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Mom sucks in a shuddering breath and nods. “I know,” she whispers, her voice hoarse from disuse. “I know.”
Gramma lays a hand on Mom’s knee in an effort to comfort her. “You gotta buck up, Tildy Lou. You can’t go falling to pieces at a time like this. Us Harrison women come from stronger stock than that.”
“What do I do?” Mom asks, sounding so utterly broken that my lashes brim with unshed tears.
“We need to figure out bail,” I say, inserting myself into the conversation.
“How much is it?” Grampa asks, following my suit.
I rattle off the number Dad told me, causing all three of them to blanch. “Cash only,” I add, the words feeling like cotton in my mouth.
“We…we don’t have that kind of cash on hand,” Mom whispers. “Not with our accounts frozen.”
“We’ll figure it out. I’ll figure it out,” I vow, knowing in my heart of hearts I’ll do anything to raise that money.
Gramma and Grampa exchange an indecipherable look before he returns to his muttering—God love him. “Well, there’s nothing we can do tonight,” my grandmother says as she stands from the loveseat. “Stacia, why don’t you be a dear and run out and grab us some dinner? Pizza, chicken, something. I’ve got a twenty in my wallet.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I reply, knowing damn well I’m not going to spend her money.
I hit up a chain pizza place that’s known for its five-dollar deals, grabbing us two pizzas, an order of breadsticks, and a two-liter of soda. It’s by no means a healthy dinner, but it’s comfort food, plain and simple, which is exactly what we need.
By the time I make it back to the cottage, it’s dark outside. We crowd around the small oak dining table and chow down on the ooey-cheesy-goodness as if it’s our last meal. However, once dinner is over, a whole new problem presents itself—sleeping arrangements.
Obviously, my grandparents laid claim to the bedroom, which leaves the loveseat for my mother and the floor for me. Unwilling to be the squeaky wheel, I grab a pillow and blanket from the linen closet and make myself a nest. Mind you, I’m wide-the-fuck-awake, but it’s eight o’clock and the older adults are tired.
I resign myself to playing on my phone until sleep claims me. Finally, around nine, my eyelids begin to droop. Which is precisely when my grandpa starts snoring. Right hand to the Bible, it sounds like a logger is in the bedroom, falling an entire forest. Never in my life have I ever heard someone snore like that, and with every wall-rattling exhale, my drowsiness slips away.
I return my attention to my phone, pinning makeup looks I want to try, hoping like hell that he’ll eventually roll over and stop—though, he’s been sawing logs for over an hour now, so, it’s not looking likely.
Eventually, my exhaustion wins out, and my eyes slip closed. I’m in that delicious space between sleep and awake when the sound of sniffles penetrates my dreams. It takes me a minute to place it—Mom’s crying again.
I block out her soft whimpers as best as I can, but it’s no use. Between her crying and Grampa’s snoring, sleep is so far out of my reach it’s laughable.
Finally, I can’t take it any longer. This just isn’t going to work. I rise from the floor, my back already stiff from lying on the hard surface, and stash my bedding in the laundry room.
I pass back through the living room, pausing at the couch to let my mom know I’m leaving. “I’m going to AJ’s.”
Through the dark, I see her nod, the nearly imperceptible movement shredding my tattered heart a little more. Kneeling beside her, I press a kiss to her tear-stained cheek. “Love you, Mom.”
“Love you, too,” comes her quiet reply before I slip out the front door.
Chapter Four
Stacia
I text AJ, letting her know I’m on the way over before cranking the ignition and backing out of the driveway. The drive passes in a blur, my exhaustion weighing heavily on me.
AJ’s apartment is in the heart of Cottonwood’s downtown area. While our town is small, it’s bustling, especially the nightlife. People assume our city is a sleepy little place, but with most of the population having more money than God and a college campus, Cottonwood probably sleeps as much as the Big Apple.
Luck is on my side when I see a parking spot directly across the street from AJ’s building—an old factory turned into prime luxury living. There’s six units in total, and while the industrial chic thing is one-hundred-and-ten percent my bestie’s style, it doesn’t call to me. Despite my vibrant red hair, tattoos, and piercings, I’m a total sucker for that Joanna Gaines look. Cliché, I know.
Bustling or not, Cottonwood is safe, so I take my time heading into her building. Instead of jaywalking, I stroll down to the crosswalk at the end of the block, relishing in the way the heavy, damp air clings to my skin, allowing me to pretend it’s what is weighing me down instead of my sadness.
