Supernova Souls - Ryan Upchurch

-18-

Ryan looked down at the bottle cap between his fingers and ran his thumb across the rigid outline. Warm breeze blew the porch swing he was sitting on slightly, occasionally hard enough to make his boot heel drag across the porch.
He took another swig off his beer then sat the longneck down onto the porch since he didn't have a table. The bottle cap however stayed in his hand.

His phone buzzed from his back pocket. God, what now? He thought as he shifted in the porch swing to grab his phone and unlock it. He stared at the screen, squinting to be able to read the unbelievably small letters that were supposedly forming words across his screen. New text message from:unknown number popped up above his lock screen which was a picture of his two dogs laying on his bed, curled up beside each other.

(615) xxx xxxx
Hey, I'm gonna be late getting home tonight.

Ryan
Who is this?

(615) xxx xxxx
Riley. Boss said I had to pull a double at work tonight, I'm really sorry.

Ryan
Ok.

He slipped his phone back into his pocket and picked up his beer again. She's been staying late at work more often than she used to.. pulling doubles multiple times a week and she's barely ever home.

Taking a sip of his beer, the burning taste of alcohol in his throat seemed to take away his thoughts for a moment. A short moment, but a moment all the while.

The dogs played together in the yard with a stick they'd found earlier, chasing each other and tumbling around in the grass in hopes one would steal the stick-which was more of a small-ish tree limb- from the other and win the so called game.

His two favorite trucks were parked in the driveway just because they could be, and because he wanted a picture of Stitches and his F-450 together-which he got, and loved- and because he loved seeing their paint shine in the sun. Delilah's truck would soon be joining his two in the yard, and he was sure his trucks would love the company of an additional Chevy.

Light fog floated throughout the early morning air but it didn't restrict the visibility almost whatsoever, it was barely there, only enough to set the calm, somewhat dark atmosphere the mornings in Tennessee always seemed to possess.

In the distance along the fence the low humming of a diesel truck approaching added to the quiet sounds coming from the animals on the ranch. The truck wasn't quite loud enough to disturb the animals or the peace of the morning, but it was more comforting rather  than annoying.

Ryan looked up to see what truck that was just in time to see it turning onto his driveway and stop right at the gate. The truck was a Silverado, a third generation from the looks of it and the truck was a nice pale-ish matte brown with a black hood and steelies with big, meaty tires that looked like they were 40s.

It was probably Delilah, and he figured why not go meet her at the gate and let her in himself?

His driveway was almost a mile long however, so he took one of his 4 wheelers up to the tall gate and hopped off once he got there.

Delilah smiled at him and waved though it was a very real possibility he couldn't even see through the windshield tint. "Mornin'." She said after she rolled her window down.

"Mornin'." Ryan repeated with a small smile. "C'mon in."

Delilah went ahead and drove down the long driveway and parked her truck beside his two, but she stayed in the cab for a little bit longer. Ryan closed the gate behind her and went to go park his 4 wheeler back in the garage in it's rightful spot next to his others.

When he came back out, Delilah was still in her truck messing with something on her arm so he left her alone and went to go feed the chickens. They weren't far so he just walked to the quaint little coop he had built himself for them. The chicken coop was more of a chicken mansion, and it was red and white and built like a small barn. He opened the doors to it and let the hens and the roosters roam free in the yard since he had a fence up surrounding every acre of his land and they'd be safe as long as they didn't find one of the holes Waylon dug beneath the fence.

He fed the chickens and turned to leave when he heard Mary Jane barking, which she never did. Waylon was right beside her, standing on all fours with his teeth showing at the man, growling as a threat that if he didn't leave, his inner guard dog he'd been trained to be would come out. That was a side of the fluffy white and brown dog nobody would willingly want to see. Waylon was a good boy, but he could turn on someone he saw as a threat in seconds.

She was at the edge of the gate with her paws on the metal bars barking at what looked like the shadow of a young boy with something in his hands he was trying to keep hidden.

He knew it wasn't Delilah because she was still in her truck, and he didn't see anyone or any cars follow her to the ranch when she came in. Who the hell is that guy?

As quietly as he could, he snuck up to the gate with his hand on the switchblade that sat on his hip in it's sheath to keep it out of harm's way. He could see the man's face the closer he got, but just barely. He had short, unruly blonde hair that spilled out from underneath his trucker hat that had a Toyota emblem on the front in big, bold stitching, brown eyes and pale skin. Apparently, he was stupid, because he didn't have his face covered and he was dressed in a plain white t-shirt and jeans. The idiot could be seen from across his yard, literally a over mile away. You ain't slick, bitch.

If you're gonna rob somebody you don't dress in white and blue, dumbass. A black hat and a shitty, rusted .45 that probably isn't even loaded won't save you from getting killed.