Steven opened his mouth to retort but, after one glance at my eyes, he closed it again quickly.

"So you showed her this, then."

Steven nodded.

"And you made up some bulls.h.i.t to make her go away?"

"It wasn't bulls.h.i.t, Trent. What makes this girl different? You left her here the first chance you got. No money, no friends, and a backpack full of clothes. Leaving was her choice. All I did was lay out the facts."

"The facts?"

"Everything I told her was true. You can believe that I filled her head with complete s.h.i.t, but my job is to keep this train moving."

"My girlfriend isn't some piece of dead weight to be cut loose," I growled menacingly, advancing upon him.

I was so furious that I hadn't even realized the Freudian slip.

"Well, you have your professional opinions, and I have mine," Steven snarled with a slight hiss of pain. "All I know is, I did my job. You know, you've been a hock of s.h.i.t since day f.u.c.king one. Always making s.h.i.t difficult. You're a real piece of work, Trent Masters. This is the worst f.u.c.king gig I've had in years! And I represented The Spitting Pigs, drug-fueled orgies and all!"

I grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him close, one last time.

"Steven...where is she."

"I don't know."

"Wrong answer," I replied, wheeling my fist back.

"No! No! Wait!"

He feared for his life now.

"What?"

"Seriously! I don't know! She wouldn't tell me! She wouldn't even let me see the ticket! I just gave her some cash. I have no idea where she is!"

"Think," I commanded.

Steven held up his hands.

"I don't know! She never said!"

My fist trembled. It was ready to strike.

He called out in fear: "It's not just me!"

I paused, letting that sink in.

"...What."

"I mean. It wasn't my idea!"

I hesitated furiously.

"You'd better start talking, and now."

"Waylon and Dylan, it was their idea. Waylon's been p.i.s.sed every since you brought the b.i.t.c.h into the bus. They're already talking about replacing you. I'm doing you a f.u.c.king favor, Trent."

He looked so absolutely fearful that I couldn't help but believe him...and that only made me angrier. He saw the venom in my eyes and recoiled in terror, his hands up.

"Wh-wh-what are you doing?"

"Taking out the trash," I smiled evilly.

After roughing him up across my living room and knocking him out, I carried him outside over my shoulder. I strolled over towards the line of trash bins outside, contemplating throwing him into them as one last f.u.c.k you.

Nah.

No reason to p.i.s.s off the garbage crew.

Instead, I tossed him to the curb and told him to get the f.u.c.k out of here. Brushing my hands, I pulled out my phone.

There were some calls to make.

I needed a plane and a car.

There was only one lead to follow.

I hoped with all my heart that it would be enough to track her down.

26.

Angel At least half a day before Trent would be back home, I was already back out of the bus and quietly, miserably waiting at my destination.

And that life, as I knew it, was long gone.

I only had to wait at the bus station for about two hours before Mom showed up, pulling up in her battered, ancient sedan. It wasn't surprising to me to see that it was still marked with dings, dents, and a crumpled backseat door.

"Angel! Good lord, girl, I thought I'd never see you again!"

Proudly boasting ratty, unkempt hair and loud makeup choices, Mom gave me an awkward car hug as I climbed into the pa.s.senger seat.

"Where have you been all this time?" She suddenly demanded to know.

"I think I was staying...with a friend, or something," I told her reluctantly. "Nowhere near here. The last little while, I've been living with...well, I guess it's not really important."

"I see," she nodded, kicking us into reverse and peeling out from the bus station. "All that really matters is that you're back now. G.o.d, Angel, I was so worried about you these last years, I had no idea if you were dead or alive..."

"I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't mean to scare you like that."

"Then maybe you should have considered not running off in the middle of the night," she sternly lectured me. "What the h.e.l.l were you thinking, disappearing into the dark? I searched for you for days! Weeks! Months! We put out a report and everything!"

I found that odd, especially since I'd only really been a few hours away. Granted, it was the middle of nowhere, so maybe the report didn't make it out there?

Mom briefly turned to me, a sympathetic look on her face. "Why did you leave, honey?"

I shook my head.

"Now's not the time," I whispered, trying to change the subject.

"Well...just stay with me for now, and we'll get you taken care of...won't we, dear?"

"Okay, Mom," I nodded. "So... What happened to Roger?"

Panic seized my chest as I uttered his name, as if he'd jump out of the shadows at any second.

"Like I said on the phone, we got separated a few years back," Mom smiled at me with freshly whitened teeth. "It hit him pretty hard when you ran away... Especially after all the time he spent helping you in the hospital. The man was in a panic."

I bet he was... I thought to myself.

"He...he isn't still in town?"

"No, sweetheart," Mom said. "I'm sorry. We fell out of touch. Haven't heard from him all year."

My panic began to settle down.

"Okay..." I said quietly, trying not to alert her to my fear. Mother would blame herself if she ever knew the truth...

"Mhmm," she nodded, steering us onto the highway. The sun was setting, and there weren't too many cars on the road.

"Listen...I'm sorry to call you up, out of nowhere," I tried to tell her. I felt compelled to apologize. "I know that it's a lot, asking for help out of the blue..."

"No, no, not at all," Mom rea.s.sured me. "I'm just so happy to have you back. You have no idea. A mother should never be separated from her daughter when they need each other."

I thought on this, and a silence developed between us. Mom took the time to turn on the radio, flicking through a few stations.

I caught a brief snippet of Wicked Wilds as she flipped from signal to signal, and it made my heart sink.

Oh, Trent, I despaired to myself.

If only we could have been together.

I miss you so f.u.c.king much.

"Ah, here we go," Mom chuckled, settling on a contemporary country station. Immediately, the tw.a.n.g of a wailing, energetic acoustic guitar sang out, accompanied by the rich but depressed voice of a rugged cowboy singer.

"Down by the bayou, I saw you last / Beer in my hand, the past in the past / On one fine h.e.l.l of a winnin' streak / We made love by the river's creek..."

Turning away from Mom to gaze out the window at the dark, sailing trees, I let myself finally experience the weight of the choice I'd made.

I did this for you, Trent, I thought to myself.

But it didn't stop the tears from falling.

It was a couple of hours later before we arrived back home in our tiny little stain on the wooded Alabama wilderness. The familiarity of the small bridge over the tiny river the single decent landmark here awoke the faintest wisps of childhood memories...

I could almost see it. I experienced a small barrage of scattered visions in the shattered gla.s.s of my life before the accident.

Skipping and playing through the trees.

A solitary school bus, pulling up by the bridge every morning bringing the kids a town over for elementary school.

A time before I knew of mountains and oceans.

Before I knew of great castles and bustling metropolises.

I swallowed the tension that appeared in my throat. This was a place that I never liked to dwell on, and it was the place to which I had resigned myself.

I was going to live here again.

No friends.

No job.

No nothing.

As if reading my gloomy mind, Mom chirped up. "Oh! My disability check should be in the mail again any day now. Until then, I've got some food in the fridge you can have. I picked up your favorites when I knew you were coming...got you some of those juice popsicles you used to like so much, some cherry Pop-Tarts, some Lunchables..."

"Mom, I never liked those popsicle things," I told her. "And what about stuff like bread, or vegetables, or fruit? Can I go get some of that?"

"Nonsense!" She smiled toothily. "We've got some bread at home, some peanut b.u.t.ter...no jelly, though...and I think I still have some grapes or something. Let's wait for that check, and then we'll take a look at what we can get you."

"Wait...did you say that you collect disability now?"

She glared at me.

As if I'd questioned her moral integrity.

"Of course I collect disability. My knees are so weak, I can barely get anywhere! Always hobbling around, I'd fall and hurt myself otherwise! And without that son of a b.i.t.c.h ex-husband of mine, I've got to support myself some way!"

I snuck a discreet glance down at her legs.

They looked fine.