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The question comes out of nowhere, a forceful hit to my psyche. It’s not anger—anger I could’ve handled and fought against. It’s far worse; it’s resignation. Acceptance of a fate she never chose.

“I couldn’t leave you, you know that.”

“I was getting by,” she retorts, pulling her bun down and running her fingers through her hair. “Better than this anyway.”

“Barely,” I shot back.

“You think this is better?” Her voice cracks slightly. “Being hunted down by the goddamn police? At least before I had a roof over my head and I had—”

“Fuck, Wynnie! You had nothing; you were not going to survive that shit! I didn’t do this to you—not totally; I’m not the one who put the fucking knife in your hand—you did that! Take some fucking responsibility!”

“Not surviving would’ve been better than this!”

For once in my damn life, I have nothing to say. The words die in my throat because she’s right and we both know it. I’ve attempted to give her freedom, but this is a different kind of prison.

“I’m sorry,” I grumble.

“Do you regret all of this now?”

I consider lying and telling her exactly what she might want to hear. She deserves better than that.

“Ask me again when this is all over, because right now, the answer is still no.”

She wants to smile, but she keeps it down with an expression that smothers it.

“When will it all be over? Like, really be over?”

“Maybe never.”

Calmness fills the car; it’s heavy, but it feels right.

There’s not much else to say. We’re tired. It’s only been a handful of days, but it feels like we’ve been running for years. I’ve never had this kind of fear before; not during my worst business deals or when I was burying Caleb’s body. And honestly, I’m not even scared for myself. I can survive prison, and I’m sure as hell not afraid of death, but I’ll never forgive myself if it happens to Wynnie. The fear of failing her eats me alive.

The gas gauge catches my eye; the needle is hovering dangerously above the E. There was a gas station almost an hour ago; I knew I should’ve stopped when it came around. My mind has been a one-way train to the yacht the entire drive. I give myself a mental beating for not stopping sooner.

“Fuck. We have to stop for gas.”

“Is that even safe?” Her inflection is quick and questioning.

“Safer than running out of gas in the middle of nowhere.”

My insides do a flip at the thought of having to expose ourselves at the gas station. Bright lights, security cameras, and a clerk who probably heard the news on the radio. I’m sure everyone has.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell her again, because at this point, it’s all I have to offer. “I’m so fucking sorry, Wynnie.”

“I know… me too.”

The lights of the gas station appear ahead of us, several minutes later, a scary beacon in the darkness guiding us. The harsh fluorescent lights turn night into day. There’s a spike in my energy as I take the turn, suddenly becoming extremely hyper-aware of every detail. There are twelve cars in the lot, security cameras on every corner of the building, sight lines from the clerk’s window, and a handful of semi-trucks that litter the rest stop.

I pull up to the pump, the furthest away from the building, positioning the car at a slight angle, hoping that it would keep Wynnie out of view.

“Stay low, keep your head down and turn away from the cameras,” I tell her as I slip my hat on.

She nods, sliding down in her seat until she’s almost invisible. As I get out of the car, I adjust my cap, pulling it low to cast my eyes. I move with the casual confidence of someone who belongs here.

The cashier attempts small talk after I tell her the pump number and pass her money. It’s a simple ‘how’s your night been’, but I don’t respond; it’s not a gamble I’m willing to take. I let my eyes wander as she counts my change; a young couple steps inside, laughing about something I can’t hear. I give her a quick, deep thanks before I rush back out.

As I pump the gas, I curse whoever invented these stupid things—there’s no reason they can’t go fucking faster. Through the store’s window, there’s a TV mounted on the wall behind the counter. Even from a distance, I can make out familiar graphics.