Under the Dusty Sky (Holloway Farms)

drunk. She can’t stay at my place like this.” Lacy’s voice is shaking, and she sounds scared, which makes me think that this is more than just a drunk girl who fought with her…wait. Guy she’s seeing? My interest in this conversation is switching gears and I don't like it. I don't like the way it makes me feel to hear about this guy.
    “ What do you want me to do about it?” My tone is defensive, but it sounds like Lacy’s crying. My one fatal flaw. The crying girl. Okay, I have more than one fatal flaw, but tears are definitely top five.
    “ My parents will kill me if I bring her home like this. But her dad will kill her if I call him. Please, it’s her birthday in two days. If she gets grounded or something, she’ll freak. Please, Bentley. Can you please come get her?”
    “ What am I supposed to do with her when I pick her up? I can’t exactly just waltz in here with my boss’ drunk underage daughter, can I?”
    “ By the way she was acting tonight, I don’t care if you toss her in a hay pile and leave her there.”
    My mouth hangs open as I try with everything I have to tell her it’s not my problem. Drunk, crying, fighting girls are not my problem.
    “ I’ll be right there. Text me directions.”
    I tuck my phone back in my pocket and bury my head in my hands.
    So much for getting away from it all. A summer of peace and quiet. No girls. No drama. No me being…well, me.
    I reach in the porch and grab the keys for the truck that was deemed ‘mine’ for the duration of my job and hammer down the steps.
    ***
    When I get to the school, Lacy is standing in the front with her arms wrapped around her stomach and holding her elbows. She’s not crying, but in the glare of the headlights, I can see her eyes lined with red and a little swollen.
    I don’t even bother turning the truck off. I’m not staying. I nod as I pass Lacy, silently asking if I’m heading in the right direction. She spins and easily falls into step with me. It takes three glances and one failed attempt before she can say anything.
    “ Thanks, Bentley. Seriously,” she says and tucks a strand of wavy hair behind her ear.
    I look at her, and she smiles weakly.
    “ No problem, but I am not going down for this. If she gets caught, she’s on her own. As far as I’m concerned, she gets a free pass a little too often.”
    Lacy doesn’t say anything. She agrees with me, but I’ve never met anyone as loyal as Lacy. We come around the side of the two-story brick school, and Lacy points to the football field.
    “ She’s in the bleachers. She won’t let anyone near her. Good luck.” Lacy spins on her heel and goes in the opposite direction.
    Thanks. I take back the loyalty statement.
    Gracie's about halfway up the bleachers, laying on her stomach on the wooden plank. Her arm hangs over the edge, and her hair is draped in front of her face. I walk up slowly, stepping on the benches until I’m right in front of her. I squat down and brush her hair off her face.
    “ G’way, Lacy. I said I dun need yer help,” Gracie says with her eyes closed and swats my hand limply.
    “ No, but it looks like you need mine.”
    Her eyes shoot open, and she rolls off the bench, landing awkwardly half on and half off. She starts to laugh, and I try to scoop her out.
    There is nothing harder than helping a drunk girl walk. A guy you just have to keep him upright. He’ll fall over, but that’s it. Girls bend in weird places and to the point that they should probably snap in half.
    Gracie is no exception. I basically have to roll her into the fetal position so I can get a good grip on her and hoist her up into my arms.
    “ Benny!” She giggles, and her head flops back.
    “ Don’t move, Gracie. If I fall and break my neck, my blood is on your hands.”
    I think she tries to laugh, but it comes out as a gurgling snort and she lifts her head, just about scorching my eyes with the scent of alcohol.
    “ Jesus, Graceland. Did you leave any for your friends?”
    ***
    I finally get her into the truck, but I can’t get her to sit up. Even with the seatbelt, she just slumps over. I move around the truck and climb in, carefully lifting her head and placing it in my lap, accepting that she won't sit up.
    I think she’s sleeping, or passed out, until we get to the dirt road, and I feel a tickling sensation on my side. I lift my arm and look down to see her holding the bottom of my shirt out with one hand and tracing my stomach with the other. I