Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR_
HAZARD
Here we are, just two stubborn men who have decided we’re going to have to defy the laws of physics and the world because if we’re getting shot at, neither of us is dying. That’s just what has to be done.
At this point, we can’t even be sure if this is going to end in flying bullets. Everyone else has made it out safely. And maybe it’s smart to have contingencies, to make other plans in case this goes to shit, but I’m flat-out refusing to think of any other alternative.
We’re all going to make it out because we fucking have to.
Decaf’s unease makes me more paranoid, so as we get back on the road and keep heading north toward Oregon and then Washington, the anxiety of something going wrong has us all on edge.
“I would’ve thought you’d be a road-tripping playlist kind of guy,” Scout says to me.
I’ve been staring out the damn window since leaving Reno, my thoughts on a constant loop of what-ifs and what’s going to happen. At least with the imminent danger, I’m no longer worrying about Decaf trying to push me away once we’re safe, so there’s that. Silver linings, I guess.
Our conversation in the seedy motel bed in the middle of the night did weirdly help with that too, though.
Even if he was telling me to leave him, and I thought it was him trying to push me away, I realized quickly what it really was.
He’s terrified of losing me. Which means he won’t walk away when the time comes.
“Haz?” Scout says, getting my attention.
“What?”
“I said music. Do you want to put on any music?”
“Oh, nah. Where are we, and how much longer until—”
“If you’re about to ask, ‘Are we there yet?’ I’m going to turn this car around!”
“Okay, Dad.” I turn to look in the back seat, where Decaf is lying down across it as much as he can.
He does not look comfortable with his legs practically in the footwell, his ass against the side door and no pillow under his head, but at least it does seem like he’s getting the sleep he desperately needs.
With so much uncertainty and without being able to talk to Scout without Decaf hanging around, I take the opportunity to ask what our actual plan is.
“Are you able to tell me how we’re actually going to be able to pull this off? We haven’t really been briefed on anything other than head north and go from there.”
Scout hesitates a beat, his lips pursed, but then he cracks a fake-ass smile and says, “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” His nervous and shaky laugh following his words makes it dawn on me.
“Trav doesn’t have a plan, does he? We are winging it and trying to run as fast as we can, aren’t we? What the fuck, Scout?” I’m loud enough that Decaf stirs.
“What the fuck what, huh?”
Decaf is all kinds of hot when he’s half-asleep, one side of his face red from sleeping on it, and his dark hair a wild mess. It might be short, but there’s a lot on top.
“There is no plan!” I yell some more.
“Shh. Calm down. There’s a plan.” Then Scout lowers his voice to a quiet muttering. “A wildly loose plan with lots of holes, but there is a plan.”
“We’re fucked,” I say. “Why did we have to leave the cabin so fast if Decaf isn’t fully recovered and there isn’t even a step-by-step plan in place to get us out?”
“Because Trav is coming up with something, and he said it’ll be done by the time we hit Washington.”
“And if he doesn’t?” I ask. Why am I the only one asking questions? I don’t know if Decaf is too tired to process this all or if he’s gone into a state of silent panic like I have. Only I’m not so silent. I can’t be.
“If he doesn’t come up with a solid plan, then we will find another place to hide out near Seattle until there is a proper plan in place.
Look, I know this isn’t ideal, and with Decaf’s injuries, it’s only going to be that much harder to get us all out, but moving was the right thing.
The more we hide away and sit still, the more chance they have of finding us. ”
My skin is too tight. Like I’m not only trapped here in a world where someone wants to kill me for something Mike Bravo is responsible for, but also in this body. My soul is itching to get free, but it can’t until the shackles of home and country are taken away.
I’m suddenly understanding Decaf’s doom talk a whole lot more, because after realizing that we might not have our shit together nearly as much as we should, it’s difficult not to think this is a giant waste of fucking time.
If we really do get out, are they going to stop looking for us? They’re not going to be happy until they know each and every one of us is dead. Or at least Trav.
“What are you thinking about so hard over there?” Scout asks, taking his eyes off the road for a split second to meet my gaze.
“Even if we do get out of here, there’s no guarantee they’ll stop hunting us down.”
Scout thinks about that for a beat.
Decaf is the one who answers. “That doesn’t mean we should preemptively give up.”
It’s only now I realize how dark my thoughts have gone in the last ten minutes. “It feels like it would be easier at this point.” The defeat in my tone is unavoidable.
This feeling of helplessness is unshakeable.
“You might have a point,” Scout says.
“Wait, I do?”
“You most certainly do not,” Decaf growls. “What is the point of going through all of this only to give up on the last leg of the race?”
“You say that like it’s a game, but it’s not. It’s our fucking lives.”
“And we’ve already agreed that ours aren’t going to end here. Not like this.”
“Maybe they should, though,” Scout says.
I didn’t realize Scout could be so suggestible.
“What?” The edge in Decaf’s voice shouldn’t be sexy, but it is.
“Not literally,” Scout says. “But I mean starting fresh, because you’re right. Changing our names and identities isn’t going to stop them from coming for us. It’ll only slow them down.” His lips begin to stretch into a smile. “I think I have a plan. We just need to get Trav to agree to it.”
“No. Absolutely not,” Decaf says, but no one is listening to him.
He’s a voice drowned out by the million other voices on this conference call.
The roadside motel we’re at this time is at least in a newer building and doesn’t have the vibe that twenty people had been murdered in the room like the last place, but just because it looks cleaner to the naked eye doesn’t mean it is.
Which is why I’m lying on towels atop the comforter again.
Decaf is on Scout’s bed, sitting on the side facing me and trying to follow the conversation Scout’s having on the phone while he paces the room.
“Logistically, it’s not impossible,” Saint says.
“Not impossible, but will still be a pain in the ass,” Trav adds.
I think their plan is absolutely batshit crazy, but it’s Mike Bravo levels in terms of problem-solving. Go big or go home. Or more like, go big or die. Hey, this plan could do both things at the same time.
“We’re not going to be there when this all goes down,” Decaf says to me, his voice low. “Not going to happen.”
I bite my lip because even though this is as close to a suicide mission as there ever could be, if we pull it off, it means complete freedom.
“Nuh-uh, I can tell you’re contemplating going through with this. It’s too dangerous. Especially because I’m not completely healed yet.”
“You will be.” I’m confident in my words because I believe this can work.
“This plan is a hell of a lot better than ‘meeting up and then going from there,’ which, up until yesterday, was the most information we had. And it will take days, if not weeks, to get all our ducks in a row. You’ll be out of your cast then. ”
“I’ll still be weak,” he mumbles.
And he will be, but he won’t have to do any of the heavy lifting. “I’ll carry you to the end.”
He rolls his eyes. “Like I’d ever let you do that.”
“Like I’d ever let you think you can let me do anything.”
Decaf’s jaw ticks. “You’re not going to do it. End of story.”
I sit up, lean across the gap between the beds, and plant a soft kiss on his lips. “Of course not.”
He sighs. “You’re not going to listen to me, are you?”
I kiss him again. “And they say an old dog can’t learn new tricks.”