Chapter 1
Amelia
“Iswear, this is the last damn time,” I grumbled to myself as I yanked on the zipper of my thin cotton jacket, pulling it as high as it could go.
The sun was setting, and the temperature was dropping with it. The gray Seattle sky looked to be only moments away from opening up and raining down on me. If I had to walk home in the rain, I planned on killing my boyfriend, Alex, for forgetting to pick me up from work.
Again.
“Good for nothing asshole,” I muttered, tightening my hands into fists as I picked up the pace.
I should have known that I couldn’t trust him to be responsible, but I didn’t have much of a choice. It was either ask him to pick me up or walk, and I hoped to get lucky, though I probably wouldn’t. It wasn’t enough that I’d been on my feet for the last twelve hours, slinging booze and fried bar food to every lowlife in town. No, I had to add a two-mile walk on top of it.
He was out late with the guys the night before, and when he crawled into bed with me, I could smell the scent of alcohol wafting off of him. I figured I’d get home and find him still passed out or maybe just waking up to a massive hangover,despite it being the early evening hours. It was almost time for him to gear up to go out again.
I could hear the sensible side of my brain telling me to break up with the loser, to escape town before I ended up knocked up and stuck in a nightmare for the rest of my life, but I couldn’t make myself listen. It wasn’t because I was head over heels in love with him or anything like that. I mean, I did love him, but it was because even though I was hopeful, I was still a realist. And I was still all alone and broke as hell.
I couldn’t leave town. Where would I go? How far could I even get on the current thirty-six dollars and fifty-two cents in my pocket? Sure, I’d heard about women leaving town without a dime to their name, but only half those stories ended on a good note. The other half had been turned into cautionary tales about why we don’t accept rides from strangers or trust people we don’t know. My moving in with Alex wasn’t done out of love, really. In some aspect, it was, but it was really done out of desperation. Staying with him meant that I didn’t have to worry about rent, utilities, or a safety deposit—none of which I could afford anyway. It meant being able to work and save as much as possible.
Since losing my dad two years prior, I had been working two part-time jobs at the same time. One was being a cashier at a twenty-four-hour gas station at the edge of town, and the other was waitressing/bartending at a hole-in-the-wall bar.
I’d managed to save a couple thousand, thanks to living the way I did. Alex never had anything in the fridge other than beer, but my one free meal at the bar kept me going from one day to the next. And on the rare occurrence that I didn’t work at the bar, I worked at the gas station, where I just had towastefood items after an hour of putting them beneath the heat lamp. There were many times I lived on nothing but dried-out pizza rolls, rehydrating them by soaking them in a ranch bath, but Iwas still alive to struggle another day. Even though I saved every penny I could, what I managed to stash away still wasn’t enough to leave on my own and start from scratch.
Alex’s rundown house had finally become visible as I put one foot in front of the other. The house was on the verge of being condemned, with a blue tarp draped over half the roof and a boarded-up window on the front. The yard probably hadn’t been mowed all summer—the long, overgrown grass had just been trampled down by the foot traffic of Alex’s buddies and their motorcycle tires that they parked in the yard, leaving muddy ruts at times. Alex’s Mustang was parked in the gravel driveway, so I knew he was home. It was the only thing of value he had, and he made sure it remained in pristine condition at all times. It belonged to his dad, and it was the only thing he had left of him. I wasn’t sure if Alex loved his dad so much that he wanted to take the best care of the car that he could, or if maybe he just loved the car that much. I had a feeling it was the latter.
I frowned at the knocked-over trash cans on the curb as I stepped onto the sidewalk that led to the front steps. I was cold, halfway numb, and in a hurry to get inside. I wanted to rip him a new one for forgetting me and making me walk. I knew it wouldn’t do any good, though. He wouldn’t change, but I figured that yelling would at least make me feel better. If nothing else, it would make my blood pressure rise, and that, in turn, would make the shivering stop.
I twisted the knob and pushed at the door as I stepped inside, the smell of stale beer, mildew, and smoke filling my nose as I closed the door behind me. I looked down at the balled-up flannel shirt that was under the toe of my boot. I rolled my eyes as I lifted my foot and kicked it to the side.
The place was a mess. It was obvious Alex woke early enough to host a midday party for his buddies. There were beer cans scattered about the living room and ashtrays overflowing withcigarette butts. Despite the mess, the house was quiet. I knew that Alex wouldn’t go anywhere without his precious Mustang, so I figured he woke up long enough to enjoy round two and passed back out once his friends had taken off for the next party spot. I didn’t bother picking up as I walked directly to the bedroom.
I had already been reaching for the knob when I heard a woman moaning on the other side of the door. I sucked in a breath and froze as I listened harder. I could hear the rustle of blankets and the soft squeak of the mattress springs. I heard a woman whimper and gasp.
My world stopped spinning in that instant as a million thoughts rushed through my head. I loved Alex, maybe not as deeply as I once had, yet the betrayal still stung. We’d known one another since we were kids. We’d been dating since we were fifteen. We were technically a couple, living together. We were not in an open relationship where this kind of thing was common. He knew he was cheating, and suddenly, I knew it too. What I didn’t know was what I wanted to do about it.
I wanted to bust in there, yank her off of him by her hair, throw her outside of my line of vision, and turn all of my rage on the person who deserved it. If I did that, though, my entire life would change. I knew he’d throw me out, and I’d be homeless on top of being broke.
I could’ve just turned around and left, pretended I didn’t walk in on what I walked in on. I could’ve walked back to the bar and pretended that I decided to pick up an extra shift. He would probably have shown up at midnight and acted as if nothing had happened, as he always did. My question was: could I pretend?
I couldn’t turn and walk away without knowing for sure. I mean, it could’ve been any one of his buddies in there. So, I pushed the door open just a crack and stuck my head inside. Morbid curiosity might end up being the death of me.
The room was filled with the smell of sour alcohol, sweat, smoke, and sex. It was just dark enough that neither of them noticed me, but it was just light enough that I could clearly see their faces. I wasn’t surprised to see Alex at the bottom. I was surprised to see the closest thing to a best friend that I’d ever had on top, though. The stabbing sensation was back, only it had moved from my stomach to the backside of my chest.
The anger started behind my eyes, but it filled my stomach with rage that quickly boiled over. I’d heard people talk about pivotal moments in life, and they said it felt like they blacked out. They found themselves doing things without any thought or decision. It was like getting so drunk that you couldn’t remember certain moments of your night, and that’s exactly how I’d explain it too because one minute I was standing there in the doorway of my bedroom watching my life change before my eyes. The next minute, I was across the house, in the kitchen, and digging to the back of the bottom cabinet where I hid that coffee can way back behind all the pots and pans I knew he’d never touch. I was half inside the cabinet before I found it. Sitting on the kitchen floor, I ripped off the plastic lid to find every cent I’d been saving since my father’s passing.
There were several wads of cash, and I took them out one after another, stuffing the money wherever I could: in my right front pocket, in my left front pocket, in both back pockets, in my bra, and the last bit, I stuffed into my boot. I didn’t bother closing the cabinet or putting away the coffee can. I just stood and started toward the door. I nearly walked out right then, but something caught my eye that caused me to freeze before I exited the kitchen. I turned my head to the left, where Alex or one of his buddies had left a few tools lying about—probably after working on one of their shitty bikes. Right next to the tools was a half-empty beer bottle and the keys to the Mustang.
I don’t know what went through my head, but I reached out and grabbed the utility knife and the keys. I clutched both in my fist as I pushed out the front door. Before I knew what I was doing, I was climbing behind the wheel of his black Mustang that he cared so much about. I shoved the key into the ignition and twisted. The car’s dashboard lights came on, but nothing else happened. I frowned and looked around. I took in the dashboard, the steering column, and then the floor, finding a third pedal.
“Damnit.” I forgot the stupid car was a stick shift. Of all the things my dad taught me over the years, he never taught me to drive a stick shift. I wasn’t going to let it stop me, though. Alex had screwed me over, so I was going to do the same. Hitting him wouldn’t do any good. He took worse beatings from his friends when they got to drinking. Calling him names wouldn’t work, and neither would screaming. He’d just walk away and refuse to listen. The only thing that would hurt him was losing his precious car.
I didn’t know how to drive a stick, but I knew the basics. I put one foot on the clutch and one on the brake, then twisted the key again. That time, the car fired right up.
“Yes,” I cheered under my breath. I grabbed the shifter, and I pushed it into first gear. I let off the clutch, and the car jumped forward and died.
“What the hell? How do you drive this thing?” I repeated the steps and got the car running again. I tried one more time, but the same thing happened. That’s when I realized that I couldn’t let off the clutch while the car was in gear. Then I tried giving it gas while holding the clutch in. The motor revved, but the car didn’t move. While I was experimenting, my leg grew tired, and I let out a little on the pedal, and that’s when the car started to move. My eyes widened as I started putting it all together: let out of the clutch as I give it gas, and the car would move.
Sure enough, things clicked, and the car actually moved.
