Elle says my name out loud, but I don’t respond, my eyes frozen in a perma-glare at the traffic ahead. After a couple of minutes of the silent treatment, Elle flicks the radio off in frustration.
“Excuse me.” I reach forward. “I was listening to that.”
She opens her mouth, the words rushing out. “Courtney and I found the gun in the glove box and now it’s not there, so I searched the Jeep to see if it was stashed somewhere else, and I can’t find it.”
Trying not to look shell-shocked, I’m being hit left and right with bombs that’re detonating in every direction. Meeting Elle has turned into a game of Where’s Waldo? converged with Clue.
“I was searching for your gun,” Elle confesses, “and I’m sorry.”
Slamming on the brakes, I exit the interstate and turn sharply onto a side street. I drive until I reach a cul-de-sac and then put the vehicle in park.
As it shudders to a halt, I turn to Elle. “What do you mean, you were looking for a gun?”
“During your traffic stop, we found it in the glove box.”
Running a hand through my now-limp hair, I exhale sharply. “And?”
“And it’s not there now.”
“I know, I moved it. It shouldn’t be out in the open like that without being locked up.” I fold my hands in my lap. “It was my fault for not having it properly put away.”
“Is it registered to you?”
“Of course.” I give her an odd look. “I have it for protection, Elle, nothing malicious.”
“Why?”
Resting my hands on the wheel, I turn to her. “Why do I have a gun? For a lot of reasons, but mainly because I had a relationship that ended in violence.”
“And you’re worried the person will find you?” Elle chews her lip. “Is it a man?”
“Potentially, and yes.”
“Am I in danger?”
My eyebrows rise. “Why would you be?”
“I don’t know. Just because I know you.”
“Not at all.”
“Do they live here?”
“No.” I put the Jeep back in drive. “It’s not something you need to worry about, Elle. It’s an adult problem, and it’s been . . . resolved. The weapon is for my own safety, and I’ve moved it to a secure location where it’s locked up. You don’t have to worry.”
“Okay.” She rests her head against the leather, shutting her eyes.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
I let her rest for a couple of minutes until I hear soft snores from her side of the vehicle, signaling she’s asleep.
Crap. I don’t know where she actually lives, and even though I’m having a hard time trusting her, there’s something about her that resonates with me.
She seems familiar.
I just don’t know why at the moment.
A joint up ahead is screaming my name, and it seems to be the only place open at this hour.
My bladder’s about to burst, and Elle’s fast asleep on the passenger side. She must be worn out because she doesn’t even stir when I park.
I leave the Jeep running. I order us a meal and use the restroom, and, when I come back outside, my jaw comes unhinged.
Elle is no longer peacefully asleep.
She’s gone.
CHAPTER 17
Elle
After making my way down a ravine and up a hill, my shoes muddy with damp soil, I spot a gas station up ahead. I beg the clerk to use the phone for one call, tears streaking my cheeks. Charlotte thinks I’m a lying sack of shit, and I botched gaining her trust.
I’ve screwed everything up.
Dialing Diane first, I don’t get an answer, which isn’t unusual. The clerk’s staring daggers into the back of my neck as I hurriedly call Justin. “You can’t tie up the phone line.”
“One sec.” I hold up a finger. “Please.”
He answers, his voice laced with sleep, and promises he’ll be here in twenty minutes. I huddle outside until the clerk takes pity on me and ushers me inside to wait.
An hour later, Justin squeals into the parking lot, the earsplitting muffler of his ancient car poison to my ears. I grit my teeth, hands clenched into fists as I open the rickety door and shove his shit from the passenger side to the back seat. As I toss his skateboard with force into the back, he protests, “Hey, watch it, babe.”
“You said twenty.”
“I’m sorry, I had to wait for my brother’s dumb-ass roommates to move their vehicles. They were parked behind me.”
“It’s been over an hour.”
“I’m sorry.” He tries to comfort me by rubbing my knee. “What the hell’s going on?”
“Everything.”
“Do you want to stay at my place tonight?”
“You know I can’t do that. I have to check on the boys. Diane’s probably gone; she’s unavailable.”
“She’s always out.” Then he complains, “She needs to get used to you not being there.”
Glum, I say, “Well, soon she won’t have a choice.”
He speeds up, his foot tapping the gas pedal. “Seriously, what’s she going to do when we move?”
“You mean, move in together?”
“I was thinking in bigger terms.”
“Like?”
“West.”
“Where out west?” I raise my brows, sucking in a breath. “California?”
He gently tugs on my ear. “The West Coast. The best coast.”
“How would we be able to move to Cali? It’s not cheap to live there. We can’t even afford a place here.”
Pointing to the board in the back as if to confirm its legacy, he adds, “Could be huge for my career.”
“What if something sidetracked us?”
“Like what?” He turns down his vibrating stereo system. “Your father?”
“Do you want to get married someday? Kids?” I ask.
“I don’t know, babe, I’m just trying to get through high school.” He maneuvers around a slow-moving truck. “I’m sure, yeah, someday, I will. Not anytime soon, though.”
“If we got pregnant, what would you want to do?”
He doesn’t say anything, but I notice in the way he tightens his hands on the wheel he is listening, so I continue. “Would you want to keep it and raise it? Or there’s adoption, or would you want me to have . . . an abortion?”
“Jesus, Elizabeth, what happened to you tonight? Where’s this coming from?” His chiseled face scrunches up as if he smells something putrid. “You call me for a ride, and now you’re giving me hypotheticals.”
I’m staring down at my hands, twisted into a knot, the same as my stomach.
“Elizabeth.” He pulls into the parking lot of my apartment building with a clunk, slamming his car into park. “Look at me.”
It’s better than looking at my surroundings. I’m relieved it’s evening. My crippled apartment building doesn’t look as disgusting in the dark, except for the overflowing garbage in the dumpsters and the junk vehicles that’re good for nothing but scrap.
Justin clasps my chin in his fingers, softening his tone. “Look at us, babe. You live with a foster mom in a tiny apartment with three, sometimes four, other people. You don’t even have your own bedroom. I live in a makeshift frat house where they deal weed.” His face twists into a grimace. “Can you imagine? A baby there, crying, while we sleep on the porch and listen to house music?”