“Then I’ll wear my jacket,” she shoots back, signaling and taking an exit off the Interstate. “You need to lie low back there. This is a good place to get gas. We need to beat the early morning work rush.”
“There’ll be cameras,” I think aloud, reaching for the throw blanket I used earlier. As I do, I notice the shoebox with all the letters I sent her—mostly unopened, mixed with other mail sent to her.
She was telling the truth about not getting them.
I guess that’s one less reason to hate her.
… Too bad there are still so many more.
10
RUE
I stallat the red light, eyeing the truck stop on the left. It feels risky. Any kind of stopping feels risky, actually.
But the car only runs when there’s fuel in it.
Right before the left turn arrow changes to green, I glance back at Noah, sound asleep under the blanket, Bullet lying in the crook of his knees. It’s peaceful, seeing the two of them back there. However, as I start the turn, I feel nothing close to peace in myself.
I tap the steering wheel with my finger as I navigate the fuel pumps, my eyes flickering between where cameras could be. I don’t know why it matters. They’re going to have me on video no matter where I choose.
Still, everything in my body feels tense.
Just act natural. You’d be taking this exact same route if you were headed for Los Angeles.I remind myself of that, as I put my car in park at the pump furthest from the convenience store.
I take a deep breath, cut the engine, and then reach for my wallet. I fish out my credit card.It should be fine to use it, right?I mean, as far as the world knows, there’s no fugitive in my backseat.
Using my still-soaked tennis shoe, I push the door open, keeping my eyes focused on my feet. I swipe my card and quickly punch through the prompts on the screen.
Maybe Bullet needs to use the bathroom.
I know I do. I clench my thighs together as my bladder cramps, and then grab the nozzle, get it situated, and click the lever into place. I glance around the area, and most of the pumps are empty, save for a few utility and work trucks.
And they’re not going to be paying attention to me.
At least, that’s what I tell myself. I shove the credit card in the front of my pants with the car key, and then lock the doors to the car. I’d ask Noah if he’d like something, but he needs sleep—and it would be better if the cameradidn’tcatch me talking to someone inside.
My legs feel stiff and sore as I head for the convenience store, acutely aware of that my pants are still damp on my ass and inner thighs. I tug my sweater lower and then pull the door open, stepping inside the dank place.
“Good morning,” a woman says from behind the counter.
I glance at her, force a smile, and then head straight for the bathroom. I push through the heavy gray door and make my way to the first stall. As I go to drop my sweatpants, I become acutely aware of just how disgusting they are.
Shit. Noah was right. I should’ve changed.
There’s mud and grime all over them from the last twelve hours. I brush them off to the best of my ability, and then relieve myself fully, hoping I won’t have to go again until much later.
We need to be as discreet as possible until we get to…My thought trails off. I still don’t even know where the fuck we’re going. And I don’t like that.
But Noah knows. He has to know where we’re going.
I exit the stall, my gut knotting up as I catch sight of myself in the mirror. My hair is tangled and disheveled. My face is piquedwith fatigue. I look almost as bad as Noah did when I first found him.
And Ihaven’ttaken a bullet.
I kick on the water and wait until it’s warm. I wash my hands, then my face, raking my wet fingers through my hair. Maybe I just look like a tired long-distance solo traveler. Maybe I justfeellike I stand out like a sore thumb.
I shove my hands in the front of my jacket pocket and then slip out of the bathroom. Part of me wants to go straight back to the car, but the other part knows this is my chance to buy food with my credit card.
