Page 77 of Better Hide

35

JAYDEN

Jo obeyed for once.She curls up with Cole in the bedroom, and he keeps throwing me shitty looks while he holds her. LikeI’mthe problem.

I’m not the fucking problem. It’s her fault for continuing to fight me.

Cole just needs a good beatdown to get that stupid idea out of his head.

But we don’t have time for that. We need to get down to New Mexico to meet up with the people I paid off. We also need to avoid the cops up here. Sam saw me get violent with Ralph, and it’s only a matter of time before the cops are after us. Again. We need to fucking start over.

I furiously pack some food from the kitchen into my backpack. We’re going to have to drive to get picked up, and we’re just too high profile to be stopping to get food.

I rifle through their pantry. All they have for water is flavored water bottles that taste like TV static, and I hate it.

Fuckers. Couldn’t buy the good water?

My hands shake as I pack up.

I lost control. I lost control and made an impulsive decision. I shouldn’t have attacked Ralph in the main living space. Shouldn’t have attacked him at all.

No.No, he deserved it.

I throw some goldfish and cans of soup into my backpack.

Jo thinks I don’t care. But I did it. I won. I broke Jo.

My stomach sours. What I saw in her eyes didn’t look like victory. Why is none of this going the way I thought?

I snatch up the backpack, and it slams into my back from the weight of all the cans. As I stalk to the key rack by the garage door, I pass by a mirror. I glimpse something familiar and freeze.

I see Pat’s eyes again. Suddenly, I hear his Santa Clause chuckle in my head. “You’re gonna be just like me, boy.” He told me that the first time I got suspended for fighting.

Fuck! What the hell is happening?

I yank the garage door open and storm through. As I step down the first step, the door handle catches on my belt loop and yanks me back. I lose my balance, falling down the edge of the steps and cracking my knee on the cement edge. I try to catch myself, but the weight of the bag shifts, and I fall on my ass onto the hard cement.

Pain lances through me.

Fucking hell! My chest gets tight, and I frantically untangle myself from my backpack.

“What the fuck!” I yell at the door handle. It just sits there, partially opened.

My knee throbs. I pull my pant leg up. There’s a red rub mark with purple bruising already.

Uncontainable rage starts to boil. I want to scream, fight, or hurt something. I hold it in, and my chest gets tight until my eyes burn. Against my will, a single tear traces down my cheek.

Suddenly, all the rage, all the anger, everything races out of me in a single tear, and I’m left empty.

I put my head on my knees.

None of this was supposed to go like this. We weren’t supposed to be here. We were supposed to be at the cabin. We were supposed to be living unbothered. Jo could cook whatever she wanted. She could get a dog. She could do anything she wanted—other than leave us. Why does she keep trying to leave us?

She wasn’t supposed to hate me, not like this.

I sit there for a long time, thinking over everything. How I might have fucked up every single part of this.

The garage door opens, and I stiffen, instantly glaring up at whoever it is.

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