Page 114 of Finding Their Place

Memories of Garrett’s steadying touch tingled my lower back. His assuring gaze and firm lips had grounded me whenever they brushed mine.

Fuck, did I need them both.

My throat thickened, but as we drove deeper into our mother’s part of town, the seedier it became, pulling my focus back on the present. I’d expected the squalor but couldn’t help my grimace.

The woman who bore us sure as hell had made some godawful choices in her life—or had she been a victim of circumstance, suffering for others’ decisions or actions?

Until we sat silent in front of the dilapidated apartment building my directions had led us to, I half didn’t even want to find out the answers to my questions.

A group of twenty-somethings hung out by a pimped-out car close to the entrance, some vaping, some smoking, all appearing as rough as their surroundings.

“This place has negative and volatile energy.” River rubbed her bare arms, leaning forward to peer up at the building. “I should have had my cards read before doing this. Shit. Okay.” She nodded as though she’d made up her mind and grabbed her bohemian purse off the floor from between her feet. “Let’s go.”

I hopped out first, rounding the front of my car. No way in hell would I allow her to walk less than a foot away from me. I also beeped my car’s alarm nice and loud before heading toward the complex.

“Any shit goes down, stay behind me,” I muttered, my hand on her elbow, the cloudy sky as glum as my expectations.

“Gladly.”

A few catcalls whistled our way along with a handful of Spanish words I didn’t know—or care to understand. We ignored the punks and stepped inside.

“Oh shit.” I damn near gagged at the stench of wet dog and piss. “Hopefully, the whole building isn’t this nasty.”

It was.

River and I exited the filthy, trash-littered stairwell into the second floor’s long hallway. The scent of stale cigarettes and skunk-like weed overshadowed the foul smells from below. Not as nauseating but far from pleasant.

I rubbed my sweaty palms down my jeans when I came to a stop in front of the fourth door on the right—206.

River tossed some of her long hair over her shoulder and lifted her chin, her entire body going from hippie flower child to statuesque goddess in a blink.

Our palms came together and fingers clenched on their own, and I let out a slow exhale.

I knocked with my free hand, my pulse thrumming, stomach in knots.

“The fuck you want?” A female hollered from inside, her voice husky as though she’d smoked her life away.

Hopefully, a roommate or friend.

“We’re looking for Dahlia,” I called back, and River squeezed my fingers tighter.

The door creaked open, blue eyes and thinned lips appearing in the inch-gap. A huffed snort escaped the person, and the door swung inward.

An older, broken-down version of River stood before us.

Sallow complexion, lanky, gray-streaked dark hair, I noted first. Track marks covered her bruised, thin arms. A gray tank top hung over her bony shoulders and braless sagging breasts. She wore stained underwear and nothing else.

“Wondered if you little shits would show up some day.”

Her rasped words hit me like a fist to the solar plexus.

“I ain’t got nothing for you, not even the name of whoever the fuck it was knocked me up.” She glanced over us, her lip curling, revealing rotted teeth. “Go back to the rich folks who took you off my hands.”

The door slammed in our face.

I blinked in the sudden silence, my feet rooted, all brain functions paused.

River snorted a sudden laugh that reminded my lungs to inflate. “Guess we have our answer!”

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