Page 150 of Come Break My Heart Again

“You don’t need to—that’s not why I was asking.”

“I know.”

I keep holding the money out, and he finally takes it.

I’m not expecting the hug. It catches me off guard. My family has never been the overly affectionate kind. We show our love in subtler ways.

“Thanks, man,” Cormac tells me, tapping my back twice with his fist.

“Don’t mention it.”

I mean that literally. This is already more thanks than I needed.

“I’ll see you at home?”

“Yeah. I’ll be back around dinner.”

“’Kay. Cool.” He continues walking.

“Cormac,” I call after him.

He pauses and spins back around to face me.

“She won’t care,” I tell him. “If she’s the right girl, she won’t care where you take her or how much money you spend on her. Okay?”

Cormac nods. “Thanks, Ry.”

30

An unsmiling Cormac opens the door. He looks different. Serious. Older, like he’s aged a couple of years since I last saw him.

I know the feeling.

I stretch my mouth into a smile. “Hi, Cormac. Remember me?”

He nods. “You heard, right? Ryder isn’t here. He won’t be home for a long time.”

That last sentence makes me want to sink down and sob. It’s so simple. So final.

But it feels like all I’ve done is cry recently. I’m here so I can stop.

“I-I know,” I answer. “I wanted to talk to your mom. Is she home?”

“Yeah,” Cormac says dully. “Come in.”

I step inside the trailer, my chest squeezing painfully as I glance around the familiar kitchen, knowing I won’t see Ryder here. It’s still the closest I’ve felt to him in three weeks. He’s never been in my house. I go to a different school now. The places where we spent the most time together—they’re allhisplaces. The auto garage and this trailer are all I have left of him.

“Mom’s back in her bedroom. I’ll grab her.”

Cormac leaves, providing me with the perfect opening for the real reason I’m here. I reach for the woman’s purse hanging off one of the kitchen chairs without hesitating, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a hair clip before finding a pink wallet. I slip the driver’s license out from behind the protective plastic and slide it into the back pocket of my jeans, my heartbeat a guilty thud in my ears as I quickly replace everything else in the purse.

When I went to the prison last week, they wouldn’t let me see Ryder. They told me I wasn’t an approved visitor. They’ll let family in though—I hope. I have no idea if this crazy, desperate plot I’ve hatched will work, but it’s all I have.

“You’re a long way from home.”

I spin to face Ryder’s mother. Her first name is Nina, according to her ID. Nina James.

She’s stunning. Long, dark hair. Delicate features. Willowy frame. She could pass for thirty—the only signs of her age are the raspy tone of a frequent smoker and the crow’s-feet in the corners of her eyes.

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