Sheep's Clothing Gary Lewis (best books to read in your 20s txt) 📖

the shady woods to where Vance stood with his beer. "Gonna end up just like your pops if you keep on drinking those," he said, motioning toward Vance's hand.

"What'd you say?" Vance asked. He looked past Eddie as the rest of the football team stood watching from the other side of camp.

"Hey. I didn't mean anything by it, man," Eddie said, timidly sweeping his hand. "It was just a joke."

Vance stood in place, glaring Eddie in the eye. "Don't want any trouble, huh?" he quietly asked.

He watched Eddie walk back to the others before lowering his sight back to the can that he tightly squeezed. He gripped it with a heat that made even the cold aluminum burn with the thoughts of the one person he could never stand up to. The circular pattern on the logo depicted a swirling cycle of silver lines, reminding Vance of the cycle he faced at home.

"Maybe Janice was right. All just cursed in this cycle 'til we die," he mumbled to himself. "No say-so in the matter." Vance looked across the opening, a forest floor covered in patches of poison ivy and wild ginseng. Playful shoves broke out between the team as they huddled around Eddie's truck a distance away. "Or maybe Sarah has a point..." The veins bulged from his forearm and he clenched his jaw as he raised the can up. "And it's time I build a world for myself." Vance tossed the beer with all his might against the giant oak. The can busted, raining a twirling spray of foam above his friends.

"What's the deal?" asked Eddie, patting off his shirt.

"Y'all deal with this." Vance said, pointing back at the blazing fire pit as he continued to his pickup. "I've got shit to do."

"Wait. Where you going?" Shannon asked as she leapt from the flimsy foldout camping chair. Before she could get around to the passenger side, Vance threw it into second gear and tore his way up the muddy hill to the gravel forestry road.

It was a short distance until the woods to his left opened up into a large, bright green clearing. The chicken houses stood, circled with muddy terrain. Short concrete walkways led to their entrances. As he continued tumbling his truck up the bumpy path, his trailer park became visible beyond the chicken houses. A collection of rusted, metal dwellings that only the lost called home. "Should all be condemned," he said to himself as he reached to turn on the CD player.

Before he could hit the button, his phone dinged. His notification screen lit up with Terry's update in the group chat.

"Ms. Tanner, Cory, and a cheerleader, Grace Jenson all missing."

Vance pressed the tiny side button, turning his screen black as he tossed the phone across the seat and came to a stop. He gazed out across the chicken farm. "Just follow me through there and you're done," he said before spinning his tires out in the damp gravel, slinging rocks as he turned onto the paved road.

Vance slowed down to a quiet roll as he approached his driveway. The red Mustang stood jacked up, just the way he left it over a week ago, the porchlight was still on from several nights before and the same brown dust that coated his dad's pickup clung to the rickety wooden porch beside missing sections of rusty siding.

After lightly shutting the door to his pickup, Vance stepped carefully up the front steps. He listened for any sound from the trailer while he slowly stepped above the stacked cinder blocks that supported the wooden stairs. After silently turning the knob and peeking around the living room, he snuck to his bedroom.

From his closet, he slung two empty, black duffel bags onto his bed. Vance quickly tossed paired socks with folded jeans and shoved the packs full of clothes. He laid his favorite buck knife on the bed beside a small picture frame. "Mom looked so healthy before the drugs," he said to himself as he carefully placed the photo aside on his blanket.

"Where y'off to in such a hurry, boy?" The menacingly deep voice grumbled from his opened bedroom doorway where his dad leaned against the busted frame. His hands rested on his large metal belt buckle just below his fat, hairy belly. "Look at me when I talk to you, you fuckin' pussy!"

Vance briefly turned to his father. "Camping with the football team," he said quietly, looking away to scoot his shirts in with the rest of it.

Vance refused to turn his head as his father paced closer, placing one hand on his hip and leaning against Vance's footboard with the other. He could feel the hot breeze of beer and chewing tobacco brush against his shoulder as his dad's unbroken stare threatened every move that he made.

"The fuck you need long sleeves for?" The burly arm pulled some of the clothes out that Vance had packed away.

"Just leave me alone," Vance said as he looked at the floor, attempting to avoid the treacherous vision space that his father loomed.

"Must take that shit after this dumb whore," his grumpy voice startled Vance to attention as he halted at the sight of the old man grasping the portrait of his mother before he lifted it high.

"No!" Vance shouted, reaching out. His dad slammed it against the wooden bedpost, smashing the plastic cover across the bed where he discarded the piece he still held.

Vance clenched his fists, looking across the room at the sorry excuse for a pile of shit that stood before him. Fat cheeks sagged across the sides of his densely stubbled face below saggy eyes, partially covered by the long, oily, gray hair that matted together, uncombed. His real father had died long ago. He drowned in depression and booze until this thing had taken his place.

"Gonna do somethin'?" A smile cracked through the beige and gray beard that tangled its way down his dirty face. "Didn't think so."

Vance charged, pummeling his shoulder into his dad's chest. Drywall crumbled around