“Keep it,” I rasped and escaped back into the shadows despite him calling out for me to stay.
CHAPTER
FIVE
Rett
With four hundred dollars in my pocket, I should have been on a bus out of town. Escaping this hellish frozen tundra without a backward glance toward something better. And while I didn’t have much, I did have this plan.
So tell me why, an entire week after I was nearly mugged, was I still standing in Buffalo, shivering in my sneakers? Not only that, but I’d gone down countless alleyways and into places I knew I shouldn’t, chasing after a faceless man who seemed to haunt the shadows.
I only saw him that one time. When he wouldn’t even let me look at him.
But I was still here, wandering the streets in hopes I’d catch another glimpse of him. Part of me knew it was ridiculous. I mean, even if I saw him, would I recognize him?
My heart whispered yes.
I didn’t even know what I’d do or say if I were to meet him again. He obviously didn’t want anything to dowith me. He said as much.
So why was I still here?
Was it morbid curiosity and stubborn determination to catch someone who clearly wanted to remain anonymous? Or the faint, wispy memories of a soft voice and soothing touch? The echo of being warm and safe lingered beneath my skin even a week later, somehow making me even lonelier but also somehow less alone.
More likely, it was the way he’d saved me—not once but twice—as if he saw something worth saving and not just a waste of space. How he’d unknowingly filled a gaping need for someone to care. No one had ever cared about me before. I was a lot of things, but I was never enough.
For someone as attention-starved as I was, I couldn’t just walk away even when he told me to. No, those fleeting moments awoke an insatiable craving that chronically gnawed at my insides and had me abandoning my plans in search of something I didn’t think I would ever have.
I couldn’t keep doing this. It was too risky and flat-out stupid. I was tired, my body weak. And even though it wasn’t as cold as last week, I seemed to shiver even more. Tonight, the line for the shelter stretched down the sidewalk, the scent of exhaust and winter twirling around while everyone huddled into themselves and occasionally shuffled forward.
The four hundred dollars felt heavy in the pocket of the hoodie beneath my coat. I’d only spent ten of it, doing my best to stretch it, knowing I needed it to escape. It was why I was in the line for a bed instead of renting a room for the night. Just the thought of a soft bed, warm shower, and unlimited heat made me whimper. Sagging into the cold stone wall, I ducked my head, waiting to be called forward.
When I finally made it, they waved me inside, and my body practically ached with the relief that I was going to get a bed. The relief was short-lived when I heard the “at capacity” announcement right behind me.
People out on the street sighed and muttered, and I turned to see frowning face of the woman who’d been behind me. “I don’t need a bed,” she said, voice brittle. “I can sit on the floor.”
“You know we can’t do that, ma’am. Rules are rules.”
“Please,” she begged. “I’m so tired today.”
She was older than me by a lot, her face weathered and craggy beneath the dirty knit cap she wore. I watched her clutch the threadbare blanket around her shoulders, knuckles gnarled and fingers shaking.
“Try the shelter over on thirty-fifth,” the man at the door said. “They don’t fill up as fast as us.”
Yeah, because they were on the other side of the city and getting over there was difficult. And by the time we were turned away here and made our way there, we were often too late. Sometimes it seemed like a waste of energy to even try.
“Come on, hon,” one of the volunteers inside called, waving me toward a bed.
I hesitated, sparing another glance at the woman. “Wait,” I called to the man about to close the door.
He looked up, his eyes flashing briefly with something I didn’t understand.
“She can have my bed.”
Closing the distance between us, he spoke low. “You don’t have to do that, Rett.”
It was always nice when they remembered my name… but also kinda sad because I’d been here enough to be recognizable.
“I know,” I replied. But as weak as I felt, I was stronger than her.
