Chapter One
Molly
“I’m gonna head to the gas station to grab Layla a few things,” I tell Dad while frowning at the mess in the living room.
Five crushed, empty beer cans are scattered on the end table, along with empty chip bags and dip with the lid left open.
My father is anxiously peering out of the tattered curtains, shirtless, his pot belly bulging out over his jeans.
His gray hair is balding on top, and despite his stomach, he's a tall, lanky old man with a defined jaw, eyebrows that are constantly furrowed, and wrinkles covering every inch of his face.
“No, I need you here. You’ve been gone all damn day,” he snaps, hardly sparing me a glance.
It’s after eight-thirty at night, and I’ve been waitressing at the diner all day.
I’m exhausted, but for what feels like the millionth time, she’s out of diapers and no one mentioned it.
I'm turning twenty tomorrow, but I'll have to pick up another shift now that I'm spending today’s tip money on Layla.
“She needs her diaper changed, and there isn’t any more,” I argue.
He snarls, letting the curtain fall as he faces me.
“She ain’t none of your concern.”
But she is.
She’s sure as fuck not his concern, even though she’s his daughter.
Dad scratches his arm, track marks blemishing his skin. Again, he glances toward the curtains, as if he’s waiting for someone to show up. Probably one of his creepy friends, sure to arrive with a book bag full of drugs, despite the fact that he just made me buy him some yesterday.
“I won’t be longer than twenty minutes,” I reason. “I just need diapers and formula.”
Anxiety spikes in my chest as Layla begins to cry from upstairs.
I just laid her down, and I had hoped she’d stay asleep until I got back.
She’s been fussy for the past week. Right when her eyes close and I think she’s finally asleep, they pop right back open and she releases a sorrowful wail that rips my heart out.
“Let me get Layla settled first, and I’ll—”
“No,” he barks. “If you’re going to go, then go now. I ain’t got all fucking night.”
“Fine,” I mumble.
My four-month-old sister is now screaming at the top of her lungs, while our mother is knocked out on the couch, her mouth open and drool trailing down her chin as she softly snores .
A used needle lies on the coffee table in front of her, a bead of blood still staining the tip.
She won’t be waking up, which means that Layla will be left to her tears while I’m gone.
Sighing, I head toward the door, pausing briefly when I hear Dad call out, “And grab me a pack of cigs and another six-pack of beer!”
I don’t bother answering—not that he expects one. He knows I’ll do what he says. If I don’t, I’ll have to invest in another bottle of concealer. The one I have is almost empty.
The sound of Layla’s screams is silenced as I shut the door behind me, my anxiety worsening and gnawing at my stomach. Her poor little throat will be sore, and I’m sure her head will be hurting by the time I get back.
She hates it when I leave her alone, and I hate what that implies. There are days that I wonder if it’s more than just an attachment to me that puts that fear in her eyes when I walk away.
If Dad is hurting her like he hurt me…
I don’t know what I’ll do. Except when I’m finished, I’ll be covered in blood.
My hands tremble as I speed-walk to the gas station a few blocks down the road. It’s a warm and breezy fall night in October—likely one of our last before winter approaches.
Reaper Canyon, Montana, is surrounded by the Electric Peak range, and it's where I was born and raised.
The daunting name of this small town is fitting, considering it's where everyone's dreams go to die. This state exudes beauty, but even the mountains off in the distance can’t take away the ugliness of my world.
I keep my head down, focusing on the hole in the tip of my dirty tennis shoes. My feet are too big for them now, but I haven’t had the money to get a new pair yet. All of it goes to Layla or buying my parents drugs.
On my sixteenth birthday, Dad threatened to kick me out of the house if I didn’t get a job.
Said I needed to start pulling my weight around the house, as if going to school, doing all the chores, and getting their drugs for them wasn’t enough.
Let alone being at his and Mom’s beck and call twenty-four seven.
My entire first paycheck went on their cigarettes, beer, and drugs. Now, they rely on me to buy our food, and everything for Layla.
The overhead bell chimes as I walk into the local gas station, drawing the clerk’s attention. Aside from Layla, he’s the only person in this world I actually like.
“Hey, Mol,” he greets, a smile stretching across his face, laugh lines forming in his brown skin.
He's one of the few people I know who is always happy.
I don't believe I've ever known that feeling.
Maybe when Layla smiled at me for the first time.
But it was fleeting. It didn't take long for my parents to steal away the joy again.
“Hi, Mario,” I return, waving at him before disappearing down one of the aisles and heading straight for the coolers where the beer is held.
I’m not old enough to buy alcohol, but Mario now knows my dad well enough to understand that if I don't bring it home, I’ll show up with bruises on my face the next day, pleading for him to let me buy it.
He’s tried to call the police, but each time, I get on my knees and beg him not to.
I didn’t want to risk Layla being taken by CPS and put in the system.
Families love young girls to adopt, but so do predators, and I won’t take the risk. At least at home, I can protect her.
So, despite Mario’s hatred for my parents, he risks his license and sells me the alcohol, seeing as he knows it’s not for me anyway. He's already made me pinkie swear to wait to drink until I'm old enough, though he told me to stay away from cigarettes forever.
I readily agreed. I've seen addiction in my mother, who, at one point, was valedictorian and had a full ride to college. But then she met my father, and all those dreams and aspirations didn't seem to matter so much when she had euphoria coursing through her veins.
I grab Dad’s favorite beer, diapers and formula for Layla, and a few packs of ramen for the next couple days.
Dropping the items on the counter, I pull out my cash while Mario turns to get a pack of cigarettes from behind him. Dad’s favorite.
“How are you tonight, sweetheart?” he asks me, clicking the keyboard to ring everything up.
I sigh. “Same ol’, same ol’.”
“Dad still giving you trouble?”
I give him a dry glance. “Always. I’ll be spending my birthday at the diner tomorrow. I was supposed to have the day off, but I didn’t get good tips today and, well—” I wiggle the measly bundle of cash. “—it’s all gone now anyway.”
Mario shoots me an unimpressed look. “What’s stopping you from taking Layla from them?”
Shame prevents me from meeting his eyes .
This isn’t the first time he’s asked, but every excuse I’ve come up with falls flat. Because the truth is condemning, and as much as I like Mario, what if I can’t trust him?
When I refocus on him, my heart squeezes. His stare is soft, and he radiates genuine concern. I feel my resolve cracking.
“Please, Mol, you can tell me anything.”
I sigh, and the last of my reservations crumble at his feet.
“My parents have proof of me buying drugs— their drugs—but it doesn’t matter.
It looks bad. They know I want her, and they’ve threatened to show it to the court if I try to take custody.
Dad has pictures and videos I didn’t even know he was taking, but he showed me them before he hid them.
And if I just take her… I’ll be kidnapping her.
I’m legally an adult, but the moment I found out my mother was pregnant, I got comfortable in my prison. I can’t leave her, Mario.”
My friend shakes his head, utter disgust emitting from his brown eyes. “They’re sick. Sick, sick people. And they’re blackmailing you! Maybe a lawyer—”
“Lawyers cost money, Mario. Money that I don’t have. All of it goes to them, and I…” My words fail me, helplessness taking root. Exhaling harshly, I finish with the only words that matter, “I’m trapped.”
Tears burn the backs of my eyes as Mario stares at me with fury. Fury for me, I know. But his anger won’t change my situation.
I don’t even know how to.
“You don’t have any other family?” he questions, the hope hanging on to his words brittle.
Frowning, I shake my head. As far as I know, both of my parents are only children, and their parents are either dead or estranged .
I have no one but Layla.
“I can ask my wife and see about you staying with us—”
I’m shaking my head before he can finish. “My parents won’t let me take Layla, and I can’t leave her alone.”
“Molly, please let me help you,” Mario begs. “We can figure something out.”
“I need time,” I snap, and he deflates. Guilt rises, and it only cements my helplessness. “Just… I’ll figure it out eventually, okay? She’s so young right now, so I just need to make sure I go about it the right way.”
He nods, relenting, though his stiff movements betray his true feelings. But just like me, he’s helpless.
Even if I take my parents down, they’ll be sure to bring me down with them.
“Then at least let me pay for Layla’s stuff, yeah? I’ll help you get anything she needs in the meantime. But don’t think I’m not going to find you a way out of this, little girl,” he tells me sternly. “I won’t ever stand idly by while you suffer.”
Tears well in my eyes, and I’m too overwhelmed with gratitude to thank him properly.
Eventually, I choke out, “Thank you. Even if I have no other family, at least I have you.”
His shoulders slump, though the conviction in his tone is strong. “You do, sweetheart. For anything.”
I smile softly, even if it’s hard to feel. But I am eternally grateful for him, especially since he’s the only person who’s ever been kind to me.