Page 91 of Little Bird
The thought brings all my rage to the surface, and before I can think twice I’m actually shouting at him, hurling every accusation and insult I can think of and letting him hear exactly how bad it’s been for me. This is so new that I almost stop myself in shock—this isn’t the sort of thing we’ve ever spoken of before—but once I start, it’s far too late. He’s screaming back at me, his face turning red and heated, and we’re so close to each other that I can feel the heat coming off his skin. We shout and shout until he finally backs down and says something about this not being worth anyone’s time.
“I’m looking for your stepsister,” he says bitterly. “I was hoping she might be in here talking to you about whatever she’s been crying about lately. But I can see that you’re in no mood to help.”
He turns without waiting and stomps down the stairs, his shoulders stiff and his back ramrod straight with anger.
And I turn back to my room and see the door to the bathroom hanging open. I move quickly toward it and find the door into Taryn’s room open as well.
But when I go in and search for her, she’s gone. And by the looks of it, so are all her things.
Gunner
“Dad!”
The scream is so loud, so shocking, that I almost fall down the rest of the stairs and directly into the Christmas tree.
I spin around, wondering what the fuck is going on with my son now, and see that he’s no longer the kid who was standing in his doorway moments ago, shouting at me and denying having Taryn in his bedroom. Despite the fact that I saw her go in there and know exactly what they were doing.
The memory of it sets my body momentarily on fire again as I remember the rage bubbling inside me at the thought of her being with anyone else, but then Gabe comes skidding toward me and I focus. He looks panicked. Worse than that. He looks horrified.
I catch him before he can go hurtling past me and hold him back to look at him.
“What? Gabe, what’s going on?”
“Taryn,” he gasps, breathing hard. “She’s gone. And so is all her stuff.”
“All her stuff? What does?—”
I don’t finish the question because I’m interrupted by the sound of an engine roaring to life in the driveway. A truck’s engine. Moments later the tires screech as someone puts it into gear and steps on the gas too hard.
Gabe and I stare at each other, and I’m sure we’re both wearing the exact same expression of shock and panic. Because there are only three people in this house who can drive, and two of them are standing on these stairs.
The other is a girl who tends to run every time she gets upset, and evidently has every bad idea known to man. She’s leaving again, and on a night when the road is going to be even more dangerous than it was before. Yes, it’s stopped snowing, but the snow is melting and wet, now, and that will make the road icy.
And the snow around it more prone to avalanche.
“Oh my God,” I breathe.
Gabe grabs my arm and squeezes, and we take off down the stairs together. Because it’s not a night to be out on the road alone—particularly for a girl who doesn’t seem to know what she’s doing behind the wheel. It’s cold and icy and dark, and she’s got to be upset about something or she wouldn’t be running.
We’ve seen a night like this before.
Though I stop myself before I finish that thought. Because I can’t bear the thought of how that night ended.
Gabe and I jump into the closest ATV and tear out of the driveway after her. It’s not the fastest vehicle but it’s the most stable in this sort of weather, and if Taryn has any brains, she won’t be going too quickly anyhow. I don’t know why she thought she needed to leave right now, but I can guess that Gabe and I screaming at each other probably had something to do with it. Jesus, the girl is already convinced that she doesn’t belong anywhere, and now she’s come to a house where the men can’t even be decent to each other.
Where they’re literally fighting like dogs over her.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I breathe, leaning over the steering wheel and wishing to hell I’d had this thing altered to be faster. I need to get to where she is. Need to get in front of her so I can force her to slow down. Fuck, I just need to catch up with her and tell her to get off the fucking road before she gets herself killed.
Jesus Christ, killed. No. I couldn’t stand it. I’ll die myself if anything happens to her, and the thought is so ludicrous, so overdramatic, that it actually takes my mind off what’s going on for just a second, and I start to plan.
“Where’s she going?” I ask my son.
“Dad, it’s not like she left a note,” he replies quickly. “But she’s got to be heading down the hill. That’s where she was going before.”
“Shit,” I say again. If she was going into town, at least the drive would be flat. It wouldn’t be ideal, but there’s no cliff between here and town, and very few curves to deal with. It would have been an easy drive.
Going down the hill, on the other hand... Curves a plenty. Cliffs that drop off into nothing. Mountains prone to dropping literal tons of snow on the road at any moment. Particularly when that slow is already slushy and it’s not getting cold enough at night to refreeze it.
