by Jordan Ford
“What bag?”
I whip around to face her. The panic I’m trying to avoid crawls up my neck like a spider.
“The bag I had with me last night. It’s bright green.” I show her the size with my hands.
She shakes her head like she doesn’t know what I’m talking about.
“The one with all my stuff in it!”
Jules leans back against the kitchen counter and grips the edge. Her voice has a slight tremble. “You didn’t have a bag. There was…no bag.”
“Are you sure? Did you look around?” My voice is snappy and harsh. I’m struggling to control it.
The louder I get, the quieter she is. It’s like she’s trying to shrink so I won’t notice her. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, she looks to the floor and whispers, “I was kind of busy helping you. I’m sorry. I didn’t see any bag.”
Gripping my forehead, I gape at her with eyes so wide I think they might fall out of their sockets. Shit.
My bag.
My fake ID.
My wallet.
My cash…
I race to think what else may have been in there. The key card to my room. Would those assholes bother to check it out, or did they just take the money and run?
Shit! My money. I kept it on me, thinking it’d be safer in case I had to suddenly take off.
Now I’m regretting being so damn paranoid.
My money.
My fake ID.
I’m so royally screwed right now.
#13:
A Little Truth
Julienne
He’s looking kind of pale and ready to pass out. Quite the contrast from his shouting just a minute ago.
My fingers hurt from gripping the counter. I’m still not brave enough to let go. I’ve never done well with shouting. It’s usually followed by punching and tears.
I have to tell myself that this outburst has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the panic of losing his stuff.
“Those jerk-offs must have taken it.”
“Do you want to call Keith and ask him?”
“No.” He sighs. “You would have seen it as we left. It was right next to the rink…where you found me. Bright green and glaringly obvious.”
His shoulders slump and he rests his head against the table.
“How much do you think you’ve lost?”
“All of it,” he grumbles, his forehead bunching when he looks over at me.
“I’m guessing it was a lot.”
His hand shakes as he rakes his fingers through his hair. He grips a fistful at the nape of his neck and sighs. “It was enough to last me a while” He sighs. “And the ID…”
My eyebrows rise. “A fake, I take it.”
He closes his eyes and winces.
Something about the pitiful look on his face turns my insides to putty. I should be calling the cops right now. I have a guy in my room who’s using a fake ID and doesn’t want to go to the hospital, which means the secrets he’s hiding are probably big. Too big for me to handle.
But…
Police officers ask questions, and I don’t want them finding me either. Who knows what’s gone down in Carson City? Maybe nothing. Or maybe my dad’s reported me missing. Or Antonio has accused me of stealing his money and taking off.
Wrapping my arms around my belly, I perch on the arm of the couch, feeling suddenly deflated. There’s always a back story…a reason why. Can I honestly sit here expecting Karl to tell me his when I won’t be uttering a word of mine?
“My name’s not Karl.” His voice is flat and husky.
I glance up with a smirk. “Figured.” Holding my breath, I hope for more, but he doesn’t say anything. “Are you going to tell me what it really is?”
“Not sure.” He gazes across at me, his blue eyes glinting with just a touch of playfulness.
Even in a crisis he knows how to put on the charm.
Unbelievable.
We stare at each other for a minute. I wonder who’ll break first. I don’t want it to be me, so I just keep staring at him.
He purses his broken lips and then flinches, gently touching the cut.
Poor sorry soul. He looks like he’s never been beat this bad before, like he doesn’t quite know what to do next.
I don’t know why I’m so touched by it. Handsome Karl with his sexy smirk and taut muscles. His strong, broad chest. I should be kicking him to the curb. But instead, I stand and shuffle to the table.
He watches me coming and once again I’m grateful for yoga pants and baggy sweatshirts. They hide my secret. Extending my hand, I offer up a frail olive branch. “I’m Julienne Bishop. I’m eighteen and I left home to get away from my…father.” I glance to the floor, no doubt revealing my lie. I mean, it’s not a lie. He is part of the reason I ran, but only part.
“Is he a bad man?” Karl’s soft whisper curls through me. I love how deep and husky his voice gets.
“He hits,” I murmur, still not making eye contact.
He never hit me, but that may have changed if he learned the truth. I wasn’t willing to risk it.
Karl’s silence forces my head up. His eyes are stormy, his jaw clenched.
I shrink back, but he snatches my wrist, softening the sudden movement by running his thumb lightly over my hammering pulse.
“I don’t see that there’s ever an excuse to hit a girl.” The way he says it, the look on his beat-up face…
Unexpected tears pop onto my lashes. I wriggle free of his grasp and sniff, turning my back on him. The emotions inside me are thick and viscous. His thumb was so soft as he rubbed it over my wrist. His eyes, blue and bloodshot, gazed up at me with this protective kind of promise. Like if my father busted through the door ranting about my carelessness, Karl would stand between us. If Antonio grabbed my arm and tried to drag me to an abortion clinic, Karl would stop him.
I know it sounds overly romantic and insane, but he’s like the knight I’ve been looking for.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
But he can’t be! Because he has sex with blonde strangers.
Because he’s hiding from the police.
Because I don’t even know his name!
“Kade.” He says it softly but it’s crystal clear in the quiet room.
My eyes round. Had he just been reading my mind?
He clears his throat. “My name’s Kade.”
I spin slowly, my eyes searching his. There’s a raw honesty there. It’s easy to believe him.
“Kade,” I whisper. It’s a good name—strong, just like him.
“I’m eighteen…and I can’t tell you why I ran away.” He frowns. “Because I’m not exactly sure why I did.”
His expression flickers with something I can’t decipher. Guilt? Regret? Fear?
I take a seat on the couch, unable to take my eyes off him. “Why don’t you want to be found?”
“It’s a long story and before you say you have time…” He raises his hand. “I’m not telling you. Seriously, it’s safer if you don’t know anything.”
“Safer?” Interesting choice of words.
Why am I not kicking him out the door right now?
“Please trust me. I didn’t break the law…” His voice trails off, his face bunching into a frown. “I mean, I didn’t do anything really bad, okay? I didn’t hurt anyone.”
My eyes narrow and he huffs. “I stole an old, rundown pickup truck. I only meant to borrow it but then things changed and we—I had to take off quickly. I never got the chance to take it back.” His jaw works to the side.
There he is, looking all lost and hopeless again.
“So, you think the police are after you over a beat-up truck?”
He grimaces and squeezes the back of his neck. “The police aren’t the ones I’m worried about. I’m trying to keep someone safe.”
His cryptic whispers are intriguing. I’m desperate to find out more but I sense that if I push too hard, he’ll shut down completely. “Are they still look
ing for you?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “It’s been a while. I guess I just want to be cautious.”
I grab a lock of hair and start curling it around my finger, a nervous habit from when I was a kid. “And this person you’re protecting—”
He cuts me off. “I can’t talk about it. If that’s a problem, I’ll leave.”
I scoff and shake my head. “You can barely walk across the room.”
His face crumples. “You helped me out when you could have just called the police and walked away. I don’t want to bring you any trouble. I…” He shakes his head. “As soon as I’m better, I’ll go.”
Does he mean leave town go or leave my place go?
My insides jolt and then I shudder. Why am I even worried if he means the first option?
I’m not ready to know the answer so I hitch my shoulder and try to sound casual.
“Why don’t you give yourself another day or two?”
“You sure?”
I bob my head, not missing the surprise on his face or the way he has to blink really fast all of a sudden.
“Can I get you a drink?” I stand, fighting the lightheaded rush that gets me every time I move too fast.
Kade lurches out of his chair as if to catch me but ends up crying out in pain and swaying on his feet.
I wobble forward and tuck myself under his arm, steadying him and then giggling at the absurdity of it all.
He groans. “Why are you laughing?”
“It’s just so insane. This whole thing. I never thought I’d be standing in a concrete shoebox holding a beat-up…fugitive.” My giggle turns into a kind of watery laugh. “This is not at all how I pictured my senior year of high school.”
“Me neither.” He snickers and touches his cheek to the top of my head before hissing and pulling back. More manic giggles pop out of my mouth until I realize I’m laughing at his pain.
I quickly bite my lips together. “Sorry.”
His good eye creases at the corner, and there’s a gentleness there that reminds me of Mom. Her eyes were brown and almond-shaped but that same emotion shone through, a soft admiration that made me feel safe and warm.
Maybe that’s why I’m letting him stay.
I dip my head and guide him to the bed.
He eases down with a groan, cradling his side. I drape the blanket over his legs and then check that his hoodie is dry. My little heater does a good job warming the space, but it’s still chilly and I can see goosebumps on his skin.
I help him into it while he hisses and groans at the movement. I should have just put it on the way I used to with my brothers—arms tucked against their chests, zipped up to the neck. They’d run around the living room, armless and giggling their heads off as they tried to hit each other with the floppy sleeves.
The memory makes me smile, but the emotion is chopped in half by a mixture of longing and sadness. I think about them often, wondering what life’s like without me to whisk them away from the drama, the shouting, the tears.
I hope they’re okay.
Turning for the kitchen, I hide away from Kade’s keen gaze and start making hot chocolates for us.
Working in a kitchen always calms me and I decide to go ahead and make French toast for breakfast as well. Kade doesn’t say anything while I work, just sits against the pillows watching me. It should be creepy but it’s not. Every time I glance back to catch his eye, he gives me a closed-mouth smile or one of his classic smirks. I wonder if it hurts him to do it. That poor beat-up face.
He looks exhausted.
I pour the heated maple syrup over the toast and carry it to the bed.
“Wow, this looks amazing.”
“No big deal.” I shrug, his compliment making my cheeks burn. I’m not used to someone appreciating me, and I’m not sure what to do with it.
He digs in as soon as a fork’s in his hand. He groans again but this one has a seventh heaven ring to it. “Hot damn, these are good.”
I nibble down my mouthful. My cheeks are on fire right now. I don’t even think my olive skin can hide the blush.
“You really are an exceptional cook.”
“Thank you,” I murmur around my food.
“Have you always loved it?”
I stop to think for a second, but it doesn’t take long to nod. “Yeah, I think I have. My mom taught me everything she knew…and then I started making up my own recipes. Cooking… I don’t know.” I shrug. “I just feel happy when I’m working with food.”
“Well, I can taste it.”
I giggle. “My joy? You can taste my joy?”
“Yes.” He nods. “Eating this makes me feel happy too, so I must be tasting your joy.”
It’s impossible not to smile as he stuffs another huge bite into his mouth and moans.
#14:
Scum Like Me
Kade
Julienne Bishop.
It’s a pretty name for a pretty girl.
Her little apartment feels cavernous without her. She left an hour ago to get groceries. As soon as she walked out the door, I struggled back into my jeans and then flopped onto the bed. I’ve been lying here in a cold, aching sweat ever since.
I should leave.
If those idiots go through my wallet, will they find more than just my Karl Hannon ID? I can’t remember what else I had in there. Will they have used the keycard and gone through my motel room?
I should go check it out.
But it hurts to move, and I can’t send Jules there. She’s too sweet and tiny. What if they were lurking around? I wouldn’t put her in danger like that.
My fists clench as I think about her soft confession. “He hits.” I can’t tolerate that kind of thing. My parents might ignore me and do everything in their power not to hang out with me, but they never hit. They love each other…they just don’t love me.
I swallow, the thought only adding to the pain in my throbbing body. I wish I could sleep it all away. I’m usually a great sleeper, but it’s hard to switch off when every time I move, something new starts hurting.
Rage continues to bubble and spurt when I think about what those jock straps did to me. Trey and Riley will be livid. I wish I could call and tell them, but I’m too ashamed.
“Oh yeah, hey, guys. So I had sex with this random chick in the back of her car and then avoided her like we’d never met. She told her cousin and he got all pissed and beat the shit out of me. And did I mention he took my bag with my wallet and all my money in it?”
My sigh is heavy and loud as I tip my head back and stare up at the ceiling.
There’s a cobweb in the right-hand corner of the room, along with some water stains from an old leak in the house above. This place reminds me a little of Grandpa’s workshop. We used to spend all day down there, working on the different cars he had at the time. Whenever he saw an old heap of junk, he’d buy it for peanuts and then haul it home and fix it up. I miss those days. I miss that feeling of being wanted and appreciated.
The thought sends me back to Wyoming and the look on Trey’s face when I told him I was leaving. It makes me wonder if he wasn’t just pissed because it might endanger Ana, but maybe he didn’t want me to go because I was his family.
Family.
Our little wolf pack.
“Kingsley, you are such a lying bastard,” I mutter. I can’t believe I tried to deny what we were. I can’t believe I looked Trey in the eye and told him he wasn’t my brother.
Sickness swirls in my gut.
If I’d just hung out a little longer…shown a little loyalty.
If I’d just stopped acting like a self-centered jerk, I wouldn’t be lying here feeling sorry for myself.
I can’t go back now. I’ll have to stay on the move and as far from Wyoming as possible. I don’t want someone finding me and then tracing my moves back to the guys.
My eyes are stinging all of a sudden. My head hurts.
I roll over with a groan, willing oblivion, but it doesn’t
have time to hit before the door creaks open.
A cloth shopping bag appears, followed by Jules. Her long hair is caught beneath the strap of her canvas hand bag. She puts the shopping down with a thud and a sigh.
“Hey.” She smiles at me. “How you feeling?”
I grunt.
She tips her head, her smile sympathetic. “Did you manage to get any sleep?”
“Not really,” I croak.
“Well, let me make you something good to eat. Yummy food always makes everything better.”
I love the way her eyes dance when she talks about food.
Struggling to sit up, I rest back against the pillows while she unpacks the groceries and gets to work. I don’t know what she’s making or what she normally cooks when she’s on her own, but it looks like a pretty big effort to me.
She kind of hums to herself as she works, glancing over her shoulder every now and then to check on me. I can’t stop looking at her. Her movements are all so smooth and graceful. She licks her slender fingers, checking tastes and making cute little noises of appreciation every now and then.
The frying pan sizzles, letting off this mouth-watering aroma. Bacon, onion, chicken. It’s a good combo. My stomach is gurgling by the time she covers a dish with tinfoil and places it in the small oven. She wipes down the counter and gets started on what looks like dessert. There’s a bag of marshmallows on the counter, along with a carton of cream and a tub of yogurt. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m liking the look of it.
“Do you normally go to this kind of effort?”
She looks over her shoulder, her hazel eyes large and beautiful. “It’s Sunday lunch.” She shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
It reminds me of Grandma Ellen. She always did a roast on a Sunday. She’d invite people back from church and we’d eat this amazing food. Her friends would sit around talking and laughing for hours after the food was gone. Grandpa Wade and I would get sent to the kitchen to clean up. I’d grumble and complain but he’d just wink at me and say, “You like that food, sonny?”
I’d nod.
“Then you show your grandma just how much. We’re gonna make this place sparkle. It’s the best kind of thank you we can give her.”
