Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
HARPER
The trip should have taken four hours.
Instead, it’s taken all day.
There was traffic—or at least, Caleb claimed there was traffic. He took every back road, every scenic route, and every possible detour that added precious minutes of togetherness.
When he suggested fast food, I pointed to the sit-down place that would take longer for the food to come. After a slow meal, I kept getting refills on coffee. Then dessert.
By the time we pulled into another diner for dinner, I was still stuffed from lunch, but I made Caleb stop anyway.
Then ordered food that sat untouched on the table, growing cold while I memorized the way the light of the little overhanging booth lamp hit Caleb’s face.
The way his fingers drummed against his water glass. The way he looked at me.
The easy chatter from earlier had died out by that point. There was nothing left to say. Just the weight of what we were driving toward.
But I wanted to just stare at him. At his face. To bask in his calming, loving presence for as long as I could steal it.
As we get closer—finally making it past Nacogdoches—I’m dying inside.
What am I doing?
He loves me.
He doesn’t know you. He loves who he thinks you are. He doesn’t know what an ugly, scaly, reptilian, cold-blooded thing you actually are. No one could love you.
Z does.
Or thinks he does.
Helen might have.
Until Silas turns on her. Then she’d hate us both—as she should. She wouldn’t be able to help it. No one’s that good.
I’m doing the right thing. The only thing.
I’m fucking surviving. And surviving was never pretty. It was never chocolate chip cookies and milk by a roaring fireplace.
It’s being sweaty and hungry in the woods with the mosquitoes and the bobcats. And then in the winter, the cold.
It’s being more animal than human.
“Take the next left,” I whisper, half hoping Caleb won’t hear.
But he does hear. And he switches on his blinker—like the good Boy Scout he never got the opportunity to be—and turns onto the road that leads to what I used to call home.
There’s no “recycle air” button in a car this old, and the stink from the chicken factory starts kicking in through the vents halfway down the road that leads to hell. When I lived here, I became immune to it, but now that I’ve been away—
I hear Caleb choke a little. He’s trying not to gag, and I feel the same, because it’s hitting me for the first time all over again.
This is where I’m from.
This is what I am.
“Here,” I say, not much louder, when I see the rusted-out sign for the GRASS VALLEY Trailer Park. Except in addition to the missing V, someone has spraypainted out the GR, so now it’s ASS ALLEY Trailer Park.
Classy.
Caleb turns, and I slump down in my seat. Embarrassed. Hating that I’m embarrassed. Hating that Caleb gets to see this side of me—the part I’ve been hiding behind sarcasm and stolen cookies and pretending I belong in his world.
Fuck. I’m dreading this. I can never let Z know how much. It’s fine. I just need to get him out of here, and then we’ll never have to come back here ever again.
It’ll just be a place we came from.
A distant memory.
Caleb pulls in, and I feel eyes on our car as we roll down the road.
I watch Caleb’s eyes dart to the rearview mirror. Then both side mirrors. Then scan the area in front of us. Then back to the rearview.
His hands tighten on the wheel—adjusting their position even though we’re barely moving.
He’s cataloging everything. Every person standing up. Every eye watching us. Every potential threat.
It’s a nice ride. Too nice. Oh shit, why didn’t I think about that? I feel immediate apprehension choke me in addition to the ammonia smell from the chicken factory.
“Shit,” I hiss. “We’re gonna have to make this fast.”
I look down at my phone.
HARPER: We’re here
I text Z.
HARPER: Meet us outside and we’ll take off.
But the second I look up, I’m distracted by everyone not just watching, but standing up from their camping chairs and overturned coolers and crates. Moving toward us.
“Shit,” I breathe out. “Turn around.”
“What?”
“Turn around. Now. Fuck. We never should’ve brought the car in here.” The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up when I see some of the men from around the fire barrel start heading our way. I recognize Tommy Lee’s walk. And Jesus Christ, is that Marcus? He got out of county already?
We’re all jackals here. Friendly enough to our own kind, but outsiders are only good for one thing…
“Turn around now and book it.”
Caleb must hear the don’t-fuck-around in my voice, because he does exactly what I say. He does a wide U-turn in one of the few dirt yards that’s not filled with toys or the rusted-out guts of what used to be some part of a car.
But even fleeing—even with men advancing on us—he checks his mirrors first. Signals. Turns the wheel in this controlled, precise arc.
Who the fuck signals when they’re running away?
Caleb Graham, apparently.
Gravel spits in the rearview as he books it back out of the narrow drive.
“What now?” His voice is serious, steady, and I feel even more embarrassed.
Ashamed.
This is my world. These are my people.
And they would’ve stripped his car for parts without a second thought.
“It’s not for sure they would’ve fucked with you,” I lie. “Some of those guys are nice enough. But there’s a couple...” My stare drifts out the window, where our headlights flash against the endless pines lining the road. “They would’ve really liked this car. Here, pull off over here.”
“Where?”
“Over here. Into the woods a little.”
Caleb slows down. “There’s not really anywhere to pull off.”
“Yeah, no shit. That’s the point. Come on, pull off. There’s a little break in the trees right there.” I point.
Caleb slows and pulls the car where I say. We bounce up and down in our bucket seats as we start going off-road, but they did a good job with the shocks on this restoration, so it’s not too bad. We get all the way off the road and into the cover of trees before we have to stop.
“Good. We can hide the car here while we go back to get Z.”
“Is this really necessary?” Caleb asks, and I hear in his voice that he’s not questioning me. He’s trying to understand my world. Trying to see what I see.
“Do you like your hubcaps? Tires? Your engine? I’ve seen some of those guys strip a car flat in less than half an hour.”
“Point taken.”
“C’mon.”
I update Z as I push out of the car.
HARPER: My ride was a little too nice. Had to double back. Coming in thru the woods.
There’s no immediate response. Z will probably meet us. We both know these back woods like the back of our hands. Every path. Every shortcut and hiding place. Maybe he’s out there already and his phone ran out of battery.
It’s only twilight, so it’s easy enough to find the path we usually walk—around the sweetgum tree with its scaly, gray bark and up the small ridge before heading back down toward the park.
Caleb’s loud behind me—the only time I’ve ever seen him not look graceful. I know he jogs back at home and lifts weights in the garage, but I guess raw terrain is a little outside his wheelhouse.
“C’mon, city boy,” I can’t help razzing him, needing the levity to calm my nerves. “You really weren’t a Boy Scout, huh? Almost there. Keep up.”
His low chuckle helps. Just a little. Just enough that I can breathe past the tightness in my chest as the back end of the trailer park comes into view.
I put a hand out, and Caleb slows up beside me. We haven’t run into Z yet, so I text him again.
HARPER: U coming? We’re out back.
I wait. One minute. Two.
No response.
I roll my eyes. What the fuck, Z? It’s really not the time to fucking ghost me. I told him we were here. Did he forget to charge his phone? Get really into fighting one last boss? Jesus Christ.
“Stay here,” I whisper to Caleb, holding out a hand behind me, then I creep forward closer to the trailer.
But Caleb doesn’t stay. Of course, he doesn’t. I hear him moving behind me—not following my path but branching off toward the front of the trailer.
I want to hiss at him to get back here, but I can’t risk the noise. I just need to get Z and get the hell out of here.
I approach Z’s window at the back of the trailer, keeping low. The window’s cracked open, but the crate Z and I used to use to climb up is gone.
Fuck.
I rise up on my tiptoes, fingers barely catching the windowsill. Inside, I can see Z at his desk, headphones on, gaming, completely oblivious to the world.
Of course. Of fucking course.
I try to pull myself up, but I can’t get leverage. I’m jumping, trying to catch his attention, waving my arms like a lunatic, but he’s locked in on his screen.
I knock on the window. Softly at first.
Z doesn’t hear.
I knock harder.
Nothing.
Fuck it.
I bang on the wall—too hard, way too hard—and Z’s head whips around. His eyes go wide when he sees me. He yanks off his headphones and runs over.
He shoves the window halfway up—
And then Frank O’Brian bursts through Z’s bedroom door like a goddamn hurricane.
“The FUCK you think you’re doing?” Frank’s voice is a roar, and I can see it immediately—the way he’s moving, the jerky aggression, the dilated pupils even from here.
He’s high. Not just drunk. High.
Shit. Frank’s a dealer—and not for anything as benign as weed—and the nights he decides to take his own product generally end in fucking disaster.
The window catches, and Z spins around.
“Dad, I—” Z starts, but Frank’s already crossing the room.
“You think you can sneak out? You think you can just LEAVE?” Frank grabs Z by the shirt and throws him to the floor like he weighs nothing. Z hits his desk on the way down.
“No!” The scream rips out of my throat before I can stop it. “Frank, stop! FRANK!”
I’m jumping, trying to get through the window, but I can’t reach. I can’t get to him. I’m useless, screaming and jumping and completely fucking useless—
And then I see him.
Caleb.
My heart drops down nearly out my asshole.