Page 3 of Until Kendal

Finally, she came strolling out of her bedroom. I jumped in front of her on her way to the kitchen and took her hands, “Mom, we need to get you out of here, now.”

“I’m fine, sweetheart,” she said with her huge smile missing a few molars in the back.

I shook my head. It was my job to protect her, and blood wasn’t my thing. I took her hands to lead her out. “No. Dad’s out. I can’t have him come here for you.”

She waved me off and went to make her coffee. “I’ve not seen or heard from him in five years, and he signed the divorce papers.”

I'd paid the lawyer to fix it so she wasn’t responsible for him anymore, but my pulse raced as I remembered cleaning her blood off her cheek as she flinched in pain. I crossed my arms. “Keeping him in prison kept you safe.”

She finished pouring water in the pot for the coffeemaker and shrugged. “Where would I go?”

I took a deep breath. My mom fed people at the soup kitchen and generally gave away every dime she had when someone mentioned a sob story. She’d been my responsibility for as long as I could remember.

I hugged her and said, “For now, you’re staying with me.”

She shook her head and percolated her morning brew. “You don’t have the room.”

I let her go. “I’ll take the couch until we hit the road.”

She cupped my face, her brown eyes shining with warmth. This was the only woman who had ever loved me unconditionally. She then said, “Can I think about it?”

Tension ratcheted up my spine, but I took her hand gently. “No. Any second, he could come back. It’s already been twenty-four hours, so we’re on borrowed time. Pack.”

She sucked in her lips, which meant she was thinking about it. I waited until she nodded. “I will. Go and get your things and tell your boss. We can’t just leave in a day. I’ll pack. Then come and get me when you’re ready.”

I let out a breath I been holding. She was right. I was on the clock soon. I had to tell them, though, honestly, how we'd paid for our escape weighed on my shoulders. I’d worked almost every hour in a day to make ends meet. And it turned out when I’d given the cops my father’s name and address years ago disqualified us from any reward, despite how that had put my mother and me in life-threatening danger. He hadn't forgotten.

I stepped backward and said, “Call me every hour. I’ll get what we need.”

She held her hand to her heart like she’d made a solemn vow. Now it was time to dash. Eventually, he would land himself back in jail, and besides, I had a plan in my life to never ever dream or wish for more than being okay.

I started my 1999 Toyota Camry and mapped out what I saw happening. My mom would stay with me in my small apartment tonight until we gassed up and figured out where to go. My dad had no idea what my address was, so hopefully, he would shuffle out of town when he realized he had no one left. Or it was time to pack up and leave forever.

As I drove, I tapped my steering wheel. Then I stared at the back of a car, and my brakes didn’t work. I braced, then everything slowed down.

Glass cracked.

Steel bent.

And my engine crumpled into a silver car. My head bounced when my airbags deployed, and for a second, I couldn’t think.

My car hissed, and my mind finally realized what had happened. I’d run the stop sign and crashed. I winced as I reached for my door. “Fuck.”

The second I stepped outside, the steam of my engine roared louder than a pressure cooker.

Then warm light brown eyes met mine, and a strong hand held me as he asked, “Are you okay?”

My knees were weak, but it was definitely because of the accident and not Mr. Sexy.

My heart whispered, but I couldn’t hear the words. I glanced around and covered my lips as I realized the extent of what I’d done. I rocked as I said, “I should be asking you… a Maserati? My insurance is going to be impossible now. I’m sorry!”

He shrugged. “I’ll make you a deal.”

If I were him, I would have exploded in anger, but then I didn’t own anything nice like his car. My entire body buzzed as I asked, “What?”

He put his hands in his back pocket of his Gucci jeans, which probably cost more than I made in a week. “If you tell me where I can repair my car and yours, then we don’t have to report it.”

That was nice. There might be a catch, but I didn’t have the cash. I narrowed my eyes. “Are you serious?”

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