MELANIE
Agentle but insistent nudge against my arm startled me awake. My heart jolted, and my eyes fluttered open to the dim glow of the streetlights. Faye was curled up beside me, her tiny frame tucked against mine on top of the playground structure.
“Hey,” a voice murmured above me.
Blinking, I looked up. Nick stood there, his expression unreadable in the shadows.
“Hi,” I mumbled, my voice thick with exhaustion.
“Let’s get you guys home,” he said, his tone softer now as he bent down to scoop Faye into his arms. She didn’t stir—not even when he pressed her against his chest and carefully climbed down the ladder, his movements slow and steady.
I rubbed at my tired eyes before descending after him.
“What about the motorcycle?” I asked, my voice hushed.
“It’ll fit in the back of my truck,” he replied, already shifting his focus to securing Faye.
Sliding into the passenger seat, I let out a deep sigh, trying to shake the heaviness from my limbs. “I can’t believe I fell asleep.”
Nick shot me a sideways glance. “Me either. Were you drinking?” His tone was sharp, laced with something close to irritation.
I frowned. “No, I wasn’t drinking. What’s your deal? Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed?”
He exhaled slowly, gripping the steering wheel. “Sorry. It’s been a long day. Mario’s sick, so my mom and I might have to open early tomorrow. If we don’t, we’ll get slammed at the restaurant.”
His explanation felt rehearsed, like it wasn’t the whole truth. I studied him, but his face gave nothing away.
Then, with a quieter intensity, he added, “Seriously, though. Did you pass out somewhere because you forgot to take your insulin? I told you to set an alarm on your phone. You’re so forgetful.”
A yawn slipped from me as I shook my head. “That’s not what happened.” My gaze drifted to the back seat, where Faye’s long blonde hair fanned out against the upholstery. She looked so small, so fragile. A pang of something deep and aching tightened my chest. Turning my attention back to the road ahead, I admitted, “I stopped at a gas station to be responsible—to check my insulin, get some water. But right as I was leaving…I saw her. Faye.”
Silence settled between us—a heavy, knowing silence.
Nick’s grip on the wheel tightened. “When?”
I hesitated before answering. “Since this morning.”
I didn’t have to look at him to know his expression had changed. Shock. Disbelief. Maybe even anger. “She was just sitting there,” I continued, my voice barely above a whisper. “On the swing. Waiting for her mom to come back.”
Nick let out a low curse under his breath. “Shit. I thought Farrah was doing better. We just saw her.” He shook his head. “Guess you called it. She’s still drinking and using.”
I stared at my hands, memories creeping in like unwelcome ghosts—memories of my own mother, of being the kid left waiting, of being the responsibility passed off to someone else because she was too drunk to drive. But this… this was different.
This wasn’t just Farrah passing out somewhere.
“She left her,” I said, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. “She left her on purpose.”
Nick was quiet for a long moment before finally asking, “You think she’s not coming back?”
I swallowed hard. “I think she knew Faye would be in good hands if she never did. So she took her chance.”
Just like my mom did. Chose a man over her daughter. Chose drugs over freedom.
Nick let out another slow breath, then reached across the console, his fingers brushing over mine before giving them a reassuring squeeze. I squeezed back, grateful. Grateful that he was here.
Fifteen minutes later, Nick carefully lifted Faye from the truck and carried her up the steps to the house.
“Maybe we should let her sleep in our bed tonight,” I murmured, watching as he cradled her against him.
