Finding You (Pack Bardot Book 1)

by M. K. Harper

  Chapter 3

  After nearly twenty more hours of driving, we finally make it to Pleasant Falls, Oregon. My ass is sticking to the leather seats uncomfortably at this point, and if I never have to endure another road trip, it’ll be too soon. It’s the middle of the night as we slowly drive through the picturesque little coastal town. Both of us are glued to our windows, taking it all in like kids on Christmas morning. I’ve never known anything outside of Pembroke, Kentucky. If we took any vacations before Dad’s grip on sanity snapped, I was too young to remember. Absorbing all the changes of landscape we’ve driven through has been a head trip to say the least.

  Main Street, that leads from one end of town to the other, has a strip of shoppes lining each side. I take notice of a coffee house and a book store, both at the very top of my list of places to explore first. What a foreign concept, that I’ll be able to just get up and go places, aside from school, without fear of what will be waiting for me when I make it back home. Mom and I share a knowing smile. This is where our lives will begin. I can feel it in my bones. A few minutes later, we pass the high school. The building looks historical, in a charming way, much like the rest of the town. Less than a mile later, Mom pulls into the driveway of a small cottage. The white wood siding meshes well with the slate grey shutters. The front door is a pale pink, the perfect pop of color. As soon as we come to a stop, I squeal and throw my door open. Mom’s laughter follows me as I race up the front steps. Bouncing on my feet impatiently, I wave her over, eager to get a look at the inside and also deflate my bladder.

  “Come on!” I whine. “I’m dying to fight you for the better bedroom.”

  “Oh, please. We both know that’s your tinkle dance.” Her smile is smug.

  “For heaven’s sake...are there no mysteries between us?” I feign annoyance.

  “I wiped your ass until you were three,” she deadpans. “The moment your shit touched my bare skin, all illusion of privacy went out the window.” She shivers at the memory.

  “That was unnecessary, Mother. Would you like me to recount your tampon demonstration?” I raise an eyebrow at her and she visibly winces. Honestly, it’d be a punishment for the both of us to dredge up that particular memory. Some things should just be learned through trial and error, no show-and-tell necessary.

  “Touché, Daughter. Touché.”

  Mom slides the key in the door and pushes it open. We both take a second to appreciate how monumental this moment is. This house will actually be a home. We could probably fit ten of these in the house we lived in back in Pembroke, but it never actually felt like home. Just walls and a roof and an ice cold eeriness blanketing the inside. Taking my mom’s hand, we walk through together. Or semi together considering the doorway can’t fit us both. The living room walls are shiplapped, the focal point a floor-to-ceiling white-washed brick fireplace. An island separates the open space from the kitchen. The house came fully furnished, an absolute must on Mom’s list. Chestnut couches make the room feel warm and cozy and a boho style rug sits beneath the oversized coffee table. It’s dainty and feminine. The perfect place for us. There are only two bedrooms. Each one down a small alcove on opposite ends of the living room. I head to the right and Mom goes left.

  Pushing open the door, I’m met with a white canopy bed and a matching dresser and nightstand. It’s a stark contrast to the grey, aged wood floors that flow through the entire house. My heart skips a beat at the beauty of it all. The fact that it’s mine and that it feels so right, like this is exactly where we were meant to be. Truthfully, the moment we crossed into Pleasant Falls I instantly felt safe and this overwhelming sense of rightness. This house is just the cherry on top. Tears burn my eyes, but I push them back, excited to explore the rest of the space. A door sits on either side of the long dresser in front of my new bed. The closest to me is a bathroom that makes me swoon. Claw foot tub, stand-alone shower, vanity with a granite countertop. Be still my erratic little heart. Many a nights have been spent watching HGTV with my mom while we were holed up and praying we could avoid my father if we were quiet enough not to draw his attention. Her love of design has definitely been imprinted on me as well. While most girls can be won over with materialistic things, I swoon over interior design. DIY is damn near foreplay.

  Snort. This is why you have minimal experience with the opposite sex, Linden.

  My inner dialogue would be enough to steer any potential love interest far, far away most days. And heaven help me and my nervous habit of accidentally saying whatever’s running through my head without realizing I’ve spoken those thoughts out loud. Because making things more uncomfortable is obviously the answer. Shaking my head, I take one more wistful look at my new bathroom and shut the door with a contented sigh. The other door is a small walk-in closest. It’s more than enough space to hold the sad amount of clothes I was able to shove in my bag. I maybe have ten outfits and only two pairs of shoes. My favorite chucks and a tan pair of sandals. Doesn’t even matter, I would’ve left buck-ass naked to be able to feel this sense of relief. The sheer euphoria of knowing that Benjamin Britton no longer has any control over us.

  “What ya think, Inds?” Mom’s voice trails across the room from where she’s leaning against the door frame. Her facial expression is one I want to mentally catalog and store away for the rest of my days. I can tell she’s feeling the same joy I am. That unexplainable peace that’s settled into my chest and is slowly spreading to the rest of my extremities. Maybe it’s the absence of the threat of my father, or maybe this place is just a goddamn unicorn. Our pot of gold at the end of the rainbow that took us years to reach. But we’re here, we made it.

  “Feels like home.” I don’t even try to hold back my tears and neither does Mom. I feel like I can finally breathe for the first time in my life. And damnit if the air in Pleasant Falls isn’t pure and oh, so sweet.

  Chapter 4

  At some point, Mom and I collapsed in a heap on my bed and crashed hard. But not before polishing off the rest of the junk food we’d hoarded from the multitude of rest stops we’d visited across the US. The spot beside me is now empty, the sheets cool to the touch. Mom’s probably been up for hours, eager to get a head start on the day. Groaning, I roll my body into a semi sitting position. I haven’t showered in days, a fact that makes me throw up in my mouth a little. A little stinky-ness is more than worth putting some distance between us and Benny Boy, though. 2,342 miles to be exact. I’d prefer there to be an ocean separating us, but beggars can’t be choosers and all. My bag is sitting on top of the dresser, put there by my mom, no doubt. I know she’s dying to get everything unpacked and settled. Digging through it, I grab some clean panties, a pair of black ripped jean shorts and an olive green cropped off-the-shoulder tee and make my way to the shower.

  The hot water running over my tense muscles has me sighing with pleasure until it rushes over the nasty cut on my forearm. I hiss at the sting before washing it out as best I can. After scrubbing two days worth of joy riding from my skin, I hop out and quickly dry off. I blow dry my hair and get dressed with a speed that surprises even myself. The sounds coming from my poor tummy are a plea for something substantial. Days worth of eating garbage have finally caught up to me.

  “Mom?” I throw my door open and head towards the kitchen. She’s sitting at the built-in breakfast nook with a stack of papers spread out in front of her.

  “Hey Doodlebug.” She continues perusing the sheet she’s holding. I groan at the the nickname she so kindly gave me years ago due to my tendency to root around in the bed while I sleep. Her soft laugh lets me know she’s fully aware how I feel about it and couldn’t care less.

  “What’s all this?” I gesture to the disarray covering the small table.

  “Our new life...” she says wistfully. “Here, grab a muffin. I hopped over to the bakery a little while ago. We’ll hunt down the grocery store in just a bit.” She doesn’t have to tell me twice. The blueberry muffin melts in my mouth and pulls a moan from me. Anothe
r point for Pleasant Falls.

  “Okay. You eat, I’ll explain.” She looks at me expectantly, so I nod in agreement. “Linden Britton is no more. I was able to have your school records and a fake birth certificate drawn up with your new last name. Do not ask how, it was definitely a sketchy business deal that I’d like to never have to repeat.” She shudders, and for maybe the first time, I realize just how much work has gone into giving us this fresh start. “We’re now Grace and Linden Lockwood. It’s my mother’s maiden name.” A hint of sadness peeks through her normally solid facade. I know she’s thinking of the parents my father kept her from. He alienated her so completely she wasn’t even allowed to attend their funerals after a house fire took their lives. What a selfish bastard.

  “Under no circumstance do you mention our lives in Kentucky.” She levels me with that mom glare that has me nodding hastily. “I accepted a job last week with the local real estate office. I’ll be staging homes that are for sale and also helping the contractor they’re in business with during remodels. It’s only two blocks away so I can walk most days, which means you can have the car to get to and from school. I had you a driver’s license made as well with our new last name and this address listed, but please be careful. The last thing we need is for you to get pulled over and have someone digging around. Because they will find out the truth if they dig hard enough, Indy.” I visibly swallow, knowing exactly what’s at stake if there’s a paper trail linked to us.

  “I’m gonna need your help, Inds.” Mom’s sheepish smile has me reaching for her hand. I know her admitting that is eating away at her but she’s gotta know there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to help us maintain our new lives.

  “Whatever you need, Mom,” I answer with conviction.

  “While I was able to save a decent amount to get us on our feet, a big chunk of it went to the Jeep and this house. I’m not comfortable with where our savings is currently. To feel secure, I need there to always be enough for us to flee at a moment’s notice.” Her eyes hold mine, but they don’t need to. I understand. If he finds us, we need to be able to run, and new identities will costs us a pretty penny.

  “I’ll get a job working after school. It’s almost April, so only a couple more months of school and I’ll be able to take on something full-time.” I’m already mentally filling out applications when she cuts me off.

  “That’s not what I meant, Indy. If you want a job for extra spending money, I’m okay with that. But I don’t need you to help out financially. I just need you to pick up groceries and start dinner on occasion. I need to take as many overtime hours as I can get for a while, but it won’t be forever.” I nod at her request.

  “I can do that.”

  “Good! Now that that’s covered, let’s go find the damn grocery store and see what our new town is all about.” We’re both grinning like slightly crazed people as we make our way out the front door and over to the Jeep. This simple task, that most would find annoying, has us downright giddy. I can’t even remember the last time Mom and I went anywhere alone together. I wonder if it’ll ever become a basic thing that I know longer think twice about. While I’m desperate for that kind of normalcy, I also never want to forget how precious a luxury it is to be able to leave home without fear for our lives or my father shadowing our every move.

  As we drive toward Main, my eyes land on the the high school I’ll be attending bright and early tomorrow morning. Something between a groan and a whine slips out of me.

  “Ready for your first day?” Mom perks up, wagging her eyebrows at me. God help her. No, no am I not ready for the hell that awaits me, otherwise known as The American High School Experience. I flew so far under the radar back at Pembroke I wasn’t even a blip. I have a feeling it won’t be the same for me in this small town. On the bright side, it is my senior year. Only a couple of months and it’ll all be behind me. Try as I might, my mental pep talk does little to alleviate the building stress and nerves of being the new kid. Dad never allowed me to develop any meaningful friendships, probably fearing I’d confide in someone if given the opportunity, so I have no clue how to be a normal teenager. I’ve went to the same county schools my entire life, so all I have to go on are crappy teen dramas that depict a rather unpleasant scenario awaiting me.

  “Come on, let’s grab some real food,” Mom nudges my shoulder. I was so lost in thought, I didn’t even realize we’d already made it to the grocery store. Not surprising, it took less than ten minutes to get from one side of this tiny town to the other. Peering through the window, I can tell it’s not much. Definitely not a big chain store. Begrudgingly, I hop out and follow Mom towards the entrance. I’m saying some silent prayers as we stroll through the sliding glass doors, begging whoever might be listening to let this place have Oreos. I mean, can it really be considered a grocery store if doesn’t carry the worlds most beloved cookie? I think not. God, if anyone were privy to my inner ramblings, I’d be a social pariah. Not that I’m currently winning any popularity contest. Grabbing a cart, we set off on a mission to buy enough healthy shit to counteract all the crap we’ve recently eaten. Halfway through, I detour through the cookie aisle and thank the good man upstairs when I spot a pack of double stuffed Oreos.

  “I knew there was a God...” I toss up a kiss to the sky.

  “That good, huh?” I slowly spin around at the sound of a stranger’s voice, utterly mortified that they’ve been witness to my oddness firsthand. My eyes rake over the newcomer. I can immediately tell that he falls into the fabulous category and he and I need to be BFFs. Best fucking friends. In my head, I’ve already designed our matching friendship bracelets. His platinum blond hair is dyed pale pink on the ends. It’s just long enough for it to stick up everywhere in that purposely messy look. He’s wearing white distressed skinny jeans, a mint green polo and tastefully tie-dyed converse to match.

  “Does a bear shit in the woods?” I grin at him.

  “Well, I think you’re gonna have to share one with me if that’s the case. My mommy doesn’t buy anything artificial or with a taste,” he says with a fake pout. Poor guy. What a hellish way to live.

  “That just sounds like cruel and unusual punishment.” I stare at him in mock horror. Laughing, he extends his hand out to me.

  “I’m Chevy. You must be new here.” I shake his hand as he introduces himself.

  “That obvious, huh?” I stifle a laugh at the cliché, small town everyone-knows-everyone stereotype. “I’m Linden.”

  “Pleasant Falls takes the cake for gossiping old hens. I’m sure when they get a good look at you, you’ll be the talk of the town.” I inwardly cringe. The last thing Mom and I need are nosy little grannies butting in our business.

  “Well shit...my hope for skating through the rest of this year unnoticed now seems like a lost cause,” I groan.

  “Senior?” I nod. “Same here. It’s really not that bad. Aside from all the bigotry and not being able to take a shit without one of the locals spreading it around like it’s the juiciest piece of gossip their starving little ears have ever heard.” Chevy rolls his eyes, but I can see an undertone of something else flash through them briefly.

  “Indy?” Mom calls from the end of the aisle. “Did the Oreos suck you in again? Can’t decide between all the flavors?” She smirks at me, her judge-y little tone completely unnecessary.

  “It’s a tough choice, okay?” I glare back at her. I’m not even embarrassed. I take my Oreo stockpile seriously. Every time they come out with a speciality flavor I hoard those bad boys. Ya never know when they’ll stop selling them, so you gotta get ‘em while the gettin’s good. I’ve claimed an entire cabinet in the kitchen specifically for my Oreo stash. Mom has made her way down to us, looking between Chevy and I nervously and I know she’s worried I’ve already slipped up and said something I shouldn’t have.

  “Mom, this is Chevy. Chevy this is my mom, Grace.” I gesture between the two of them.

  “Oh, it’s nice to meet you! Do you go to Pleasant F
alls High as well?” she asks him.

  “Yes ma’am.” Chevy shifts on his feet nervously, but I haven’t a clue why. The woman is barely an inch or two taller than my measly five foot frame. She’s gotta be the least intimidating mom around.

  “Oh goody! Inds could use a familiar face to show her around tomorrow if you don’t mind?” She does that thing where she poses it as a question, but really, you don’t have a choice but to agree because she’s not gonna take no for an answer.

  “Yeah, of course.” Chevy nods his head earnestly before turning to look at me. “If you still want my help tomorrow, I’ll wait on the stairs by the front doors.” The way he poses that statement pricks at my awareness. Why the hell wouldn’t I still want his help? Seems odd he’d even say that.

  “I’ll meet you there!” I smile at him reassuringly, thinking he might just be in need of a decent friend.

  “Okay.” He awkward shuffles again before turning to leave. He makes it a halfway down the aisle before I call out to him.

  “Chevy?” I jog, truthfully it’s more along the lines of a sad shuffle, to catch up with him. He turns around as I peel back the resealable flap on the Oreos. I hand one to him and wait patiently as he just stares at it.

  “Well, go on,” I encourage him. “I’m not gonna miss your first Oreo-gasm.” Chevy laughs and shakes his head at me but takes a bite. I watch as his eyes widen and he lets out a little moan. I don’t notice Mom come up until she’s right beside me, but she’s wearing an amused, if not slightly confused, smile.

  “Chevy’s mom doesn’t buy sweets. It’s his first Oreo,” I say proudly.

  “Oh, you poor deprived child. Well, fear not...Linden is here now and the girl can do wonders with an Oreo. She’ll have to make you one of her little creations and bring it to school tomorrow.” Chevy’s staring at us like we’re either too good to be true or a little certifiable.

  I personally like to think our brand of crazy is cute and endearing.