Page 18 of Risking it All

It had to be messed up to be her. I’d been through some crap in my life, some of it so twisty and mind bending that my internal compass would never stop spinning, but I had never been shot at point blank range, and I sure as shit was never left to bleed out on the street. That was shit that contorted in you ways that could never be smoothed out.

“I need your cell,” Macie said in a tone that indicated she meant what she said and would back that shit up if push came to shove. Even though her voice shook toward the end, I respected her strength.

I took my cell out of my back pocket and held it toward her. She accepted it and made the screen come to life. “What’s your passcode?”

“One-one-one-one.”

She lifted a disbelieving eyebrow. “Are you for real? Your passcode is one a toddler could figure out if they were playing with your cell?”

“I’m all about easy.” Because everything else in my life was damn hard.

With a shake of her head, as though she were a disappointed teacher, she punched in my code and brought up the dial pad. “I’m going to have 911 up on your cell and my dad’s number up on my mine, and if I even think we’re traveling in the wrong direction, I’m going to call both.”

A surge of pride that she wasn’t playing with either her safety or her friends’. Life wasn’t some movie where it all worked out in the end. Shit did and would happen. “Fair enough.”

She sucked in the corner of her bottom lip. “This doesn’t upset you?”

“You were doing great up until that last question. Don’t ever ask anyone’s permission to protect yourself or the people you love. At the end of the day, you are your first and only line of defense. Don’t trust anyone else to protect you; that’s shit you need to do for yourself.”

Macie glanced down. “Yeah, I’m learning that.”

Yeah, I had a feeling she was. “Let’s go before Sleeping Drunk Beauty starts puking.”

Macie groaned as her shoulders rolled forward. “I hate my life.”

Funny, I hated my life, too. For two people who were night and day, we oddly had more than I could imagine in common.

Macie eased into the passenger side as I took the driver’s seat, and after we shut our doors, I held my palm in her direction. “Keys.”

Keeping eye contact with me, Macie held up the key fob and pushed the remote start. The engine purred to life, and she gave me an innocent shrug. “I’m going to keep the keys.”

Points awarded to Macie. “Tell me Mazie Hutchinson, do you hustle pool, too, on your down time? Maybe run long cons involving millions of dollars?”

“You’re being silly, and we already established my name’s Macie Hutchins.”

“Naw, I’m not playing with you anymore. Fess up, you lead a double life. Macie Hutchins, the girl with straight A’s, member of all the clubs, and doer of all the right things, is not the girl sitting next to me. Nope, the woman currently sitting next to me knows how to play. She’s definitely a Mazie Hutchinson. Now, tell me where to go. The ball’s in your court.”

Macie messed with the touchscreen, and when directions popped up to a destination a mile away, I sagged with relief. I could easily make the walk back here to drive Marsh home in his beat-up car. Otherwise, I was up against creative hitchhiking, and I didn’t have the energy for that.

I shifted into gear and pulled out onto the street. Gianna had a nice ride that still had that new car smell. I wondered if I would ever own a new car or if I’d ever own a car that didn’t leak oil or gasoline. What would it be like to drive something where I didn’t have to avoid people who tossed lit cigarettes out their window?

“This is twice you’ve helped me, and I really do appreciate it,” Macie said.

“It’s nothing,” I replied.

“No, it’s something. If there’s anything I can do for you, let me know.”

The way Macie looked at me with those big eyes, like I was some type of savior, made my insides feel jacked up and twisted. I was no hero. I lived by my rules in order to survive, and be damned any morality system put in place by people of power and money.

Needing a switch up, I dropped a bomb on the conversation. “Know any place that will hire a felon?” Okay, I wasn’t a felon. In fact, when I turned eighteen, as long as I fulfilled the requirements set by the judge, my record would be wiped clean. But part of my plea deal was that I had to show steady part-time employment by having a boss sign off on my hours. Those hours, I turned into the judge each week. That meant I’d have to tell any employer what I had done, and no one had time or patience for someone like me.

“I thought you worked construction,” she said.

Aw, so she did pay attention to me. “The company went under.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You apologize for things that aren’t your fault. Don’t.”

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