Page 88 of Crybaby

“Answer me!” I exclaim, angered that she would risk everything for something so insignificant.

“It makes a difference to them,” she says in a whisper. “I know we can’t save them all, but not saving the ones we can is inhumane. They may not be perfect. They may scratch and bite. But everyone deserves a second chance.

“No one deserves to be abandoned. No matter what.”

And suddenly, I get it because we are no longer talking about kittens. We’re talking about her. No wonder this was so personal to her.

Something has shifted in Darcie; just how I knew it would. What she’s gone through changes a person, and I knew sooner or later, it would catch up to her. I also knew she wouldn’t always look at me as her savior.

I’m not her Prince Charming. I left her when she needed me the most. I left her because in the end, I wasn’t thinking about anyone other than myself.

“For fuck’s sake!”

Darcie’s head crashes into the window as I pull an erratic U-turn and press my foot down on the accelerator. I don’t slow down because, what’s the worst that can happen?

We die?

We’re headed for that route anyway. There is no proverbial light at the end of the tunnel for us. We’re wanted fugitives, and the longer we evade arrest, the harsher the penalty we face. But I don’t want that for Darcie.

I want her to have a shot at life. I want her to have a real chance at being someone because I know great things await her.

And I will do everything in my power to ensure she gets it.

I slam on the brakes and jump out of the car. The dickhead is still facedown in the dirt, and when he attempts to thank me for coming back for him, I kick him in the teeth, knocking him out cold.

The headlights catch the eyes of the kittens, and I curse under my breath as I grab the bag and dump the little squeaking assholes into it. I don’t know how many there were, but I’m not going to do a headcount, and storm over to the truck and yank open Darcie’s door.

Without a word, I drop the bag into her lap.

I watch as she peers inside, and when she deadpans me, I wish I’d just kept on driving. “There’s only eight. There’s supposed to be ten.”

Gripping the doorframe, I internally count to three and clench my jaw. “Fine.”

Turning around, I go on the hunt for these two fuckers. When I see one hiding under a fallen branch, I grip it by the scruff of the neck and press my nose to his. “Where’s your brother, you little shit?”

The kitten squawks in response.

It takes me ten minutes, but I find the last turd, sleeping soundly under a tree. He joins his brother in one of my palms because they’re fucking tiny, and I pass them to Darcie. She accepts and places the other two with their siblings in my sweater, which she’s used as a blanket.

She’s only in a tank, so once in the truck, I slam the door and crank up the heater. We don’t speak when I speed away into the night, knowing keeping a low profile is imperative. I don’t know where to go because there is no safe place after the shit we pulled with the cops.

But we have a day to kill.

I decide to risk it because there’s only one thing we need to ensure we have some shot at getting out of this alive, and that’s money.

There’s one thing I learned growing up with a mom who is an addict, and that’s hide your valuables because nothing holds any sentimental value when a junkie is jonesing.

I couldn’t leave my money at home for obvious reasons, which meant I needed to hide it away with someone I trusted, and there’s only one person I trusted, and that’s Nonna.

I hope to fuck the cops aren’t scouting the place, but it’s a risk I need to take. We need money. And we need guns.

Darcie is ignoring me, but that’s fine. I’m not in a talking mood. I wonder if the honeymoon period is over. I tell a chick I love her, and this is what happens. No wonder I never said it before.

But I keep my head in the game because there’s no room for error.

It’s late, and no one but crackheads and hookers are out, looking for their next fix of whatever their poison is. I turn down a street and kill the engine.

Darcie looks through the windshield, but this neighborhood is foreign to her. “Stay here.”

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