The Novella Collection: A series of short stories for the Pushing the Limits series, Thunder Road series, and Only a Breath Apart

by Katie McGarry

  Razor shrugs. “Besides Breanna? She has lunch with Violet at school, but they keep each other at a distance. There’s no one else she keeps close.”

  Pigpen stands and digs his keys out of his pocket. “I can help with this.”

  A thousand questions form on the tip of my tongue, but I stay silent. If Pigpen says he has a solution, he does. My brother, if anything, is loyal and solid.

  Chapter 17

  Pigpen

  A few hacks into the right website and it took me less than ten minutes to find out where Caroline Whitlock lives. Public schools don’t have the best internet security. Security costs money, and considering they can’t afford text books, I’m guessing secure online databases weren’t in the cards. It’s a shame, and I make an entry in my mental to-do list to volunteer my services next week.

  I park my bike in front of the small Cape Cod and cut the engine. It’s a tiny brick place at the end of a cul-de-sac. Manicured, well maintained, and close to every inch of the yard is filled with bushes and flowers. It’s Eden in a neighborhood where there isn’t much individuality. If this is what the front looks like, I’m curious about what’s inside.

  Rosebushes line the stone path to the front door. Red, white, pink and orange. The red rose at the graduation was the right call as it’s evident Ms. Whitlock likes flowers.

  Too bad what I’m about to do will ruin any chance I had with her. I’m guessing she’s not going to be a fan of a near-stranger knocking on her door close to midnight and even less a fan of that stranger begging her to hop on the back of his bike, but I don’t have much of a choice. An eighteen-year-old girl is in pain, and she’s more important than me.

  On Ms. Whitlock’s front stoop, I take a moment to grieve the loss of my dreams for the past four years. As I’m all too aware, some things aren’t meant to be.

  I swipe at the number I was able to find through a few clicks online, and there’s a ring. Another. Then another. On the fourth, a groggy voice fills the line. “Hello?”

  I briefly close my eyes. She sounds so damn sexy, and this is probably the only time I’ll ever hear that perfect voice at midnight.

  “Caroline Whitlock?” I ask.

  “This is she.”

  “This is…” Road name isn’t going to help, but there’s also no point in lying. “Abel Campbell. This evening, a student of yours, Addison, tried running away from home. We haven’t returned her to her parents because we believe she’s not safe at home. We have some resources in place that can possibly help, but she needs someone she can trust to help her make decisions. I’m hoping you’re that person.”

  There’s shifting on her end, and light streams from the window upstairs. “Is Addison okay?”

  “Yes, and we’d like to make sure she stays that way, but as I said, she needs someone she can trust, and I think that might be you.”

  “Who is this we you keep referring to? And how do you know Addison, and how did you get this number and—”

  I inwardly groan because there’s a part of me that really thought I had a shot with her. A slim hope, but it was a stupid, pathetic, road-worn hope. “I’m Pigpen with the Reign of Terror Motorcycle Club. Addison’s best friend, Breanna, dates a member of our club. You know him. Thomas Turner. We helped Addison out of a bad situation tonight. Now she’s at our clubhouse and she’s scared to return home, but she’s also scared because, besides Breanna, she doesn’t know any of us. We want to help Addison, but before we can do that, we need to make her feel safe. Can you help us with that?”

  There’s a long pause on her end. Long enough, I glance at my cell to see if she hung up. She hasn’t, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to agree.

  “Where’s your clubhouse?” she asks.

  “Out of town off the state road. It’s tricky to find at night by yourself when you don’t know where you’re going.”

  “Just give me directions, and I’ll—”

  “Addison doesn’t have time for that. I’m already here, at your house. Why don’t you get ready and then you can follow me to the clubhouse?”

  Another long pause, and I wait for her to disconnect and call the police.

  “Why are you at my house?”

  Simple. “Because if you didn’t answer your cell, I was going to knock. Addison needs help, and I need you to help her.”

  “Can I say no?” she asks.

  “Yes, but good luck looking at yourself in the mirror in the morning. From experience, not doing anything to stop a car from going over a bridge ruins the rest of your life.”

  Chapter 18

  Addison

  Even though the evening is warm, I’m cold to the bone, and no amount of clothing or blankets can thaw my frozen marrow. I perch on the window seat of the bedroom Breanna brought me into and watch as she rides away on the back of Razor’s bike.

  In theory, I’m not alone. Violet sits on the bed. We’re friends…I guess. With Breanna attending private school this year, Violet and I bonded the way girls do when trapped in high school and surrounded by people who judge. Violet doesn’t judge. I don’t either. We aren’t soul sisters, but at least I had someone to partner with in math.

  I’m quiet. Violet is, too, and I appreciate that she’s giving me the time to reflect on the Reign of Terror’s offer, my life, my future and my fears.

  A knock on the door, and adrenaline courses through my veins as my mouth dries out. The logical part of my brain screams that my reaction is exaggerated. That there’s no way that’s my father on the opposite side of the door. The four-year-old in me is cowering in fear because no matter where I hid in the house he found me. He always found me.

  The door opens, and I breathe out when Dust appears. In his hands is a steaming mug of something. “Breanna mentioned that you like hot chocolate.”

  It’s clear from how his eyes are locked on me that I’m the one he’s speaking to, yet I glance over at Violet. She’s watching me with curiosity. I glance back at him and shrug. “I do.”

  “I made some, if you want it. It’s not the good stuff. Just the powdered mix kind.”

  Another glance at Violet and this time she’s watching Dust with her eyebrows raised in disbelief. Maybe people around here don’t make hot chocolate. While my stomach is so upset that I can’t fathom eating or drinking a thing, I do like the idea of holding something hot. And I also like the idea of Dust walking in.

  It doesn’t make sense. I don’t know him. He doesn’t know me, but my gut tells me I can trust him. That if I asked him to take me from this place, he would. Unfortunately, there’s a familiarity about the pain in his beautiful blue eyes. It’s the same ache I see whenever I look in the mirror. I wish nobody understood my pain and my fear, but I think he does, and that helps me feel less alone.

  “That would be great,” I say. “Thank you.”

  He’s slow crossing the room, watching the mug as if he’s terrified he’ll spill a drop. When he reaches me, he meets my eyes again, and the concern there touches my heart. It’s weird that a stranger cares. So many people through the years have seen the signs, yet still turned their heads in the opposite direction. Scared they read between the lines wrong, scared to get involved, scared to know the truth.

  Dust hands me the mug, his fingers brush mine and electricity rushes through my veins. I lower my head as my cheeks fill with warmth, and I cradle the mug in my hands. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he replies.

  I’d like him to stay. I’d like him to sit on the other end of the window seat. I’d like to pretend I was a normal girl on the night of her high school graduation. What is it that normal girls would be doing on a night like tonight? Staying out until sunrise? Skinny-dipping with friends? Kissing a boy a little too long and a little too much? Pushing delicious boundaries?

  I sigh heavily. I am pushing boundaries. My boundaries. There’s just not anything delicious about it.

  A motorcycle engine revs, and then the sound of a car engine catches my attention. I w
atch as the motorcycle flies past where all the other bikes are parked and stops in front of the house. My forehead furrows as the car follows and parks close by.

  I start to shake as panic sets in. They lied. They called my father. They’ve doomed me to hell. They’ve….

  The mug in my hands becomes weighted, and I glance down to find Dust’s hands steadying it. My hands had been shaking, I’m still shaking, and I allow him to take the mug from me.

  “It’s just Pigpen,” Dust says. “He’s brought someone he thinks can help, but if whoever it is makes you uncomfortable, I’ll make them leave.”

  I believe him, and there’s a comfort in knowing that he’s on my side.

  The screen door to the house squeaks open, there’s multiple footsteps and I freeze at the sight of the woman standing in the doorway. It’s one of the few adults in my life who have questioned my bruises, my hesitancy, my fear. She’s the lone adult, until now, who hasn’t accepted my answers. It’s my English teacher. It’s Ms. Whitlock.

  One look at me and the crumpled expression on her face as if she’s ready to cry causes an ache in my chest. I’m breaking, she sees it, and I wonder how long it will be until the pieces that are me tumble and shatter on the floor.

  Ms. Whitlock enters, everyone else leaves, and as she sits on the window seat next to me. I have a choice to make, and in reality, I’ve already made it. It’s just time for me to accept my unknown fate. I take a deep breath, and I do something I’ve never done before—I tell someone the truth.

  Chapter 19

  Eli

  Edgy.

  Those of us who understand the ticking time bomb of a situation currently hanging out in the bedroom of the cabin are teetering on that tense line. We can’t make the decision for Addison. It’s one she has to make on her own. But if she doesn’t accept the options we’ve offered her, we have no choice but to send her home, and the odds of her surviving that either emotionally or physically intact are small.

  That’s the problem with free will—there’s always the possibility people will choose wrong.

  The picnic table shifts as Emily sits next to me on top of it. Her feet rest like mine on the bench. She hesitantly smiles at me, and I offer a sad smile back. When I was eighteen, I was desperately in love with her mother. I never imagined I could love anyone as much as I loved Meg. I was wrong. I had yet to have a child. Now, I can’t imagine loving anyone more than I love my daughter.

  “What’s going on?” she asks. “And don’t say nothing, because it’s something.”

  “It’s something, but it’s not my something to tell.”

  She nods like she understands, and I hope she does. I made a lot of mistakes with Emily. Some of it due to my keeping secrets from her. I thought I was helping her, saving her, but all my lying hurt her in the end. Emily’s given me a second chance, and I don’t have plans to screw that up. That means being honest with her when I can, and hoping she understands that while I have no intention of keeping my secrets from her, I can’t spill the secrets entrusted to me from other people.

  “Are you having a good time?” I ask.

  “Yeah. Due to whatever is going on in there with Addison,” she motions toward the cottage, “Oz offered to let me stay the night at his house. Rebecca said she’s fine with it. Breanna said Addison’s hanging out in my room, and I don’t want to disturb her.”

  “That would be a good idea.” I make a mental note to threaten Oz’s life before they leave to make him think twice about going too far with my daughter.

  “Did you love Mom?” Emily asks, and that question was like being hit with an electric cattle prod.

  “What?”

  Emily’s dark eyes bore into mine, and there’s so much sincerity there that I’m screwed. “Did you love my mom?”

  I nod before I have the ability to speak. “Yes.” Deeply and always.

  “Are you still in love with her?”

  I lower my head because that question physically hurt. Like a bullet through my chest. No point in lying because it’s written all over my face. “Yes.”

  Emily goes to say something else, but I stop her because I don’t want to be sucker-punched in the jaw again. “It doesn’t matter. Your mom is happy with your dad.” He adopted Emily when I was in prison, and he deserves the privilege of being called her dad. He earned that and my respect by taking care of Emily when I couldn’t. “And that’s all I’ve ever wanted for you and your mom—for you two to be happy.”

  “Are you happy?” she counters.

  “Yes.” Without a doubt. “You’re in my life, Emily. I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

  Her expression softens at this, and she leans in and places her head on my shoulder. My soul that’s forever troubled settles. There’s something I can’t explain that comes with the love a daughter gives a father. It makes all the parts of me that are sharp smooth.

  “Can I ask you something else?” The uncertainty in her voice makes me want to drop the f-bomb over what’s to come, but because I’m determined to keep my relationship with Emily growing, I move my fingers in a “bring it” motion.

  She lifts her head and nibbles on her bottom lip as if she’s thinking, and that’s not good for me. My daughter is smart, determined and resourceful. Somehow my happiness being on her radar feels a lot like walking the green mile of death row.

  “Have you thought about dating?” she asks.

  I have to work hard to keep from smiling. “I date.”

  She rolls her eyes. “So I’ve heard, but I’m not talking about that type of dating. I’m talking about dating someone to maybe fall in love. I guess I’m asking if you allow yourself the possibility of liking someone.”

  I pull on my earlobe because while I should be able to easily answer that question, I can’t. “So you know, dating and love don’t mean happy. You can live a happy and fulfilled life without being married or in a relationship.”

  “I know,” she says. “But I’m asking if you’re not in a relationship because that’s what makes you happy or because you haven’t given yourself an opportunity to try.”

  And I’ve hit my limit. “Can we stop talking about my love life?”

  Emily laughs, and I can’t help the lift of my lips. She hops off the table, and I stand. I then kiss the top of her head and bring my daughter into a hug. She hugs me in return and when she pulls back, she says, “I saw you talking with Chevy’s mom.”

  My smile falls. “What’s that have to do with anything?”

  “Emily,” Oz calls from his bike. “You ready?”

  “I’ll text you when I reach Oz’s,” Emily says.

  No, I want to know. “What does that have to do with anything?” I call out as Emily walks away.

  She glances over her shoulder at me then walks backwards so she can see me. “You were smiling when you talked to her.”

  I shrug. “I smile at people.”

  She snort-laughs. “No, you don’t.”

  “I smile,” I push, and she only laughs again.

  “Bye, Dad.” And she turns to head toward the man she loves—Oz.

  I’m dumbfounded and mute for several reasons. One, she’s right—except with a chosen few, I don’t smile. Two, Emily called me Dad. While I wasn’t prepared to have a daughter up in my business, I wouldn’t trade a moment with her for the world. Then my thoughts wrap back around to the fact I can’t deny: I smiled.

  Chapter 20

  Pigpen

  Dust and I sit at the kitchen table in silence. I’m straining to hear any indication of which way this situation’s heading. Dust stares at the nothingness of air. Guilt festers between my tendons. I should have thought harder before dragging him into this. By asking him to play along, I tossed him into a replay of some of the worst moments of his life.

  “Eli and I have this if you want to bail,” I say.

  Dust doesn’t move a single muscle other than to grant me a side-eye.

  “I’m serious,” I say.

  “I t
old Addison I’d stick around until she makes her decision. Plus, if you offer her what I think you’re going to offer her, you’d have no choice but to involve me.”

  He’s right. The solution we intend to give Addison, if she chooses to talk to us about her problems, involves something very personal to him, and we would never disrespect him by leaving him out. “But if you need a few hours off—”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  I’ve got nothing to say to that. I roll my neck and cross my arms over my chest. “Ms. Whitlock still looks great even when she rolls out of bed. I swear to God she’s part mermaid or something.”

  “Mermaid?” He looks at me like I’m insane. I’m used to the expression.

  “Didn’t mermaids tempt men? Lured them in with their beauty?”

  “They’re part fish.”

  I shrug. “And I said or something.”

  Dust grants me another side-eye, and I wonder what it would have been like to kiss her at least once. Now, I’ll never know.

  The door to the bedroom opens, and both Dust and I stand. Ms. Whitlock in all her supernatural beauty sweeps in with Addison under the shelter of her arm. “Addison and I talked, and we have questions. A lot of questions.”

  “And we’ll answer them,” I say. “Each and every one.”

  Chapter 21

  Addison

  If I leave, I’m heading to Louisville. There I’ll be staying at a house supported by a woman’s shelter that’s only for teenagers like me. No longer a minor, but not old enough to be truly independent. In theory, the people there will help me navigate breaking free from my father. They’ll mentor me, counsel me and help me figure out how to earn my degree while working to support myself.