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“We got one!” she squeals.
Sure enough, when I turn around, a truck has pulled over behind us with two men and a woman inside. At first glance, something about it feels off, and I’m not sure if it’s just my paranoia. The bearded guy behind the wheel looks scary as hell, but Eden doesn’t seem to care as she walks right up to them.
“Where are you heading?” the driver asks.
“As far north as you can take us.” She flashes him a smile.
“We don’t have room in the cab, but if you want to hop in the back, we’ll give you a ride.”
“That works.”
She gestures for me to follow, and I eye the driver and his friends nervously as I trail after Eden.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask her under my breath.
“Why not?” She shrugs. “It’s just a couple and their friend. They’re totally harmless.”
She’s already climbing into the bed of the truck, leaving me no choice. Something still feels off about the whole situation, but I can’t pinpoint exactly what it is.
“You’ll have to lie down,” the woman hollers out the window. “So the cops don’t pull us over.”
Eden nods and gives them a thumbs-up, and we both lie down as the truck takes off. She relaxes beside me and closes her eyes to nap, but I can’t swallow the feeling that we just made a terrible decision.
Chapter 8
Madden
—PAST—
Bianca brown eyes has been here for three weeks now. She still hasn’t shared, so she’s not leaving anytime soon, but eventually, she will. They all do. Everyone except me. Because I’ve spent the past year here, getting by on cruise control. Never changing. Not making an effort. It was the best option in front of me, and it never bothered me before, but with every passing day, there’s a new restlessness inside me. I have a nagging suspicion that it’s her fault. When she leaves here, I don’t know if I can return to the mind-numbing silence. Already, I’m irritated that there will be a day when I look over and she won’t be there.
It’s fucking stupid because I don’t know this girl. Not really. But something about her has burrowed under my skin. She irritates the hell out of me with her ray-of-light smiles that she tosses around like candy. In a world that only sees me as a rage machine, I don’t know how to handle someone who treats me like I’m not a ticking time bomb.
Then again, I’m not special. She’s nice to everyone, even Bradley the ChapStick-eater. She thinks she’s making friends in here, but all she’s really doing is giving them spank-bank material for the next fifteen years.
Today, Thomas the teenage pyro is eyeing her up. He’s been laying it on thick all week, and I swear I saw Bianca crack a smile at one of his jokes. I don’t like it. And I like it even less when he stares at her tits all the way through lunch. So when he heads for the gym during rec time, I stop him in the hall and pick a fight with him. I pop him in the face a few times and slam him into the wall before he threatens to have his daddy sue me.
I tell him to fuck off and stomp around for the next two days in a bad mood. It’s bullshit, really. Getting twisted up over some girl who won’t even remember I exist when she goes back to her life. I have enough problems to deal with, and I’m not adding her to the list. I need to stay away from her, and that’s what I resolve to do. It lasts all of three days before she’s lurking down by the lake, waiting for me at my spot on visitor’s day.
“What are you doing here?” I growl.
“What’s your deal?” She kicks back against my tree, making herself comfortable.
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve been in a mood.”
“It’s not a mood,” I mutter. “This is my personality. We can’t all have the sun shining out of our asses.”
“Liar.”
“Why are you here?” I repeat.
“You never came to tell me I could watch you play, so I figured I’d invite myself,” she says.
“I told you I don’t let anyone watch me play.”
She arches a brow at me. “But I’ve already seen you, so what does it matter?”
“Because it just fucking does,” I snap.
I expect her to run off again, but she doesn’t. Instead, she looks up at me with even more determination in her eyes.
“Fine, then give me lessons,” she suggests.
I snort at the idea, but she doesn’t share my amusement.
“You want me to teach you how to play?”
“Do you have something more important to do?” she challenges.
I glower at the idea. “I’m not a teacher.”
“So?” She shrugs. “Who cares? It gives us something to do, right?”
