Page 54 of The Wrong Drive

I could just ask how she’s doing now. See if she’d want to keep in touch by phone.But the knot in my stomach is the answer. It’d never be enough. I want tobethere for her in the way she deserves.

I erase the number, but I don’t set the phone down. Navigating to the contacts, I scroll to the one person whomightstill be willing to help me—and be able to handle me. Biting down on my bottom lip, I press the call button, hoping like hell he hasn’t changed his phone number.

“Hello?” A deep, achingly familiar voice answers.

“Hey, I don’t know… I don’t know if you remember?—”

“Martin,” Bradford breathes out. “You really think I’d forget you?”

“Well, I guess not,” I chuckle, fighting the way my chest is tightening. “I did try to hurt?—”

“Water under the bridge,” he cuts me off again. “I haven’t heard from you in eleven years, Martin. How are you? Are you getting by?”

I swallow hard. “Uh, no. Not really. You ever get out?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I got out a decade ago, kid. Where have you been?”

“The cabin,” I answer him, flatly. “But I need to talk to you… I need some help.”

He’s silent for a few moments. “I’ll be there tomorrow.” With that, the line goes dead, and I’m left with the phone still resting against my cheek in a stupor. I slowly pull it away, unsure if I did the right thing.

I set the phone down on the desk, and then wait.

Gunner letsout a bark at daybreak, and I peer through the window, spotting a black truck, pulling up outside of my gate. Pulse throbbing in my temple, I head out into the cold morning to the gate. I unlock it, as the driver’s side door opens.

I’m staring my past right in the fucking face.

“You don’t look well,” Bradford comments, his gray eyes studying me beneath a black cowboy hat as he climbs out, leaving the gate between us. He’s every bit as fit as ever, and even though he’s got ten years on me, I wouldn’t fight him. I’ve tried.

And I didn’t win.

“You and I both know I haven’t been well in years,” I level with him, swinging the gate open. “But some things have happened, and I don’t think I can keep going like this.”

He purses his lips and blows out a sharp breath, the silver and black facial hair lining his jaw a new feature. “I don’t know how you managed to keep this up for as long as you did. I’ve kept an eye on you.”

“Not too close.” My jaw ticks. “Otherwise, you’d probably have the cops with you.”

“Nah, I don’t want ‘em around anymore than you do.” With that, he climbs back into his truck and pulls into my driveway. I close the gate, dummy locking it—just in case he needs to get out.

My hands sweat as I walk around to the passenger door, opening it and climbing inside. I stare down at my hands as we ride in silence to the cabin, where Gunner sits quietly on the front porch, watching us.

We exit then and I start to sweat even worse beneath my coat. I wipe my hands down my jeans, noticing Bradford watching me carefully. He stops on the front porch, giving Gunner a pat on the head before reaching into his denim sherpa pocket and pulling out a carton of cigarettes. He lights one up and holds out the box to me.

“I don’t smoke anymore,” I tell him, rocking back on my heels. I’m anticipating the urge for violence to wash over me at any moment, but it doesn’t. All I can think about is Em—and if I’ll be writing her a fucking letter from prison.

“With all the bodies you got buried around here, you probably should,” Bradford chuckles. He takes a long draw and then puffs out a cloud of smoke. “Why didn’t you call me after you killed Thomas?”

My head starts to feel light. “How do you know?”

He eyes me. “I told you, I’ve been keeping an eye on you, waiting for you to give me a call. I could use a guy like you. I can help you get healthy up here.” He taps his temple. “You’ve been out playing risky behavior. You don’t have to do that. I have contracts.”

“I can’t handle a real job.”

“Good, I don’t have arealjob for you. I got a solution to a longstanding problem you seem to have. It’s up to you on whether or not you accept my help, but I can help you return to a new kind of normal—if that’s what you want.”

“I can’t control the blackouts,” I reason, unsure of what he means. “I only killed when someone showed up here… Or if I have a blackout.”

“Yeah, I can help you with that. Give me the rest of the year to work with you, and I guarantee, you’ll be good as new.”

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