But maybe there could be a road forward. Maybe there’s a way to scrape the canvas clean.
A way we can start fresh.
After Walker falls asleep again, I slip out of the bedroom, Prince Fluffington following me into the body of the bus. Next to the bedroom is a small bathroom on the left and a cooktop and sink on the right, a fridge tucked right next to the bathroom. The entrance is next on the right, across from a table with two terribly beige diner-style benches facing each other, Trips opening an eye as I reach out to the fridge to steady myself as the vehicle sways. Past the door are two captain’s chairs with a small table between them, Jansen passed out on the one closest to the front, while a third captain’s chair sits behind the wheel, RJ’s tired eyes meeting mine for a moment.
That’s it. Our new home.
Three chairs, two benches, and a bed.
Fluffington winds between my legs, tail wrapped above my knees, meowing like it’s his job, before bouncing onto the counter, nosing the duffel bag next to the sink.
“Has he been fed?” I ask Trips.
He shakes his head. “I have no idea how much or how often he’s supposed to eat.”
After the night we had, I’m not worrying about how much food the cat is supposed to get. Digging through the cabinet, I find two bowls, and I fill one with food. As Fluffington leaps onto the counter, I open a water bottle to fill the other bowl, leaving them both up there—there’s no place to put them where they won’t get kicked around.
“There are donuts,” Trips adds, watching the cat and pointing at a bag on the table in front of him.
My stomach seems better, but I don’t want to test that hypothesis with donuts. Instead, I dig through RJ’s coat and pull out the block of cheese. It’s greasy and warm, but somehow safer than a ring of sugared dough.
The kitchen is minimal, but it’s still a kitchen. Not that I know anything about cooking, but everything I’d think to use is there. Perching on the bench across from Trips with my cheese on a plate, I try to figure out what to say.
I don’t know where to start.
Everything is so fucked-up right now. There’s no easy way out of the mess we’re in. And while most of the mess is related to the man across from me, not all of it is strictly his fault. Honestly, his uncontrollable temper, while his problem, could probably even be laid at his awful father’s feet. Growing up in that house would have made everything worse. It did.
He goes to shove his hands through his hair and winces, his right hand wrapped but gigantic, a baggie of half melted ice sitting next to him at the table. “What are we going to do about that?” I ask, motioning at his hand with an awkwardly-shaped hunk of cheese that I chopped off with what looks to be a steak knife.
He shrugs. “Jansen seems convinced we’ll find some black-market doctor to put me back together, magical thinking and all.”
“And if that magical doc doesn’t appear? How bad is it?”
He stares out the window across from us, his face grim. “I had surgery scheduled. If it’s not fixed soon, I’ll lose a lot of capability with this hand.”
I eat my cheese, uncertain what to say.
Once my plate is empty, I reach into the bag beside me, suddenly starving, and pull out a chocolate frosted donut with sprinkles. “Should we have stayed?”
The question must bother him, because he gets up, pulling more ice from the freezer and restocking his Ziplock. Out of things to do, he turns toward me, sighing. “My father wasn’t going to get better.”
“Neither is your hand.”
“He was looking for more dirt. He would have found it. Enough to keep us both trapped.”
Blood on a wood blade, blood on the floor.
I close my eyes. “I just gave him what he was looking for last night. All he had to do was wait for me to slip up.”
The old vinyl creaks as Trips slides in next to me, crowding me with his presence, but not touching. I blink my eyes open to find his gaze on me, dark, mournful. “That’s on my father. You never should have been in that circumstance. We never should have had to run. You should have had a nice, boring college career full of late nights dancing and long mornings taking notes while hungover.”
“I never had that college career, Trips. I don’t think that was in the cards for me.”
“It should have been.”
He’s right. It should have been. But I threw it away for a guy who wanted me because I was easy to train and looked like a teenager. And as soon as I got free, I found this other world, one full of adventure and close calls.
Only, it turns out that those close calls come due eventually. And mine have. I’m paying the interest in blood and fear.
