Page 27 of Come Break My Heart Again

But I’m buoyed by the prospect offighting, unfamiliar energy thrumming through me. I thought not challenging anything was easier, but it’s draining in its own way. Debilitating.

Keira drives off, and I head inside. My parents are at a fundraiser in the city tonight, so I have the house to myself. I flip on lights as I walk through the silent, massive house, heading upstairs to my bedroom.

After debating for a few minutes, I slip on the blue dress I bought for the first day of school. I touch up my makeup, curl my hair, and stare at my reflection in the mirror.

I look poised and put together, no sign of the turmoil I’m experiencing obvious in my expression.

I blow out a long breath, then head downstairs.

7

Nothing’s changed.

I think that’s the most depressing part out of the plenty to choose from.

Seven years.

Sevenfucking years.

And nothing has changed.

I stare at the exterior of the trailer where my mom still lives, and it looks the same. I could have been gone for a week. Or a month.

I thoughtsomethingwould look different. So far, all I’ve noticed is the dirt road leading to the trailer park was paved. Based on the bumpiness driving here, it would have been better left alone.

“My shift ends at six,” my mom tells me. “I’m low on groceries, but I’ll bring something back for dinner. Cormac should be here in a few hours.”

I nod, not coming up with anything to say.

My mom refuses to talk about her illness. Suggesting she cut back on her hours at the store will only devolve into another fight. And I can’t offer to go get groceries because I have no car and no money. I’m helpless. Useless. Sitting around and waitingfor my little brother to return from college is an unappealing prospect. And my only option.

I climb out of the sedan she’s had forever. I tuned up the engine, back in high school when I was working at Hank’s garage. My mom has never mentioned car trouble, so I guess it’s held up all right. One thing that didn’t go wrong.

My mom reverses as soon as I shut the car door, turning around and avoiding the worst of the potholes.

The asphalt I cross is more cracked than complete, evidence of harsh winters and minimal upkeep. I’m sure the town put up a fight about paving it in the first place. They like to pretend this place doesn’t exist, not invest time or money in it.

“Ryder.”

I pause, halfway across the small yard, to glance at the neighboring trailer. Mrs. Nelson is standing, holding an orange watering can, staring at me like I’m an apparition that fell straight out of the sky.

The polite smile appears automatically. She’s a bit of a busybody, but Mrs. Nelson was always willing to help out with Cormac or to grab a package. Seeing her is surprisingly nostalgic. She still dresses like she’s hoping to be seen from space.

“Hi, Mrs. Nelson.”

None of the shock has dimmed from her expression. “I didn’t know you were coming home.”

My mom is the furthest thing from an oversharer. And your child getting released from prison, even if it’s eight months early for good behavior, isn’t exactly a proud parental moment to brag about.

“It was sudden,” I say.

Not that seven years passed quickly.

“I know a lot of people will be happy to see you.”

My brow furrows at the odd phrasing. My mom is relieved I’m out. She’s also dying, preoccupied by more important matters than my criminal record. Cormac is consumed by his own life, finishing his sophomore year of college and excited about a summer internship that’s set to start soon. The only other person I told about my release was Tucker. That’s not a lot of people.

She’s being polite, I guess. I know I look like shit, bedraggled and beaten down.

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