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“Let’s get you home.” Reese white-knuckles his seatbelt.
I turn away to stop myself from unclenching his bandaged fist.
Should’ve died in the fire.
Asphyxiation would be less suffocating than a car ride with this pack.
* * *
After a winding drive full of sharp turns and backtracking, the streets turn weirdly familiar.
I realize why when we zoom past a leaning sign spattered with bullet holes.
NEXT EXIT, EAST MEADOW.
The Meadows?
Now?
My rapid breath fogs the window. I’m glued to the glass, praying we’re just passing through.
But Jin takes the exit that makes me want to scream. We pop onto a divided highway, one side gated mansions, one side the kind of slums that make you double-check your locks.
Guess which side is mine?
Jin steers away from the fancy part of town where he and Bish belong, toward the shit side where Reese, Dutch, and I came up.
Memory lane is paved with rusty nails, dirty needles, and potholes I’m hoping are still deep enough to connect to Siberia. I’d rather dig through the demon-infested center of the earth than deal with the ghosts that crowd these corners.
The bodega where Reese and I stole candy bars. The charity store where Dutch dragged me to buy himself a new coat after he bundled me in his, with a voice even meltier than his body heat. “Stay warm, Solly.”
I had more of Dutch’s clothes than my own.
There’s the falling-down warehouse where Bishop ran his fights in a tailored red jacket. It’s also where I had my first fantasy about heat sex, thanks to a sweat-slicked, blood-streaked Jin.
Thank fucking shit we turn away from the ball field.
I can’t with those memories.
They belong to the Sol who disappeared. The one with the smooth neck and all that naive hope.
The truth chars the edges of my lips—or maybe all these years later, I’m still feeling Jin’s kiss.
I sit on my hands, trying to hide the tremble in my fingertips.
If they’d taken me back to The Barrington, I could’ve coasted through my role. Any hotel. Any other town.
The universe is definitely screwing with me.
But fine.
Let’s fucking go.
I won’t break.
Not over Jin’s gaze eating me through the mirror, Bishop manically adjusting his cufflinks, or Reese’s blood soaking through his bandaged palm.
And not over Dutch.
