He holds open the back door for me, and I slide inside. Maybe I'm imagining it, but I swear something tender crosses his features. “Goodnight, Callie.”
“‘Night, Jax.”
“Are you sure this is the right place?” the driver asks as she pulls up outside the Willow Valley Public Library.
Alone again. Isn’t that just the story of my life?
“Yeah. I’ll walk from here. Thanks.” I head out into the night, keeping a tight grip on the mini taser attached to my keychain. It’s only a block away, but you can never be too careful.
After making sure nothing seems suspicious, I slide into the back seat of my outdated hatchback on top of the semi-deflated air mattress with the sleeping bag and a single, lumpy pillow. “Home sweet home.”
My life went up in smoke when a gas leak caused an explosion at my apartment complex in Oak Ridge. I escaped with my life, but I lost so much in the aftermath.
The slumlord who owned the building is refusing to pay out any claims and cover the cost of displacement housing. I didn’t even get my rental deposit back, and I’m barely making ends meet as it is, so I’ve been living in my car until I can save up for a new place. Apartments aren’t exactly cheap these days, and finding one that allows pets is damn near impossible.
Mo’s been looking after Atticus for me; he’s my grey tabby Maine coon and the love of my life. We got out quickly, and I watched from across the street as my apartment turned to ash. They don’t know I’m sleeping in my car, and I’d like to keep it that way. Their apartment is barely habitable for one person, let alone two, and asking for help isn’t in my wheelhouse.
With any luck, I’ll be out of here in a month or two. I’d rather not spend my nights slow-roasting in the summer heat—not that the winter has been any better.
I slide on a second pair of socks over my fleece-lined tights and wrap myself in an extra blanket for warmth. It’s not much, but it’ll have to do. Before I settle in for the night, I pull out my phone and send off a text to Jaxon.
Callie: Made it.
It’s technically not a lie. I may not have a home, but I did make it to my destination.
Prince Charming: Sleep tight.
Callie: You, too.
Chapter 2
Coffee dates & Uncle Duties
? The Cowboy in Me - Tim Mcgraw
Callie
I wake with a start,disoriented as the dream shatters around me, vivid images fracturing as the world swims back into focus. The dull grey sky casts an ominous shadow over the small town of Willow Valley. It’s fitting, in a way. My life lost its vibrancy long ago.
The five a.m. trek to the gym always feels a bit like a walk of shame. Turns out, it’s even more humiliating when I’m hungover.
I paid a monthly fee for twenty-four-hour access to the showers, but I’ve taken a few self-defense lessons to make the most of my membership. I can confidently say I could do some damage to a man’s ego if tested.
The locker room is blissfully quiet this time of morning. I make my way into the first available stall and set my things on the small ledge. Hot water cascades over my body as the steambillows around me. I close my eyes and lean my head into the spray, letting the warmth seep into my bones.
I slept alright, all things considered, but I could use an extra blanket to fight against the late winter chill. I make a mental note to check my bank account balance later. My budget is tight, but I might have enough for a little extra comfort without dipping into my savings.
I wash my hair first, gently rubbing my hands along my scalp. The flowery scent of my favorite shampoo surrounds me, grounding me enough to reach for my body wash. My hand tremblesas I pour the pearlescent liquid onto my scrubber. I had hoped I’d grow indifferent to my scars, but I haven't. There are some wounds that even time won't heal.
I've always lived with some degree of pain, whether physical or emotional. I wake up every day knowing that the people who were supposed to love me unconditionally never loved me at all. Years later, I still bear the scars of their hatred.
I take a deep breath, blow it out, and repeat it until the shaking stops. My fingertips trail over the raised scars on my upper torso as I wash my body, and the haunting memories come flooding back like they always do. No matter how much time or distance I put between me and my childhood, I’ll always carry the reminders with me. I could run to the other end of the earth, and my past would still follow me, even now.
I ran away from home at sixteen, and I’ve been looking over my shoulder ever since, waiting for the day it all comes crashing down. I tried to build a good life. I got my GED and worked as many jobs as I could to make ends meet while I studied to become a librarian, but misfortune seems to find me at every turn.
Just once, I want to feel settled. I want to stop looking over my shoulder, waiting for the next blow.
After my shower, I dress and dry my hair. The morningcrowd is filing in, and I’m supposed to meet Mo for breakfast in an hour.
