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“No one corrected her?”
I shook my head. “Would you?”
“Hell no.”
We lost our shit over that stupid word, like it was the funniest thing we’d ever heard. But I hadn’t laughed in ages and I bet Miller hadn’t either.
“Shit, haven’t thought of that in years,” I said when we could breathe again.
Miller wiped his eyes. “That’s a winner. Dia-ba-titties. Sounds like something my mom’s new boyfriend would call it. On purpose.”
I caught the subtext instantly. Our laughter vanished. “He’s one of those?”
“Yeah. One of those.”
I stared out at the small window, to the ocean crashing over the sand again and again, leaving it smooth. A fresh start. That’s what I’d come here for, and I’d nearly given up school on Day One.
I could keep going. For me and Miller, too. I touched the owl tattoo on my right shoulder. Mom would want me to watch out for him.
I’ll help him. Because I’m not like my father. I’m fucking not…
“They won’t fuck with you anymore.”
Miller frowned, confused, then suspicion swarmed back over his face. “You going to be my bodyguard or something? Forget it. I can take care of myself.”
I cocked my head, waiting. He wasn’t used to people doing shit for him without a price, either.
“Okay,” he said finally, and with that one word, something settled between us. Became solid and real. He gathered up his stuff. “I gotta get to work. Stay as long as you want.”
It’s yours now too.
He didn’t say it, but I heard it in his voice. Miller Stratton was like me. A loner who’d been dealt a shit hand. But he didn’t bitch and moan. He handled his business and got on with it. I respected that.
I stayed until the sun set. I didn’t want to leave, but it was getting dark. Old pieces of driftwood lay scattered around. I dug a shallow pit in the sand with my hands and tossed in the driftwood. Next time, I’d bring lighter fluid. Then I could stay as long as I wanted.
Except I needed to eat. Eventually.
I dragged myself away from the Shack, back to the parking lot and my empty apartment. I heated up a frozen dinner while the TV blared sports news and scanned a local paper’s want ads. I made a few calls and lined up a couple one-time gigs—and one longer job building a shed in an old lady’s backyard. The timing was good; I’d caught up with the tenants’ requests and had three days of suspension to kill.
I ate the dinner and watched a football game, then sports talk about the game, and still, it was only eleven p.m.
But it was a new town. A fresh start. Maybe I could sleep like a normal person. Maybe it’d be okay.
I curled up on the shitty futon and eventually dozed off.
The nightmare was waiting.
The thud of his bootsteps across our kitchen. The slide of her jeans against the linoleum as she tried to back away. The bat, rising and coming down.
Again.
And again.
And again.
I woke up to my own screams, the sheets drenched in sweat, the reverberations of the bat still running through me like aftershocks.
I sucked in deep breaths until I felt steady, then threw on some clothes, laced up my boots.
