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“You do?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because I think you could fix things.”
“With Jackson?”
“Yeah. And maybe my dad.”
“Jagger, what do you—”
He cut me off by turning around and leaving me there. Walking back into his room.
If that wasn’t the most cryptic conversation I’d ever had, then I didn’t know what was. I spent the entire day in a fog, contemplating my next move. Still feeling as though I was being watched. It didn’t help that the books I’d been telling Journey about were sitting on her book shelf. Staring me right in the face when I went to wake her up. I must not have noticed them before, too pissed at Jackson.
“It doesn’t matter what you say or do, my mom isn’t coming home. That much I can tell you.”
By the end of the day, there was only one thing that I was certain of. I was going to get answers. Even if I had to look for them…
Myself.
12
AIDEN
Then: Almost fourteen-years-old
In a two-year span, since the first time Bailey and I were split up, I hadn’t seen her in a few weeks. Not from lack of trying, though. Social services fucking moved me again. This time into a shittier house with a foster family that wanted me less than the previous lowlifes I’d been living with before them. At least my old family had lived closer to Bailey’s current foster placement. The last five she’d been moved from were all over the place. It was hard to keep up, but I kept my promise to her.
I found her.
Every. Single. Time.
No matter where she was, I made it a priority to see her, be with her when I could.
Our caseworkers began to change as quickly as our foster homes. Proving age was just another drawback to this fucked up system we lived in.
I’m sure there may have been some good foster homes out there, but we sure as shit never saw them. Those homes wanted newborns, toddlers, and kids who hadn’t experienced too much trauma brought on by their own parents or the foster homes they were being placed in.
Misty was no longer around, becoming just another person who left my life without a moment’s notice. No goodbye, nothing. I never saw her again, neither did Bailey.
All we had was each other.
When my head wasn’t buried in books, studying for all my advanced honor classes in school, I spent my free time trying to figure out how to get to Bailey on my bike.
That day came when I found an old map of the area in Mr. Dale’s so-called office space. I spent every waking moment mapping out the best route. Determined to get to her no matter what stood in my way.
It was Christmas Eve, I had to see my girl.
With my worldly possessions and Bailey’s Christmas present in an old backpack, I pedaled to her. I didn’t trust anyone in the homes I was placed in, not to steal the couple of items I did own. They went everywhere with me. It was hard enough trying to stay invisible to the adults and other foster kids who wanted nothing more than to tear me apart.
Day in and day out.
It didn’t matter that it took over an hour of hardcore pedaling to see her beautiful face again. I’d scour the world for Bailey if that was what it took.
She was mine.
