I glance back at the pair when I reach the porch, Circus closer to her now, although not touching. Maybe she gentles him somewhat? A vastly opposite situation to what I have with Fang—whenever we cross paths, it’s like the meeting of two atmospheric charges, lightning and thunder and all.Stop thinking about him and find the damn phone, Jenna.Chaos never said who’d give it to me, but if I had nuts, I’d bet my left one it’s Loki.My feet ache from the cold, muddy on the soles and between my toes. I’d wager my eyes look like hell after that epic meltdown, too.How you manage to keep showing your face is anyone’s guess.Helps when I’m all out of fucks to give.
I dart toward the stairs and take them two at a time, stalling at the door when I find Darko shrugging off his jacket.
“Do you still ride when the roads are like this?” It’s lined with slush and slick with ice.
He glances my way before adding his jacket to the overstuffed hooks. “Got to trust yourself, is all.”
“Do you maybe know where I can find Loki?”
His glance is more subtle this time. “Why?”
“Just want to ask him a question.”
“You can ask me.”
The growing tension shrinks the space between us, the gap feeling a hell of a lot smaller now. “Chaos wants me to call my father. I need to get the phone again.”
“If Chaos truly wants that, you’ll get the phone once he’s had a chance to tell us himself.”
Of course.Explains the delay. Why believe what I say when I lied to get it the first time? “Sorry.”
He shucks his boots with a sigh. “It’s fine.”
Darko heads past me toward the rear of the house, ending a conversation I get the feeling he never wanted to start. I glance in the parlor and find The Kid watching something on the iPad with Molly, Darla further through at the dining table, a book in hand. I head back to the porch and expel a frustrated sigh. Interacting seems so hard when I’ve got so much I can’t say; the effort it takes not to fuck it up is more than I can handle right now. The chair to my left sits empty, beckoning, coaxing me to take a load off. It’s no warmer out here than in the barn, but it’s quiet.
Solitary.
The wood is cool through the fabric of the pants Jezabel offered me, a chill snaking up my spine. Birds dart across the vacant field, collecting their morning feed. Huddling my legs to my chest, I rest my chin atop my knees and chew the inside ofmy lip to distract my brain from the tears aching to fall. I’ve cried enough for one day. Tears have never done me a favor, never solved my problems. Why indulge?
You’re free to leave whenever you want.
Sure. Except when I have nowhere to go, no purpose in life outside what I do now. Leaving feels like stepping out into space, well aware all that awaits me is an endless, uncontrolled drift toward nothing. I’m not ready to be that independent and alone yet. Little old me against any number of pissed-off motorcycle clubs. I’ve got a mess that demands I clean it up, and so there it is—my decision. Stay where I’m not wanted at least until I see this through.
At least until all my fuck-ups are accounted for.
I bury my face into my knees and close my eyes, figuring that even if I’m hated, at least it means I’m noticed.
And when I’m noticed, I exist. I matter to someone, be it negatively or otherwise.
TWENTY-EIGHT
FANG
“What about this one?”I hold a soft blue knitted sweater out toward Molly.
She crumples her nose. “I don’t like cats.”
Turning it toward myself, I study the overly cute embroidered design on the front and nod. “I can see your point.” Why girls’ clothing has to be a sensory overload of bright colors and sickly-sweet imagery, I don’t know. Some girls like diggers, and bikes, and climbing trees. Where’s the stuff for them?
I look about the store, then grab Molly by the hand. “Come on.”
She skips along beside me, wet sneakers making a squelching noise on the vinyl floor of the store while she tries to keep up with my long strides. I cut a path through the toy section and notice a woman I’d seen earlier browsing girls’ pajamas following us, rummaging through her purse before pulling out her phone. A swift check over my shoulder confirms what I thought: she lifts the fucking thing to record me.
“Baby, go take a look at those plushies.” I direct Molly toward overflowing bins filled with velvety animals. “Pick one out. Any one. I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.” She darts out of sight of the woman’s phone.
I backtrack until I’m two feet from the lady. “What?”
