Nicholas Sparks - The Best of Me

Thing was, Dawson was a lot smarter than the meth-head tweakers Ted usually dealt with. Say what you want about Dawson, but he’d beaten the crap out of both Ted and his daddy when both of them were armed, and that meant something. Dawson wasn’t afraid of Ted or Abee, and he’d be prepared. He could be ruthless when necessary, and that should have been enough to give Ted pause. But it wouldn’t, because Ted wasn’t going to be thinking straight.

The last thing he needed was for Ted to be sent away again. He needed him, what with half the family tweaking and prone to doing stupid things. But if Abee couldn’t prevent Ted from going off the rails when he saw Dawson, Ted just might find himself standing before the judge again. The thought made his stomach burn, compounding his nausea.

Abee leaned over, vomiting onto the asphalt. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as Dawson finally disappeared around the corner. Ted still hadn’t come out. Abee gave a mental sigh of relief and decided not to tell him about the sighting. He shivered again, his gut on fire. Jesus, he felt like crap. Who would have thought the guy was carrying a box cutter?

It wasn’t like Abee was trying to kill the guy — he just wanted to send a message to him and anyone else who might be getting ideas about Candy. Next time, though, Abee wasn’t going to take a chance. Once he started swinging, he wasn’t going to stop. He’d be careful — he was always careful when the law might get involved — but everyone needed to understand that his girlfriend was off-limits. Guys better not look at her or talk to her, let alone get any ideas about getting into her pants. She’d probably get huffy, but Candy needed to understand that she was his now. He really didn’t want to mess up that pretty face of hers to make a point.

Candy wasn’t sure what to do about Abee Cole. Sure, they’d gone out a few times, and she knew he probably thought he could boss her around now. But he was a guy, and she’d figured out guys a long time ago, even bull-headed types like Abee. She might be only twenty-four years old, but she’d been on her own since seventeen, and she’d learned that as long as she wore her blond hair long and loose and stared up at guys with that look , she could pretty much make them do whatever she wanted. She knew how to make a man feel fascinating, no matter how dull he might really be. And for the past seven years, it had served her well. She owned a Mustang convertible, courtesy of some old guy in Wilmington, and a small Buddha statue that she displayed on her windowsill, which was supposedly made of gold and was from a sweet Chinese man in Charleston. She knew that if she were to tell Abee that she was running low on cash, he’d probably give some to her and feel like a king.

Then again, maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. She wasn’t from around here and hadn’t known who the Coles were when she’d arrived in Oriental a few months ago. The more she’d learned about them, the more uncertain she felt about letting Abee get too close to her. Not because Abee was a criminal. She’d taken a coke dealer in Atlanta for almost twenty thousand dollars over a few months, and he’d been as delighted with their overall arrangement as she’d been. No, it partly had to do with her discomfort around Ted.

They were often together when Abee came in, and frankly, Ted scared her. It wasn’t just the pockmarked skin or brown teeth that freaked her out; it was more his overall… vibe . When he grinned at her, there was a gleeful malevolence about it, like he couldn’t decide whether to strangle her or kiss her, but thought that both would be equally fun.

Ted had given her the serious creeps from the get-go, but she had to admit that the more she’d gotten to know Abee, the more she worried that the two were cut from the same cloth. Abee was getting a little… possessive lately, and that was beginning to scare her. In all honesty, it was probably time to move on. Drive north to Virginia or south to Florida, it didn’t really matter. She’d leave tomorrow, except that she didn’t have the cash to make the trip yet. She’d never been good at holding on to money, but she figured that if she really worked the customers at the bar this weekend and played her cards just right, she could earn enough by Sunday to get the hell out of here, before Abee Cole even realized she was gone.

The delivery truck lurched from the centerline to the shoulder and back again, the result of Alan Bonner trying to free a cigarette by bouncing the pack against his thigh while simultaneously trying not to spill the cup of coffee he had wedged between his legs. On the radio, a country song was blaring, something about a man who’d lost his dog or wanted a dog or liked eating dogs or whatever, but lyrics had never been as important as rhythm, and this tune had serious rhythm. Add in the fact that it was Friday, which meant he had only seven more hours of work time left before the long, glorious weekend ahead, and he was already in a good mood.

“Shouldn’t you turn that down?” Buster asked.

Buster Tibson was a new trainee with the company, which was the only reason he was even in the truck, and all week long he’d been complaining about this or asking questions about that. It was enough to drive anyone crazy.

“What? You don’t like this song?”

“It says in the manual that playing the radio loud causes distractions. Ron mentioned that specifically when he hired me.”

That was another annoying thing about Buster. He was a stickler for the rules. It was probably why Ron had hired him.

Alan finished tapping out the cigarette and stuck it between his teeth while he searched for his lighter. Thing was wedged deep into his pocket and it took a bit of concentration to keep the coffee from spilling as he began to dig it out.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s Friday, remember?”

Buster seemed dissatisfied with his answer, and when Alan glanced over he noticed that Buster had ironed his shirt this morning. No doubt he’d made sure that Ron had noticed. Probably went into the office with a notepad and pen, too, so that he could write down everything Ron said while simultaneously complimenting Ron on his wisdom.

And what about the guy’s name? That was another thing. What kind of a parent named their kid Buster?

The delivery van lurched onto the shoulder again as Alan finally freed his lighter.

“Hey, where the hell did you get the name Buster, anyway?” he asked.

“It’s a family name. On my mom’s side.” Buster frowned. “How many deliveries today?”

All week long, Buster had been asking that question, and Alan had yet to figure out why the specific number was so important. They delivered nabs and nuts and chips and trail mix and beef jerky to gas stations and convenience stores, but the key was not to speed through the route, or Ron would just add more stops. Alan learned that last year and he wasn’t about to make that mistake again. His territory already covered all of Pamlico County, which meant driving endlessly along the most boring roads in the history of mankind. Even so, this was far and away the best job he’d ever had. Way better than construction or landscaping or washing cars or anything else he’d done since he graduated from high school. Here, there was fresh air blowing through the window, music as loud as he wanted, and no boss constantly breathing down his neck. The pay wasn’t half bad, either.

Alan cupped his hands, steering with his elbows while he lit his cigarette. He blew the smoke through the open window. “Enough. We’ll be lucky if we finish.”