He followed me up the old wooden steps of the wrap around porch. I swatted the moths away from the porch light before I opened the screen door. Momma always hated when those things flew inside. The door was barely opened before Sampson wriggled between my legs and the doorjamb and scurriedinside.
It was past midnight, so I tried to be quiet as I tiptoed up the stairs, but that farmhouse was built in the 1800s and half of the steps creaked and groaned under my weight. The door to my parents’ bedroom was still cracked. Out of habit, I glanced in on my way down the hall. Daddy had Momma’s old, wooden rocker pulled up beside the bed. One of his weathered hands clasped Momma’s hand while the other swiped away his tears. His head was bowed, and I was certain he was praying for a miracle, but I unfortunately knew what the results of the tests she’d had the week before meant. And it was not good. After I passed my brother’s door, I slipped intomine.
When I flipped the light on, the bright pink walls nearly blinded me. I thought this was the most awesome color when I was fifteen, not so much at the age of twenty. Daddy offered to redo my room when I moved back to help out, but I didn’t see the point. He had better things to do than tone down this abysmalcolor.
I dropped my purse to the floor and flopped down on the bed, still in my scrubs as I stared up at the tiny glow in the dark stars stuck to theceiling.
Mother was only fifty-one. Bo was only sixteen. I choked on a sob before I gave into it all and letgo.
I didn’t know how to loseher.
4
Noah
The paint on the cinder block wall behind the counter was peeling. You’d think Rockford’s finest would have taken a little more pride in theirjail.
Buzz.I glanced over my shoulder at the automatic doors sliding open. An officer escorted a woman in nothing but a thin, white t-shirt inside the jail. No bra. Possibly no underwear...Jesus, I’m ready to get the hell out ofhere.
The scrawny policeman behind the counter snatched a piece of paper from the printer. “Court date’s set for August ninth,” he said, jotting something on the bottom of the page before sliding it across the counter. “This says you’ve been charged with domestic violence, class one.” He tapped the pen over a line. “Signhere.”
I took the pen and scrawled my name. He tore off the top sheet and handed the yellow copy to me. “Go on now,” hesaid.
Another buzzer sounded and the metal door beside his desk slid open with a loud click. Exactly what I needed, a domestic violence charge. That charge was a load of shit. Max Summers deserved every bruise, every broken rib I gave him. There was no respect for vigilante justice thesedays.
The second I stepped into the lobby of the station, someone clapped. I glanced around, and my dumbass friend, Trevor, was leaning against the far wall by a vending machine, grinning like an idiot and still clapping. His blonde hair looked like it hadn’t seen a brush in days, and from the state of the circles under his eyes, I assumed he’d stayed out drinking after I’d gotten arrested. The few clerks in the room stared at him. I just shook my head, punching him on the shoulder when I passed by. “Come on,” I said, walking toward theexit.
“You’re welcome, asswipe,” he said as we steppedoutside.
“Thanks.”
The thick summer heat clung to my skin like cellophane, and I squinted against the early morningsun.
“How was it?” heasked.
“Are youserious?”
“Yeah,” he laughed. “I’ve neveractuallybeen booked. You’re legit as it gets now, all you need is a shitty prisontattoo.”
The alarm to his BMW chirped, the taillights blinked, and the locks clicked. I wish I could say he wasn’t serious, but he was. “You should have been in jail at least four times by now,” I remindedhim.
Trevor is what most people would call a shithead, and I guess that was why I was friends with him. His dad was the DA of Montgomery County, hence why he’d never actually gone to jail. He still lived with his parents. He had no aim in life—not that I did, but I came from a less than desirable background. No one expectedmeto do anything worthwhile with my life. Trevor was actually smart, had a scholarship to some school in Tennessee, but he just basically pissed his talent away. Said he couldn’t be “fucked” withcollege.
“Nah, now I can just say my friend’s an ex-con.” He grinned. “Gives me all the street cred Ineed.”
“Yes, because you need as much street cred as you can get in Sylacauga?” I climbed into his car and dragged my hand down my face. I was tired, hungover, and my jaw still swollen from where Max had gotten a few good shots in onme.
Trevor opened his console, grabbed my phone and truck keys, and tossed them to me. “Oh, they impounded yourtruck.”
“Aw, that’s bullshit!” I glanced at my watch.It’s already eight-thirty. God, Grandma’s going to beat me if I make her late to church.“Can I borrow your truck?” I asked, switching my phoneon.
“Sure.” The deep rumble of the suped-up engine vibrated through the seat when Trevor cranked theengine.
We pulled out of the parking lot while my phone loaded. The distinct ping, ping, ping of texts fired off back to back. I clicked on the string of messages from myboss:
Where areyou?
Lateagain?