On Ms. Whitlock’s front stoop, I take a moment to grieve the loss of my dreams for the past four years. As I’m all too aware, some things aren’t meant to be.
I swipe at the number I was able to find through a few clicks online, and there’s a ring. Another. Then another. On the fourth, a groggy voice fills the line. “Hello?”
I briefly close my eyes. She sounds so damn sexy, and this is probably the only time I’ll ever hear that perfect voice at midnight.
“Caroline Whitlock?” I ask.
“This is she.”
“This is…” Road name isn’t going to help, but there’s also no point in lying. “Abel Campbell. This evening, a student of yours, Addison, tried running away from home. We haven’t returned her to her parents because we believe she’s not safe at home. We have some resources in place that can possibly help, but she needs someone she can trust to help her make decisions. I’m hoping you’re that person.”
There’s shifting on her end, and light streams from the window upstairs. “Is Addison okay?”
“Yes, and we’d like to make sure she stays that way, but as I said, she needs someone she can trust, and I think that might be you.”
“Who is this we you keep referring to? And how do you know Addison, and how did you get this number and—”
I inwardly groan because there’s a part of me that really thought I had a shot with her. A slim hope, but it was a stupid, pathetic, road-worn hope. “I’m Pigpen with the Reign of Terror Motorcycle Club. Addison’s best friend, Breanna, dates a member of our club. You know him. Thomas Turner. We helped Addison out of a bad situation tonight. Now she’s at our clubhouse and she’s scared to return home, but she’s also scared because, besides Breanna, she doesn’t know any of us. We want to help Addison, but before we can do that, we need to make her feel safe. Can you help us with that?”
There’s a long pause on her end. Long enough, I glance at my cell to see if she hung up. She hasn’t, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to agree.
“Where’s your clubhouse?” she asks.
“Out of town off the state road. It’s tricky to find at night by yourself when you don’t know where you’re going.”
“Just give me directions, and I’ll—”
“Addison doesn’t have time for that. I’m already here, at your house. Why don’t you get ready and then you can follow me to the clubhouse?”
Another long pause, and I wait for her to disconnect and call the police.
“Why are you at my house?”
Simple. “Because if you didn’t answer your cell, I was going to knock. Addison needs help, and I need you to help her.”
“Can I say no?” she asks.
“Yes, but good luck looking at yourself in the mirror in the morning. From experience, not doing anything to stop a car from going over a bridge ruins the rest of your life.”
Chapter 18
Addison
Even though the evening is warm, I’m cold to the bone, and no amount of clothing or blankets can thaw my frozen marrow. I perch on the window seat of the bedroom Breanna brought me into and watch as she rides away on the back of Razor’s bike.
In theory, I’m not alone. Violet sits on the bed. We’re friends…I guess. With Breanna attending private school this year, Violet and I bonded the way girls do when trapped in high school and surrounded by people who judge. Violet doesn’t judge. I don’t either. We aren’t soul sisters, but at least I had someone to partner with in math.
I’m quiet. Violet is, too, and I appreciate that she’s giving me the time to reflect on the Reign of Terror’s offer, my life, my future and my fears.
A knock on the door, and adrenaline courses through my veins as my mouth dries out. The logical part of my brain screams that my reaction is exaggerated. That there’s no way that’s my father on the opposite side of the door. The four-year-old in me is cowering in fear because no matter where I hid in the house he found me. He always found me.
The door opens, and I breathe out when Dust appears. In his hands is a steaming mug of something. “Breanna mentioned that you like hot chocolate.”
It’s clear from how his eyes are locked on me that I’m the one he’s speaking to, yet I glance over at Violet. She’s watching me with curiosity. I glance back at him and shrug. “I do.”
“I made some, if you want it. It’s not the good stuff. Just the powdered mix kind.”
Another glance at Violet and this time she’s watching Dust with her eyebrows raised in disbelief. Maybe people around here don’t make hot chocolate. While my stomach is so upset that I can’t fathom eating or drinking a thing, I do like the idea of holding something hot. And I also like the idea of Dust walking in.
It doesn’t make sense. I don’t know him. He doesn’t know me, but my gut tells me I can trust him. That if I asked him to take me from this place, he would. Unfortunately, there’s a familiarity about the pain in his beautiful blue eyes. It’s the same ache I see whenever I look in the mirror. I wish nobody understood my pain and my fear, but I think he does, and that helps me feel less alone.
“That would be great,” I say. “Thank you.”
He’s slow crossing the room, watching the mug as if he’s terrified he’ll spill a drop. When he reaches me, he meets my eyes again, and the concern there touches my heart. It’s weird that a stranger cares. So many people through the years have seen the signs, yet still turned their heads in the opposite direction. Scared they read between the lines wrong, scared to get involved, scared to know the truth.
Dust hands me the mug, his fingers brush mine and electricity rushes through my veins. I lower my head as my cheeks fill with warmth, and I cradle the mug in my hands. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he replies.
I’d like him to stay. I’d like him to sit on the other end of the window seat. I’d like to pretend I was a normal girl on the night of her high school graduation. What is it that normal girls would be doing on a night like tonight? Staying out until sunrise? Skinny-dipping with friends? Kissing a boy a little too long and a little too much? Pushing delicious boundaries?
I sigh heavily. I am pushing boundaries. My boundaries. There’s just not anything delicious about it.
A motorcycle engine revs, and then the sound of a car engine catches my attention. I watch as the motorcycle flies past where all the other bikes are parked and stops in front of the house. My forehead furrows as the car follows and parks close by.
I start to shake as panic sets in. They lied. They called my father. They’ve doomed me to hell. They’ve….
The mug in my hands becomes weighted, and I glance down to find Dust’s hands steadying it. My hands had been shaking, I’m still shaking, and I allow him to take the mug from me.
“It’s just Pigpen,” Dust says. “He’s brought someone he thinks can help, but if whoever it is makes you uncomfortable, I’ll make them leave.”
I believe him, and there’s a comfort in knowing that he’s on my side.