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“Tell me where you live first.”
“Down in the Coastal Bend,” Slate said. He wasn’t stupid enough to name the town. Jackson would never leave Austin, not unless properly propelled, the way Slate had been.
Jackson gave Slate his phone, and Slate looked at the gallery. Sure enough, Jackson had taken pictures of every one of Slate’s cards…and his driver’s license. That listed his address at the ranch, because he’d had to get brand new identification, and new bank accounts, and new everything once he’d been released from prison.
He deleted all of the pictures and thrust the phone back into Jackson’s chest. “Don’t ever go to my parents’ house again. I’m leaving, and you will not follow me.” He stared into Jackson’s dead eyes, wondering if he’d looked like this too. Lifeless. Almost non-human.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Jackson said. “Don’t follow you.”
“You shouldn’t be driving at all,” Slate said. “It’s dangerous. You’re going to kill someone.” He turned back to his truck. “Don’t go to my parents’ house ever again. They don’t have any money.”
“They own a restaurant.”
“A failing one,” Slate said, getting behind the wheel. “I mean it, Jackson. If I find out you’ve been there, you’ll wish you were dead.” He slammed his door and jammed his foot on the accelerator. He had to get out of there before he did something he’d regret.
He drove back to his parents’ house, where he found his mom on the phone on the front porch and his sister talking to a neighbor. When they saw him, pure relief washed over their features, and Slate realized then how much they cared about him.
“I’m okay,” he said as he got out of the truck.
“Thank the Lord,” Cindi said as she reached him. She enveloped him in a tight hug and held on. “You left your phone and Mrs. Jacobs said she saw someone in a black sedan leave about the same time you did.” Cindi stepped back and searched his face. “No one here has a black sedan. Who was it?”
“Just some loser who came to the door asking for money,” Slate said. That was the truth too, just not the entirety of it. “Where are Luke and Dallas? We need to get going.”
“They left to search the neighborhood for you.” Cindi turned back to the road. “I think they went…toward that, uh, tavern where you used to hang out.”
Slate’s throat closed. He couldn’t go there. So many bad memories assaulted him, and he just wanted to take a couple of pills and fall asleep.
No more pills, he thought. Everything had started with pills, and Slate felt like throwing up. If only he hadn’t gotten that concussion in college. But he’d loved playing football, and he’d have done anything to stay on the team. In the end, his concussion had been so severe, he’d lost his spot on the team, and gained a brand-new addiction—painkillers.
Those led to harder stuff. Stuff that would erase pain in a heartbeat. Pills that could make him feel like he was flying. Pills that made him laugh for hours. Pills that made everything swirl in pinks and reds and purples.
Slate didn’t care what they were, as long as they provided the escape he needed and wanted.
“You don’t have to go there,” he said aloud. “Just call Luke.”
Cindi cocked her head at him. “Are you okay?”
“No,” he said through a tight throat. “Is my phone inside?”
“Momma has it.” Cindi backed up, and Slate saw his mother holding his phone at the top of the steps. He took them two at a time and asked her for it.
“You okay, baby?” She reached up and brushed his hair from his forehead. He had gotten it cut a couple of days ago, and he didn’t entirely hate it.
“Yes,” Slate said, maybe the first lie he’d told since being in Austin. “I need to call Luke.”
“I was on the line with him when you pulled up,” she said. “They’re on their way back now.”
As if on cue, a truck pulled into the driveway, with Luke behind the wheel. He and Dallas both got out almost before the truck had come to a complete stop, and they both strode toward Slate.
“I’m fine,” he said as a way to try to appease them. But by the swirling storm on Luke’s face, there would be no appeasement.
“Where did you go?” he barked. “You left your phone behind. We didn’t know where you went. You said nothing to no one.” His fists curled, and he raged silently for another moment before he broke. He grabbed onto Slate and hugged him fiercely. “You scared me,” he said in a much quieter voice.
“I’m sorry,” Slate said, grateful for such a good friend. “I’ll explain once we’re out of this city.” He stepped back. “Okay? We need to go. It’s three hours back to Sweet Water Falls.” He turned back to his momma, determined to get these goodbyes done in record time.
“Thanks for having me, Momma.” He drew her into a hug too. “I love you.”
