Chapter 2
“You seem…troubled.”
That’s what the shrink told me before my own mother shipped me clear across the country.
We sat in his office on the fifth floor of some immaculate skyrise that late Thursday afternoon—a huge favor on his end, and he analyzed me. After ten minutes of a loud and awkward silence, he spoke up with his diagnosis: I seemed troubled.
Give me a break.
Troubled? No. Betrayed? Yes!
At the news of my going to live with my father, I couldn’t believe it.
I didn’t know my father. According to the story my mother told me, the guy sounded like a chump.
They were together for a short period, long enough for me to be conceived, and then poof! It was just my mother and me. She never spoke of him. He never called, wrote, or e-mailed.
And I never asked about him.
It wasn’t like I had daddy issues or whatever, I just didn’t know the guy.
How could my mother send me to live with a complete stranger?
Because that’s exactly what Scott Stanley was to me, a stranger.
All I had of him was his last name. Or maybe more, who knew?
I carried my mother’s heart-shaped face, her long blonde hair, and my brown eyes were all my own.
Sometimes, if I squinted, I looked a little like her.
Now I didn’t care. She was throwing me to the wolves as far as I was concerned. One little mishap and she was sending me south.
Apparently, Scott lived in the state of Georgia, in a small town, barely on the map, called Meadow Grove.
“You’d be ‘troubled’ too if your mother abandoned you,” I replied to Dr. I-Have-the-Answers.
His bushy eyebrows peaked at my response. “Do you feel abandoned, Saylor?”
I sat back in the plush cherry-colored chaise. Around Dr. I-Have-the-Answers’ office were shelves with books upon books lining them, no doubt on shrink stuff. His desk, a simple sheet of glass affixed on chrome legs, held a clock, a couple of photos, a funky hourglass, and Newton’s Cradle.
By my read, Dr. I-Have-the-Answers was a neat freak. He had used a can of spray dust cleaner to wipe off a fingerprint smudge on the coffee table before me within the first two minutes of our meeting.
Even his combover was carefully in place.
He adjusted his glasses, offering me that I’m-your-friend smile once more. “Saylor?”
I sighed. “No, Doc, not at all.”
For the rest of our session, he tried to get to the root of my rebellion, the cause of my abnormality, and the reason my mind worked the way it did. Honestly, I was just seventeen.
Before my move, I tried calling the boys, but none of them would answer.
Each and every one of them sent me to voicemail, leaving a sour feeling in my gut. The boys didn’t do angry or moody. Going without saying goodbye didn’t sit right with me. In many ways, they were more family to me than my mother and her husband.
There was just no time to physically go and seek them all out. I had to go.
My leaving was abrupt; there was no time to think before my mother arranged my departure and transfer. In the blink of an eye, I was no longer a resident of Los Angeles, and all that I loved was packed to bring with me to Meadow Grove.
She attempted a sit-down, to talk about my being sent away, but I wasn’t interested.
I hurled a fuck you at her and stayed holed up in my bedroom for as long as I could. The familiar lyrics of Aerosmith comforted me as I rocked back and forth in the middle of my bed.
It was Ian who got me into the classic rock band. Once I started hanging with the guys none of the contemporary stuff sounded as good.
After I really started getting into music, I made over my whole bedroom, littering my walls with vintage posters of old bands I’d fallen in love with.
Ticket stubs from concerts and bar shows were collected on a bulletin board.
At first, my mother hated my décor, it wasn’t prim and proper, but then, she grew quiet and began taking it in and admiring the art for what it was.
My room was a music lover’s cave, and now I was parting with it.
Only Steven Tyler could soothe me in my final hours of all that I had known.
I intended to leave in a harsh silence as my mother escorted me out to her car. Mine would remain in our four-car garage until my return—if I returned.
Maybe good behavior would get me sent home in enough time. It was fall of senior year; I doubted they’d let me change schools twice, but I was hopeful.
“You’re really not speaking to me the whole way?” my mother asked me as she drove with her hands attentively at nine and three on the wheel. “Sandcastles” was playing from the stereo. We didn’t like the same music, but the song felt fitting considering.
I folded my arms, pushing my breasts up just a little in my tank top. Traveling across country, I hadn’t taken in account what the weather was like in Georgia.
A quick glimpse at the weather app on my phone told me it was surprisingly hotter there. Hopefully it didn’t snow in Meadow Grove like it did in some places from my research.
I scratched the bridge of my nose. “Nope.”
My mother sighed. “Saylor.” She shook her head. “This is for your own good. Rich and I have tried to level with you and be patient, but you don’t seem to be doing any better. Maybe you need a break, a vacation, some time to discover yourself.”
Rolling my eyes, I focused on the passing scenery. Goodbye LA. Goodbye sneaking out at midnight to go and hang at my favorite spots with the guys. Goodbye ditching class to smoke behind the dumpster at school. And goodbye late-nights living life on the scene.
If I were the sentimental type, I would’ve cried.
My mother did that for me as we arrived at our destination.
What would’ve been a four-hour flight turned into a near three-day bus ride. The Asshole, formally known as Richard, figured I didn’t deserve first-class—hell, I would’ve settled for a coach seat than a gross bus.
My mother tried to hug me and I swatted at her, staring her down with nothing but anger. As much as I wanted to tell her to go fuck herself, I didn’t. Her teary eyes were warning enough for the looming breakdown she’d endure at my leaving.
Serves her right.
“Saylor…” she tried to say.
I huffed. “I don’t need this. I gotta go and prepare for my ride.”
She wiped at her eyes. “I love you.”
Did she? Did this look like love to her? Because it sure as shit didn’t feel like it. “You have a funny way of showing it.”
She hiccupped and I scowled.
This was my fresh start. Richard had pulled major strings so I didn’t have to do time over my little joyride or the breaking and entering. Even Jack and the guys walked away free. I should’ve been grateful, really I should’ve, but all I felt was anger.
I wasn’t perfect. Far from it, but I couldn’t believe she was shunning me. Couldn’t believe she was giving up on me and sending me away.
My mother clearly hadn’t known my father all that well, or else she would’ve foreseen herself being abandoned with a baby to take care of. Now, I was subjected to go and live with the guy.
I wasn’t afraid, but on my toes. Unsure of what type of person he was.
I kept a utility knife on my keychain—not that it would do me much good with how long it took to get the damn thing open.
Hopefully I wouldn’t have to stab my father or fight him.
When it came time for me to board the bus, I allowed my mother to wrap her arms around me. Because I was sure I’d miss some form of her always bitching at me, I told her to have a nice life.
And then I took the early bus to nowhere.
Traveling two days by bus was hell. There were multiple buses, or transfers, instead of a straight shot. Each bus was crowded with smelly people, crying children, and some moron who insisted upon carrying a conversation.
Each time I arrived at a transit center, I contemplated taking off and running away. I still had my debit card—if my mother hadn’t cut me off yet.
As many times as it crossed my mind, I didn’t run. I just endured. Too tired to come up with a solid plan and destination anyway.
After leaving early Friday morning, I arrived in Atlanta, Georgia, Sunday evening, exhausted and stiff.
I gathered my luggage from the bus and made my way inside the transit center. It felt like I’d been awake for days without a bite to eat. There’d been a few stops that offered the convenience of fast-food chains, but what I wanted was a real meal.
That was the one thing the Asshole was good for. He could grill and cook like no other.
It dawned on me as I was coming through the station that I didn’t even know what my own father looked like.
How fucked-up was that?
I knew I had a father, or else I wouldn’t be here, but the living, breathing version of him never existed outside of my mother’s tale of their brief union and my conception.
How had she even gotten into contact with him after all this time?
Nonchalantly as possible, I scanned the crowded station.
I saw him before he saw me. He was standing by the exit. Smart.
Standing by the back of an Asian family was a lone man holding up a sign.
Party for Saylor Stanley
He’d even drawn a smiley face on the end.
I cringed at the corniness before taking him in.
He had dark eyes, dark hair, a nice tan, and faint scruff across his jawline.
In another life, he was probably handsome.
Now he just looked tired and nervous. In his collared shirt and jeans, I took in the fact that he had a sleeve of tattoos on one arm.
A vivid array of intricate pieces that didn’t seem to hold any color.
Huh.
At least he wasn’t clean-cut like the Asshole.
Squaring my shoulders, I made my move, trying to get by him as casually as possible. I had no real game plan, but I wasn’t in the mood for the introduction. Maybe running away wasn’t such a bad—
Scott stepped in my path; eyes lit up with hope. “Saylor?”
“Nope.” I went to leave, but he wouldn’t budge.
His eyes narrowed a little. “It’s just that you look like a girl I’m waiting for.”
How would he know what I looked like? “Have you ever met her?”
“No, but I imagine—”
“Then you’ve got the wrong fuckin’ girl.”