Chapter 9
NINE
HARPER
“You sure you’re okay?” Marie asks for the third time, hovering in her front doorway like a worried mom. It is eleven at night, and I’m pretending to be homesick. Hilarious because I’ve never once had a home to be sick for. But, ya know, best to go with the classics.
“I’m fine. Thanks for letting me play with your kitties.” I adjust my backpack on my shoulder and force a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. “Just need some air. To clear my head on the walk home, you know?”
Playing with her cats made me think of Sox, obviously. Apparently, Marie begged her mom to let her keep Pansy after one of the neighbors took the other orange tomcat, and her mom agreed to talk her douchebag dad into it.
I think about Sox. All alone in my closet right now. Waiting for me to come back.
Except I’m not going back.
My stomach twists.
She’ll be fine. Caleb knows about her. He’ll take care of her when he realizes I’m gone. He’s good like that—responsible, reliable, the kind of person who keeps promises and shows up when it matters.
Unlike me.
I shove the thought down deep. Sox is just a cat. Cats are survivors. She survived being dumped in the school quad; she’ll survive me leaving.
I’ve been doing it my whole life, when everyone nopes out on me. And Z is more important than a cat, no matter how cute she is.
Marie’s house is nice. Not Westfield McMansion nice, but solid middle-class nice with actual furniture that doesn’t look like it was rescued from the dump.
Her kitchen smelled like cinnamon instead of stale beer and cigarettes.
Plus, her mom was cool about me crashing for the night, barely asked any questions when Marie said I was her “new friend from school” who wanted to sleep over.
She seemed really excited, actually, and I’m betting it’s because Marie doesn’t have a lot of friends at that place.
But I was just waiting until it was too late for her parents to drive me, then I said I actually wanted to sleep in my own bed after all. I said I lived really close—within walking distance—and that I’d see her at school on Monday.
All lies. I’m planning on walking out their front door and never coming back. I feel shitty about it, but some things are more important, like getting Z away from Frank.
“Text me when you get home safe?” Marie says, and the genuine concern in her voice makes something in my chest twist uncomfortably.
“Yeah, of course.”
I’m good at lying. Been doing it my whole life. But I’ve never liked it. It’s part of the person I’ve been hoping to leave behind.
I walk down her driveway into the cool night air, and with each step away from her house, the weight on my chest gets heavier instead of lighter.
The football game was... It was actually fun.
Caleb explained the plays like I was worth teaching.
Like, he didn’t talk down to me; he talked to me like I was as smart as him.
It was the same with his friends. They just treated me like I was…
I dunno. Normal. Not like I was trailer trash.
Sara even shared her nachos like it was no big deal.
And that moment on the field, the confetti falling like snow, Caleb’s hand warm in mine, looking at me like he wanted to—
Stop it.
That’s not real. None of this is real. This is just another of Silas’s cons, another temporary stop before everything goes to shit the way it always does.
Z needs me.
Z is the only person who’s ever been there, who’s never left, who knows exactly who I am and doesn’t expect me to be anything else.
Z asked me to marry him.
We have a plan.
And I’m not the kind of girl who abandons her best friend just because some preppy bastard with perfect hair made her actually feel something for a few hours.
I pull out my phone and the cash in my pocket. Thirty bucks that Helen handed me so willingly. The bus ticket to Selbyville is seventy-five.
I know Z suggested I lift the cash out of Helen’s purse.
And I… I actually went into her bedroom one time this week when she and Dad were downstairs, found her purse, and even thumbed through it until I found her wallet.
I’m ashamed just remembering it.
That’s what I felt as I stood above her purse, too. Shame. I froze, feeling so fucking awful. Sure, Z and I steal the odd stick of beef jerky sometimes from Smithy’s, but Smithy is an asshole pervert who deserves only bad things and whatever karmic hell fate may decide to revisit upon him.
But Helen. Helen is just… really fucking nice. And not that fake nicey-nice that like, the people from CPS are. She’s kind.
I mean, the woman bakes me snickerdoodles and leaves community college brochures on the counter like breadcrumbs to a future I didn’t know I could want—
I stared down at her wallet, and my stomach just kept turning over and over on itself until I thought I was going to be sick.
I’m not like this, I realized, yanking my hand out of the purse. I’m not like my dad.
I ran out of Helen’s room and hid in mine the rest of the day, only giving Z monosyllables during the call that night when he asked if I’d done it yet.
I could tell he was starting to get frustrated with me, and that the situation with Frank was only getting worse, and then I wondered if my stupid new conscience was worth Z getting another beating that he might not survive this time.
So hitchhiking it is.
It’s not that far, I tell myself. Like four hours.
With hitchhiking, probably a lot more. Maybe overnight if I’m unlucky.
But still, it’s so close it’s ridiculous.
Plus, I’ve done stupider shit. And truckers are always looking for company on long hauls, right? I just need to find someone going east.
It’s only about a half mile to the gas station near the highway entrance. It’s exactly what I’m looking for—a big truck stop with diesel pumps and a parking lot full of semis. Neon signs buzz in the darkness, advertising coffee and diesel and lottery tickets.
I push through the glass doors into fluorescent brightness and the smell of burned coffee and hot dog water. A bored clerk barely glances up from her phone as I head toward the back, where I can see through the window to the trucker lot.
This is fine. This is totally fine. I’ve talked my way into and out of worse situations.
I meander outside to the truck lot and scan the semis, looking for... I don’t know. Someone who doesn’t look like a serial killer? It feels like a low bar, but it’s all I’ve got.
A guy in his fifties with a beer gut and greasy hair catches my eye and starts walking toward me. “You need a ride, sweetheart?”
Everything about the way he says “sweetheart” makes my skin crawl. The way his eyes travel down my body, the way he’s already moving into my space—
“Nope. I’m good.” I turn on my heel and head back toward the store.
He follows. “Come on, don’t be like that. Where you headed? I can take you—”
“I said I’m good.” My voice goes sharp, and I pick up my pace.
His hand reaches for my arm—
“Hey.” A woman’s voice breaks in, commanding and no-nonsense. “She said no. Move along.”
I turn to see a woman in her forties with short gray hair and a flannel shirt, standing next to a rig with “Long Haul Queen” painted on the mud flaps. She’s giving the creep a look that could strip paint.
He mutters something under his breath and shuffles away.
“Thank you,” I say, and I hate how shaky my voice sounds. Fuck. I hate being afraid.
“No problem.” She studies me for a second. “You running to something or away from something?”
The question is so direct that it catches me off guard. “Does it matter?”
“Depends.” She pulls out a pack of cigarettes and offers me one. I take it. “I’m heading east on I-20 to Shreveport.”
“That’s perfect!” I say quickly. I recognize good luck when I see it. “I won’t be any trouble, swear. If you could just drop me at any town before you get to the state line, you’d be a lifesaver.” Then I can catch another ride south to Selbyville.
She lights her cigarette, then mine. “All right.”
Relief floods through me so fast it makes me dizzy. “Really? Thank you. I can pay—”
“Keep your money.” She takes a long drag. “But I need to grab coffee first. Wait here.”
She heads into the store, and I lean against her truck, smoking and trying not to think about the football game. About Caleb’s smile when I finally admitted it was fun. About Sara’s easy friendship. About how I’d actually felt like I belonged somewhere for the first time in my life.
Stop it.
I’m halfway through my cigarette when the doors to the gas station open and two figures walk out.
Even in the harsh fluorescent light, even from this distance, I’d know that silhouette anywhere.
Silas.
And right behind him, looking around the parking lot with purpose—
Caleb.
My stomach drops straight through the asphalt.
Fuck.
I drop the cigarette and bolt, but I’m not fast enough. I never am.
“Harper!” Silas’s voice cuts across the parking lot like a whip.
I freeze. Every instinct screams at me to run, but my feet won’t move. It’s like being twelve again, watching him walk away, except this time he’s walking toward me and somehow that’s worse.
They cross the parking lot in long strides, Caleb slightly behind Silas, like always. In the truck stop lighting, Silas looks exhausted—deep circles under his eyes, jaw tight, that vein at his temple that only shows up when he’s barely holding it together.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” His voice is low, controlled, which is somehow scarier than if he were yelling.
“Taking a walk.” The lie is automatic, defensive. “Jesus, I can’t even get snacks from the gas station while I’m staying at a friend’s house without you tracking me down?”
“Marie’s mom called Helen. Said you left two hours ago but never texted that you got home.” Caleb’s voice is quieter than Silas’s but no less intense. “We’ve been driving around looking for you.”