Dash alone.

River Duquesne—
Rio,
as I came to call him in college for the Spanish word of his name. He’s the quiet one, but you know what they say about those fucks, and it’s all true. He’s also the pretty one, which he hates being called. Girls love his habitual facial scruff, chaotic brown hair, and orgasmic blue eyes. Ever since Dash referred to Rio’s eyes that way, it’s the only description that comes to mind now.
Asshole
. Rio and I met right after we had started college as freshmen, although we both were going to different colleges. Rio was majoring in psychology at Towson University, while I was studying civil engineering at Johns Hopkins. I needed a job nearby to pay for my car and insurance, so I got one at Target, where Rio happened to work since high school. He showed me around and helped me not look like a total fuckup. We became immediate friends, which surprised the hell out of me. The next semester, we even took Spanish at the same time so we could help each other. Then our sophomore year, we found an apartment between our campuses and moved into that so we wouldn’t have to live in the shitty dorms. We actually shared some similarities. The biggest one was that we lost our mothers when we were kids. He lost his mother to ovarian cancer when he was 16, which was unusual for someone her age. He said she died shortly after being diagnosed. Rio had majored in psychology to help people with their losses, but then he decided that becoming a physician assistant was what he really wanted. Currently, he works in a gynecology/obstetrics practice. I think he’s looking for that
one
to save to honor his mother. I admire him for that, but think it’s futile because it won’t bring her back. However, if it gives him some sort of peace, why not, I guess. In spite of that honorable, yet misguided, reasoning, I have to razz him for hanging between legs all day for money. That absolutely cannot be helped.

I slap Rio on his gray-T-shirted shoulder as we turn to walk inside. “What’s up, doc?”

Shaking his head, he mutters, “Same old, same old.” He looks over his shoulder and then past me before shrugging. “I can’t complain.”

I laugh and give his shoulder a shake. “You never do.” I probably could torch Rio’s truck and he still wouldn’t complain. Much. He’d break my legs with a baseball bat, but he’d do it without complaint.

We walk into the building and Dash does the talking, as usual, shamelessly flirting with the hostess, who happens to be gawking at Duquesne instead. Again, as usual. Glancing at the floor with his hands in his pockets, Rio doesn’t normally acknowledge any attention he gets from females, since it makes him uncomfortable. Cool and collected Rio is rather socially awkward when it comes to the opposite sex. On the other hand, I don’t even care. If I want to talk to a girl, I approach her first. I can’t comprehend how Rio snagged a girlfriend, let alone a mouthy one. I’ll never win any congeniality contests either, so I’m guessing he must’ve showed her his dick first. It had to have been something like that.

We’re escorted to our booth, where Dash excitedly slides across the shiny, dark green bench.

The hostess asks, “Is this booth okay or is there anything else I can get for you?” She looks at Rio, who’s staring down the front doors like he wants to bolt.

I nod at Dash. “He could probably use a kid’s menu and some crayons.”

He scrunches up his face in a pout and after the hostess leaves, gripes, “Kiss my ass, Jericho.”

Since Rio is sitting in the middle of the other seat in the booth, I sit down next to Dash, and laugh at his sulky expression before I try loosening up Rio. “How was work, Duquesne?”

Ever cautious whenever he discusses his job, he shifts in his seat and carefully answers, “It was fine.”

I steadily ask, “Did you get into any hairy situations?” He frowns, but doesn’t answer, which I take as an invitation to carry on. “How much you make in tips?”

His sharp look could crack pavement. “Hilarious.” Rio checks his phone for the fifth time since sitting down, no doubt waiting for permission to take a piss.

Dash leans forward with a wicked smile. “Come on, Diet Dr. Pussy, nothing happened today?”

He tears his eyes away from his phone with a glower aimed at Dash. “Bite me, Douche Calder.”

Looking between Dash and Rio, I laugh and shake my head just as our waitress stops at our table. Dash and I order beers and then look expectantly at Rio to do the same. However, he orders a goddamn Pepsi.

I reach over my chest, pointing at Dash. “Shouldn’t you be carding him?”

She pauses then opens her mouth to say something. Dash leans forward and mumbles, “Damn it.” Moving beside me, he slides his license across the table before she has a chance to ask. I laugh and Rio cracks a smile.

When we’re again left alone and Dash is stuffing his license back into his wallet, my smile dwindles as I suspiciously glare at Rio, opening his menu. “Why didn’t you just order chocolate milk? At least you could keep the cup.”

Baffled by my comment, he guardedly watches me for a few seconds before asking, “What’s with you?”

“I just thought you were going to drink a beer with us.”

“Why’s it matter what I drink?”

Sitting back and crossing my arms, I sneeringly ask, “Aren’t you out of your shackles tonight?”

Before he can reply, a voice from behind me shouts, “Why Dr. Duquesne! Is that you?”