I’m pretty sure I’m still operating under the pure shock of that, as I slip back into my mom’s house, Bullet undisturbed on the couch.
The house is completely silent, which only makes this entire mission more eerie. There are no creaks from my mother’s bedroom. No voice calling my name. The only noise is the steady percussion of rain against the windows, and the quiet electrical hum of the refrigerator.
I need my keys, my wallet, clothes, and anything else I can grab quickly.
In the absence of light, I navigate by muscle memory—the creaky floorboards, the loose kitchen tile, and the dip in the living room carpet that always trips your heel. I keep my arms tucked to my sides, so I don’t bang into anything and wake the monster that lives here.
I breathe shallow and keep my head down as I gather my things. I stop in the kitchen and rifle through the pantry. I grab enough shit to fill the front pocket of my backpack, including Bullet’s dog food, then move to the fridge. I take a few bottlesof water and a Ziplock of cheddar cubes, then close the door so softly it doesn’t even click.
And then I stop.
Her purse.It sits on the counter, untouched.
Don’t do it, Rue. You killed a man over stealing. Don’t become a fucking thief.
But then again, shedidget my dad’s massive life insurance policy payout—all while fucking Mr. Wilson, too.
I crack my jaw and then give in, grabbing it. I open the wallet, seeing a rainbow of loyalty cards, two twenty-dollar bills, a driver’s license, and a library card. I take the twenties, careful to leave everything else untouched, and shove them in my pocket. Guilt fizzes under my ribs, but I ignore it.
She owes me…
But dammit, I can’t do it.
I spin back on my heels and shove the twenties back into her purse. Knowing her, shewouldnotice and then report it or something. I reach for a notepad from the stack of random shit and pen out a quick note.
Mom, I can’t stay here anymore. You were right. I’m going back to California. You should take care of yourself. I’ll call when I can. Hope Eliza can help you out. Love, Rue.
I leave it attached to the notepad and slide it next to her purse, where she’ll see it first thing. A blast of guilt in a different form hits my chest, but it’s short-lived.
She’ll be fine without me. She always has been.
I adjust the backpack on my shoulders, double-check the keys in the front pocket of my sweats, and then double-check down the hallway. Her door is still closed, no shadows moving under the crack, no scrape of her boot on hardwood.
Time to go.I head for the living room, grabbing the leash off the rack.
Bullet is still curled up on the living room couch, snoring so softly it sounds like an air leak. His paws are dirty, probably from some secret adventure he took when I wasn’t watching. I kneel next to the couch and slide my hand under his ear, scratching the way he likes. His eyelids flutter, and he lifts his head, his tail thumping a slow rhythm against the cushion.
“Hey, old man,” I whisper. “You ready for a new adventure?”
He pushes his head into my palm, nose wet and cold. I scratch him behind the jaw, feeling the rough patch where his fur’s been rubbed thin by the collar.
“I’m sorry for ever leaving you behind,” I say, my voice cracking.
He presses his paw into my thigh, leaving a perfect muddy print on my jeans. I don’t even try to wipe it off. I just keep my hand on his head, grounding myself in the steady warmth of him, the years of love and loyalty he’s poured into this house, even when it was collapsing in on itself.
You were the only good thing here.
I clip his leash, and Bullet immediately perks up, jumping up as I stand to my feet. “We need to get moving. I have no idea where we’re going, though.” The thought leaves my stomach swirling as we head for the side door.
Mexico? Canada? Somewhere else?
Outside, the air is so cold it burns my lungs. The rain’s easing up, but it’s being replaced with a thick fog, swallowing the driveway and bleeding into the tree line. I swallow hard and lead the way to the Pathfinder, not a sign of life around us as I pop the driver’s side door open. I toss my backpack to the passenger seat, and Bullet hops in, heading for the backseat.
Right beside Noah.
As I press theEngine Startbutton, his pale blue eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. “Did you grab a gun?”
I make a face. “No.”
