“I’ve got her.”
Dex’s voice comes from behind me, calm, steady, like this doesn’t faze him at all.
Before I can protest, he steps in, one arm sliding around her back, the other under her legs, lifting her like she weighs nothing.
She doesn’t even react.
Her head falls against his shoulder, and within seconds, she’s out. Passed out like this is just another night.
I stand there for a moment, frozen, heat creeping up my neck, spreading across my cheeks.
I didn’t want him to see this. Any of this.
“Ready?” Dex asks, already turning toward the door.
I nod quickly, swallowing down the lump in my throat and following him outside.
The drive to the trailer park is quiet. Too quiet. I stare out the window, watching the dark blur past, my hands twisted together in my lap. I can feel Dex beside me, steady and present, but he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t ask. Doesn’t push. And somehow that makes it worse.
When we pull in, the familiar sight of rusted trailers and broken fences settles heavy in my chest. This place never changes.
Thankfully Russel isn’t there.
Dex kills the engine, then glances at me. “You got the door?”
I nod and step out, my boots crunching against the gravel as I hurry ahead to unlock it.
The door sticks like it always does. I have to shove my shoulder into it before it finally gives, swinging open with a creak that echoes too loudly in the quiet.
The smell hits immediately.
Stale alcohol. Old food. Something damp and wrong underneath it all.
I hesitate for half a second.
Then I step inside.
Dex follows behind me, still carrying her, his presence filling the space in a way that makes everything feel smaller, tighter. Worse.
I move quickly, clearing a path through the clutter, pushing aside empty bottles, clothes, things that shouldn’t be there but always are.
“Bedroom,” I mutter, my voice barely above a whisper.
He nods and carries her down the short hallway, ducking slightly under the low frame as he steps into the room.
The bed is unmade, sheets twisted and stained, but it’s the best option we have.
He lowers her carefully, adjusting her so she doesn’t roll off, pulling a blanket over her like it matters. Like any of this does.
I stand in the doorway, arms wrapped around myself, wishing the floor would just open up and swallow me whole.
“I’m sorry,” I say finally, the words scraping their way out of my throat.
???
Dexter
The place is worse than I expected.
