Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
LUCY
I’m so frustrated I could scream. It’s been two weeks since that night in Tiny’s truck, and four days since he left town on club business. I think I’m slowly going crazy.
I sit in my car in the clinic parking lot after my shift with my hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turn white.
It’s six fifteen, which means I’ve got maybe fifteen minutes before I need to be on the road if I want to avoid another lecture about being late.
The house feels smaller every single night I come home.
Dad’s constant suspicion and Mom’s worried silences press in on me until I can hardly breathe.
My phone burns a hole in my cardigan pocket, so I pull it out even though I know there probably won’t be a new message. He warned me the service would be spotty where they were riding.
Me: Just got off. I miss you so much it hurts. Four days feels like forever.
I stare at the unsent message for a long second and then delete it. He’s probably in the middle of something important, and I don’t want to distract him. Instead I send something lighter.
Me: Hope you’re staying safe out there. Work was busy today. Thinking about you.
No reply comes. I knew it wouldn’t, but the silence still stings.
I drive home the normal route with no detours to the old feed store and no stolen five-minute hugs that make the world feel right again.
The quiet in the car feels deafening. There’s no low rumble of his truck engine and no warm voice calling me Buttercup.
There’s only me and the endless loop in my head of everything I want to tell him.
Dad’s already home when I pull into the driveway. He watches me from the living room window as I walk up the porch steps. I paste on the calm and obedient smile I’ve perfected over the last two weeks and step inside.
“How was work?” he asks in that same careful and suspicious tone he uses every night.
“Fine. It was busy,” I answer as I hang up my cardigan and head toward the kitchen to help Mom with dinner. The routine’s always the same.
Later, after the dishes are done and I’ve retreated to my room under the excuse of studying, I check my phone again.
Still nothing. I curl up on my bed and scroll through our old messages, rereading the ones from before he left.
The way he told me about his family. The way he promised we’d figure this out.
The way he kissed me like I was something precious.
I type another message I probably won’t send.
Me: I hate this. I hate not being able to see you. I hate pretending I’m okay when all I want is to be in your truck again, listening to you talk about anything. I’m going crazy without you here.
I delete it. Then I type something shorter.
Me: Four days down. Miss you.
This time I do send it. Even if he can’t answer right away, I need him to know.
The house is quiet except for the low murmur of the television downstairs.
Dad’s probably watching the news and keeping one eye on the stairs to make sure I don’t sneak out.
Mom’s probably folding laundry and worrying.
And I’m up here losing my mind because the one person who makes me feel free is four days away on club business and I can’t even tell anyone how much I miss him.
My phone finally buzzes. I snatch it up so fast I almost drop it.
Tiny: Miss you too, Buttercup. Service has been shit but we’re heading back tomorrow. Can’t wait to see you.
Relief floods through me so strongly that my eyes sting. I hug the phone to my chest for a second before typing back.
Me: Tomorrow feels too far. Be safe getting home. I’ll try to sneak a few minutes after my shift if I can.
Tiny: I’ll make it work. Hang in there for me.
I smile despite everything. He’s coming back tomorrow. One more day of pretending. One more day of this aching frustration.
But knowing he’s on his way home makes it a little easier to breathe for now.
The house is quiet when I get home, but the silence feels heavy.
I walk in, hang up my cardigan, and head straight to the kitchen without saying much.
Dinner is the same as always—meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans—but tonight I barely taste any of it.
I only speak when Dad asks me a direct question, and even then my answers are short and careful.
Mom keeps glancing at me like she wants to say something but never does.
I just push food around my plate and wait for it to be over.
Afterward I clear the table and do the dishes without being asked.
The warm water and the repetitive motion help a little, but my mind is still spinning.
I finish up, dry my hands, and head upstairs for a shower.
The hot water feels good on my skin, but it doesn’t wash away the frustration that’s been building for weeks.
When I get back to my room and start changing into sweats, I reach for my phone on the nightstand where I always leave it.
It’s not there.
I freeze. I know I left it right on top of my notebook. I check under the pillow, under the bed, in my bag, on the dresser. Nothing. My heart starts pounding harder as I tear through the room, lifting clothes and moving books. It’s gone.
I pull on a hoodie and head downstairs, dread pooling in my stomach. Dad is sitting in his chair in the living room, and when I walk in he’s holding my phone in his hand. His face is red with anger.
“Looking for this?” he asks, voice low and sharp.
I stop in the doorway. “Dad… give it back.”
He stands up, gripping the phone so tight his knuckles whiten. “I told you to stop seeing that biker. I told you what would happen if you kept this up. And you’ve been lying to us, sneaking around, throwing your whole life away for some criminal.”
“Dad, stop—”
“No, you stop!” His voice rises into a shout. “You’re being a whore, Lucy. Running around with that trash, letting him touch you, ruining everything we’ve tried to build for you. You’re throwing your future away!”
The word hits me like a slap. Tears burn my eyes instantly. “I’m not! Tiny’s not trash. He’s good to me. He listens. He cares. You don’t even know him!”
“I know enough!” Dad yells back. “You’re nineteen years old and acting like a slut. If you’re going to keep this up, then you can move out. I won’t have it in my house.”
The words knock the air out of me. I stand there shaking, tears streaming down my face. “Fine,” I choke out. “I’ll go.”
I turn and run upstairs before he can say anything else.
My hands are trembling as I grab my backpack and start throwing things in—clothes, toiletries, my school notebooks, anything I can reach.
I shove my charger and a couple of books on top and zip it shut.
My chest is heaving with sobs, but I don’t stop.
When I come back downstairs with the bag over my shoulder, Dad’s waiting by the door.
“You’re not taking the car,” he says coldly. “And you’re not taking the phone.”
I feel trapped. Completely trapped. I don’t have anywhere to go, no money for a hotel, no car, nothing. But I can’t stay here.
I step outside onto the porch and pull out the phone one last time before Dad can take it. My hands are shaking so badly it takes two tries to call Scarlett.
She picks up on the second ring. “Lucy? What’s wrong?”
“Can… can you come pick me up?” My voice cracks. “Please. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
“Of course,” she says without hesitation. “I’m on my way. Stay right there, babe.”
I hang up and wait on the porch with my bag at my feet. Tears keep rolling down my face no matter how many times I wipe them away. I feel raw and scared and so incredibly small.
Headlights finally appear down the street. Scarlett’s SUV pulls up, and Rook gets out of the passenger side. He doesn’t say anything, just walks up, grabs my bag, and puts it in the back. Scarlett rushes over to me. The second she sees my face she pulls me into a tight hug.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” she says firmly, rubbing my back. “You’re not alone. We’ve got you.”
I cling to her and cry harder, the relief and the fear mixing together until I can barely stand. She helps me into the back seat, climbs in beside me, and holds my hand the whole way as Rook drives us away from the house.
The drive feels like it takes forever and no time at all.
I’m curled up in the back seat with Scarlett’s arm around me while Rook drives in silence.
My tears have slowed to quiet sniffles, but my chest still feels tight and my mind won’t stop spinning.
I keep seeing Dad’s angry face and hearing that awful word he called me.
Scarlett rubs my shoulder gently. “You don’t have to talk about it right now if you don’t want to,” she says softly. “But when you’re ready, I’m here. We all are.”
I nod against her shoulder. “He said I’m throwing my life away. He called me… he called me a whore.” The word tastes bitter coming out. “Because I wouldn’t stop seeing Tiny. Because I stood up to him.”
Rook’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, but he doesn’t say anything. Scarlett’s expression hardens. “He’s wrong. So wrong. You’re not throwing anything away. You’re finally choosing yourself, and that scares him.”
I wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my hoodie. “I packed a bag so fast. I didn’t even know what I was grabbing. He wouldn’t let me take the car or my phone. I feel so stupid. I don’t have anywhere to go, no money, nothing.”
“You’ve got us,” Scarlett says firmly. “You’re staying with me tonight. Tomorrow we’ll figure out the rest. And Tiny should be back tomorrow too. He’s gonna lose his mind when he hears about this, but in the best protective way.”
The thought of Tiny makes fresh tears well up. I miss him so much it hurts. Four days felt like forever, and now this. I just want to see him, to feel his arms around me and hear him call me Buttercup like everything might actually be okay.
We pull up to Scarlett’s place a little while later. Rook carries my bag inside without a word and sets it down in the guest room. Scarlett gives me some soft pajamas and a clean towel.
“Shower if you want,” she says. “Or just crash. I’ll make some tea. Whatever you need.”
I end up taking another quick shower because I still feel dirty from the fight. When I come out, Scarlett’s waiting in the living room with two mugs of chamomile tea. Rook has already left to give us space. We sit on the couch together, and I wrap my hands around the warm mug.
“I didn’t know who else to call,” I whisper.
“I’m glad you called me,” she says. “This club… we take care of our own. And you’re one of us now, whether you’ve got a patch or not.”
I lean my head on her shoulder. The exhaustion is hitting me hard now. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. School, work, everything. I feel so lost.”
“One day at a time,” she tells me. “Tonight you’re safe. Tomorrow we’ll make a plan. And Tiny will be back. That big idiot’s been texting me every few hours asking about you even while he’s out on the run. I’ll let him know what happened as soon as I can.”
A small, watery laugh escapes me. “He has?”
“Yeah. He’s got it bad.” She smiles. “Drink your tea and try to get some sleep. You’re not alone in this anymore.”
I finish the tea and let her show me to the guest room. The bed is soft and the room smells like fresh laundry. I crawl under the covers, emotionally drained and missing Tiny more than ever. I don’t even have my phone to tell him I’m okay.