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CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
*Lace*
When my feet ache and bleed and my legs threaten to give out, only then do I slow down, stumbling to my final destination — drunk on the unfairness of life. After what feels like an hour, I arrive back at Tit for Tat.
No, not Tit for Tat.
My wagon.
My home.
My only refuge.
My only escape.
Kal got what he wanted. The rock hiding his snake was lifted. As far as I am concerned, I no longer owe him, and he no longer owns me.
Other than making sure every last little thing was in order for my travels, Jess and Reece were the only other reasons I was sticking around.
I know Kal will be good on his promises where Reece is concerned. I have no doubts there. He might be an asshole on his best day, but he values his word.
Kal will make sure Reece goes somewhere safe — to a caring family. He will fund any expenses for her welfare.
But Jess—
My stars, it hurts.
I never knew a pain like this could exist; I thought I had felt every facet of it imaginable. Boy was I wrong.
Blindly reaching under the frame of my wagon, I find my spare key. No longer caring about all the small last-minute details, I open the door, shut myself inside, crank my trusty home on wheels, and leave Tit for Tat for the last time.
I have enough cash in the hidden compartments in my wagon to get me by. If push comes to shove, I can pick up little odd jobs. I left my cellphone at the condo, but only memories are tied to that phone — contacts I will no longer need and old text messages and call histories that will only keep me stuck in my awful past and muddy up my visions of a decent future.
There is a high probability that someone will follow me away from here, but I decide not to care. I am done rotating inside the turbulent orbits of other people. The time for me to leave is now. Kal should be good on that part of his word, too.
One of the best things about being toward the middle of the Florida Panhandle is that both Alabama and Georgia are just a hop, skip, and jump away. And, for once, the choice is easy. Since Georgia is where Hell for Leather calls home, Alabama is the best choice. To start. Who knows, maybe I will just keep going and drive all night until the sun rises — let the Universe decide where I begin my new tomorrow.
The roads are pretty dead this late at night once I get out of the rally traffic near the Strip and the beach area. Before too much longer, just like that, through the mist of oncoming rain, the Welcome to Alabama border sign appears in my windshield.
I have imagined this moment all my life — how it would feel with Florida in my rearview and a road promising endless opportunities ahead. Light, free, careless.
This feels nothing like I imagined, though. My heart hurts. It feels incomplete. Like I am leaving a dozen pieces behind.
