Chapter Nine

Tracy

Bronco threads his big fingers through mine. His giant hand engulfs my own as he leads me toward a group of men. If I had to guess, there are at least fifty of them lingering around waiting to be told what to do. A lot of them glance at Bronco's hand holding mine.

Is he trying to make a statement? I’d find it really sweet if I didn’t know this wasn’t only some temporary thing, and he doesn’t share. At least that seems to be the main point he is getting across to all these men. Bronco doesn’t need words to tell the world what he wants them to know.

I recognize a few of the workers from town, but I think most came in from the biggest city, about thirty minutes away. They’re all dressed in construction gear with a stack of tools behind them.

“This is Tracy. What she says goes.” A few of the guys I grew up with scrunch their faces in disbelief. I’m sure they're as confused as me. There’s no way they’re going to take orders from me. It’s laughable.

“Where’s Mr. Walker?” one of them calls out. I think his name is Andrew.

“I don’t give a shit where he is as long as it’s not here. You see him here, you let me know because it’s trespassing.” My attention focuses back on Bronco.

My father is really gone. That sounds a bit too good to be true, but he also sold me, so I’m useless to my father now. At the moment, I’m only going along with all this because my mind is spinning. Part of me is happy that I might never have to see my father again, but this other part, one that I don’t understand, hurts deep down inside.

“All right, boss man,” another one says. “Where do we start? We already cleared out the trailer.”

“My trailer?” I squeak. “Cleared out like…” I wait for someone to fill in this blank for me. When no one says anything, I turn and take off toward the place that has been my home for the past two years.

Bronco calls after me before he barks some other orders to the men. His steps are heavy behind me, and each one rumbles the ground, reminding me of a wild bull. He catches up to me as I turn the corner and freeze.

Fifty yards out, the spot where my trailer once stood is now bare. As is the rest of the parking lot. It’s been cleared of any litter or junk from the night before. There are still potholes and cracks in it, but concrete is damn expensive to repair.

I told my father if we started to charge for parking, we could pay to have it redone. I mean, half the time people party out here drinking their own beer. They could at least pay to park if they’re going to use it for a party zone and not drink our beer.