Page 72 of Rise In Arms

I kiss her forehead. “Thanks, I’ll keep trying too. I’ll bring her back.”

She nods her head. “I’ll hold you to it.”

I kiss her forehead one last time. “Text me her folks’ address,” I call out over my shoulder as I race out to my bike.

Parking my bike in the first spot I find, I race into the bus station, and jump the queue to the ticket office.

“Excuse me, I was before you,” a woman barks from beside me as I rush to the front.

I glance at her but keep moving. “Sorry, ma’am, but this is an emergency.” She doesn’t reply, just glares at me and huffs out a breath.

“When was the last bus to Pennsylvania?”

The man behind the glass types something into his computer then looks up at me. “It left at 6:00 a.m., sir.”

I glance at my watch; it’s almost eleven. “Fuck!” The man widens his eyes and leans forward to press what I’m assuming is an alarm button. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? Thank you.” I step back from the window, not really needing to fight off security right now. I head to my bike, straddle it, and take out my phone.

“Trigg, what’s going on?”

“Hey, Prez. Look, Charity’s left.”

“She’s what?”

“I don’t have time to explain, I’m heading to her parents’ house, hoping to God she’s there.”

I hear him sigh on the other end. “Need anything, brother?”

“Nah, I’m good. Just do me a favor, and make sure my sis is okay. She mentioned Jasmine offered for her to stay with you guys.”

“Yeah, she did. Don’t worry, brother, she’s safe with us. Oh, and Trigg?”

I run my hand down the back of my neck. “Yeah?”

“Did I mention that was a hell of a fight?”

I laugh then. The boys haven’t stopped raving about the fight, they were so proud of a brother who managed to take down Blake Reynolds. I have to admit my pride in myself grew a little that night.

“Yeah, you may have,” I reply laughing, then straighten. “Gotta go, Prez.”

“Sure, man, good luck. Text through when you’re there.”

“Sure.”

A few hours later and I finally see a sign that says, Welcome to Pennsylvania, on the side of the road. I’ve been pushing speed limits for the past few hours, hoping like hell that Charity is at her folks’. Hazel sent me a text with the address earlier on, so it won’t be long now till I know if she is indeed there.

I ride down a quiet street, the one her parents live on according to the map on my phone, and kids are outside playing, happy-looking family members talking outside their houses. This would have been a great place to grow up. Thinking back, I try to imagine what mine and Hazel’s life would have been like if we grew up in a place like this, with parents that loved and cared for us. I guess I’d never know, though. There are days I think about going to visit my old man in the pen, but then I come to my senses. He’s not worth it. He never was and never will be.

Finally, the house marked with number twenty-three comes into view, and I park my bike on the side of the street. I turn the engine off, remove my shades, and stare up at the two-story home with its immaculate yard, picket fence, and beautiful trees surrounding it. It would be every girl’s dream home.

I slide off the bike and place my shades on the seat. Suddenly feeling nervous as hell, I take a few steps, then stop still at the driveway. What if she tells me to leave? What if she’s not here at all? Well, the only way I’m gonna find out is if I go and knock on that big, wooden front door.

Taking the last few steps up the driveway, I stand in front of the door. I inhale deeply then knock a couple of times. Nothing. I notice a doorbell to one side, so I ring that instead.

Finally, footsteps approach, and a voice rings out, “I already said I’m not hungry, Mrs. Loft.” Thank fuck, she’s here. I don’t respond, and then I hear the door unlocking from the other side. I prepare myself for what’s about to come, but then almost wish I hadn’t, because when she opens the door, the look on her face is not surprise, or excitement, or even happiness—it’s a look that screams You shouldn’t have come!

“Kane? What the hell are you doing here? Please leave.” Charity goes to slam the door, but I stop it with my boot. She sighs and looks up at me, her expression void of any kind of emotion. “Please remove your boot,” she says, her voice robotic and dull.

“Not until you explain why you left.”

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