Page 51 of Forever After Fall

Well shit.

“I don’t have it. I got a new one.”

“You got rid of my truck?” He’s offended. “How the hell could you do that?”

I can’t believe he wants to argue about the truck right now.

“It was having issues, and I needed something reliable.”

“Fucking hell, Bristol. You couldn’t do me one fucking solid for a few months?”

Now that we could argue about. I’ve done this man a whole fucking stack of solids over the years. Apparently, those are all forgotten.

“I didn’t think you were coming back to get it. You didn’t expect me to hold on to it for five years, did you?”

“I expected you to hold on to it for five months,” he barks back.

“Also, I thought it was to pay me back for the money I loaned you when I sold mine.”

“Your business isn’t doing well enough to cover that yet?” In the dim light that’s streaming in from the window on the far side of the attic, he looks at me like it’s my problem for being a failure. I’m trying to focus on our argument and not our surroundings or our circumstances. Arguing with Chris is an old habit. We had years of back and forth like this. Being held hostage in an attic of an old house with a fugitive is new territory. I have to keep calm and handle the things I know I can manage.

“How are you even here? And what’s wrong with your leg? Did you escape, Chris? They’ll add years to your sentence for that.” I blurt out the obvious. It’s probably not the best idea to ratchet up his anxiety along with mine. So much for calm.

“There was a wreck. I just ran away from it. I can’t be blamed for that, can I?” He smirks.

Was he always this much of an asshole? I’m trying hard to remember. It feels like so long ago since I fell for him. I can’t even bring myself to think it was love anymore. He was handsome. Tall. Had a nice truck and a nice motorcycle. He said sweet things to me. Lots of them at first. That’s all I really saw back then, and somehow once I signed up for this particular version of chaos, I couldn’t figure out how to get back off the ride.

“You can’t just run away from the wreck. You’re serving time. They’ll be looking for you.”

“That’s not what she said. She said if I got away, they might rule me dead, and I could start over.”

“Who is she?”

“One of the guards. We got to be good friends.” The self-satisfied look on his face tells me what kind of friendship he was offering.

“I’m sure you did,” I mutter. I don’t care, not really, but I feel another hot flush of embarrassment for my former self. I can’t believe I ever thought this man was capable of loyalty.

“That’s why I had to call things off with you for a bit. She was going to help me, but she wanted some things in return. I knew it would mean getting out and getting back to you eventually.”

“And she knew you had a girlfriend?”

“Yeah. She saw your name on the lists.”

“So don’t you think I’m one of the first places they’ll look?”

“Which is why I came here instead of your house. I’m using my fucking head.” He taps the gun to his head in a show of his version of reason.

I’m going to guess it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out where I am if I’m not at my house or work, but I’m not about to argue with him.

“What about your leg?”

“Got it pinned during the crash. Fucked it up a little. I was hoping you’d be able to get me a first aid kit.” His eyes dart around like he’s trying to assess the best way to get out of here in a hurry if we need to. I don’t like the looks of that.

“I know where one is if you let me go get it.”

“No. I’m not letting you out of my sight. We can go get it.”

“There are too many people around right now, Chris. Someone will see you in that dayglow orange.”