Page 39 of Better Hide

I don’t believe him. Three shots. Three shots. Back in the day, I was surprised by how little blood there is when someone's freshly shot. Now, I’m not.

I had to have missed something. Someone has to be hurt.

I check over Jo again.

“Fuck, Jayden!” she yells, then hides her head under her arms. “Just leave me alone.” Her shoulders shake as she heaves out sobs.

I glance at Cole again. He looks steely. Pissed.

Two to the body. One to the head.

That cop was going to shoot two innocent people. Fuck, how could he have been so stupid?

I sink back into my seat, and it strikes me that I almost lost the only two people I care about in one moment because I froze. Again.

A sick feeling fills me. Every time I care, it ends up hurting the people I love.

And I can’t have that. I have to stop fucking caring.

19

COLE

I’m flying downthe interstate. The needle is pushing 125, and I keep pressing.

“Get off the highway,” Jayden demands.

“What?” I barely hear him over the chaos in my head.

“Get off the interstate! Every cop around here will be looking for us, and they’ll chase us to the end of the earth on this long open road.”

I have to consciously force myself to slow down. I glance back. Jo is crying. Despite my anger, alarm fills me. “Is she okay?”

Jayden checks over her again. “I think so.”

“What do you mean, you think so?” Either she is, or she isn’t. Anger rushes through me, followed by fear.

She tried to run from us. Fromme. Again.

I slam my hand on the steering wheel, hitting hard enough to hurt. I do it again, hoping it’ll ground me.

It doesn’t. It’s not enough. I need more pain.

We drive for a while—I’m not sure how long—and everything inside me is in turmoil. We only just got Jo back, and it almost happened again.

And it hurts just as much as it did last time.

At some point, Jo falls asleep, and Jayden closes his eyes, but I know he’s not sleeping. He keeps checking on me when he thinks I’m not looking.

As the sun goes down, the landscape becomes more wooded.

My leg bounces. I need to park and get out. I need to be alone. Memories and feelings that I try to keep tamped down are creeping up, trying to live in my mind.

Fuck. I need a fucking cigarette. I shake my head. Get it together. You’re not like this.

Pat’s face sneers across my vision, and I swerve.

Fucking hell. I need to park. And then sleep. How much sleep have I gotten in the last 48 hours? An hour? My head is pounding, and I can’t get my leg to stop bouncing.

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