low, and she probably feels like shit.

But it’s for her own good; that’s what I have to keep telling

myself. One day she’ll look back at all of this and be glad she

didn’t have to deal with it her entire life. My burdens and problems

should be mine and mine alone.

Still… kissing her again has made it a huge problem. I’m

driving away from the café, the slush on the roads whipping up

against the windshield as I fly down the main road in my mom’s

car. My heart is acting stupid, flying about as fast as the car is and my lips are burning from the feel of hers. The inside of the car

smells like her too and I can’t stop thinking about how good she

smells when I’m close to her and how it feels to touch her.

I should have never left the house. My mom was wasted,

though, and wanted something to eat. I didn’t want her driving

drunk so I offered to go. But being out in public wasn’t a good

idea. Too many people I know, and too much judgment. And then

Callie… being there… seeing her…

Tears threatened to come out of my eyes as I leave her

behind at the café and the pain and sadness is making me want to

pull over. I can’t let the feelings surface, not when I have no way to turn them off. I’ll have to deal with them and I can’t. But my eyes

keep pooling with water and it’s become harder than hell to see.

Everything looks white and sloshy and I can’t focus on the road. I

need to stop the tight knot in my chest from tightening anymore.

Holding onto the steering wheel, I reach across the console

for the glove compartment, hoping my mom will have a

screwdriver or something sharp inside there. I just need a quick fix

to temporarily turn it off. I keep glancing up at the road as I dig

through the glove box. There’s a stack of papers, a tube of lipstick, and a packet of air fresheners. “Fuck!” There’s nothing sharp. I slam the console and sit up just in time to see a small blue car stopped

in the middle of the road with the exhaust huffing a cloud of dark

smoke into the air.

I slam my foot down on the pedal and my car screeches to a

halt. Snow and slush flip up into the air as the back end of the car

loses control and glides to the side. It stops sideways about a foot

before ramming the other car.

I slam my hands against the wheel as the car inches forward

and angles to the side. I’m losing control over everything—over

how I feel, and it’s going to end up killing me.

The thing is I’m not sure if I’m terrified about that or relieved.

Chapter 7

#2 Don’t overthink so many things

Kayden

It’s been a little over a week and a half since I got released

and I’m fucking pissed. And shocked. And a whole lot of other stuff

I can’t sort through. The last time I saw Callie was when I left her at the café. She’s tried to call and text me a few times since I ran away from her, but I never respond.

Being stuck in the house is tough, though, and kind of

depressing, especially since Christmas day was yesterday and it

went unnoticed. But it’s always kind of been like that I guess. My

mother has cleaned out the knives and razors and every sharp

object in the house. Whether it’s for my dad’s benefit or my own,

I’m not sure. My oldest brother, Tyler, is still hanging out. I guess he lost his job and house, so now he’s crashing in the downstairs

room we used to hide out in when we were kids. He’s also drinking

about as much as my mother. My father hasn’t been home since I

came back. My mother says he’s on a business trip but I secretly

wonder if he’s hiding until they can be sure I’m not going to talk

about what happened that night.

“Good news,” my mom says when I enter the kitchen. It’s

early in the morning, but she’s dressed up, her hair’s done, and

she’s already got her makeup on. She’s sitting at the table sipping

coffee with a magazine in front of her and a half-empty wine

bottle.

I head for the cupboard. “Oh yeah.”

She picks up the coffee mug. “Yes, if you consider not going

to jail good news.” She takes a sip of the coffee and then puts the

cup back down on the table. “I think Caleb and your father have

come to an agreement. We’ll give him ten thousand dollars and in

exchange he won’t press charges.”

“Is that even legal?”

“Does it matter if it is?”

I open the cupboard and take out a box of Pop-Tarts. “Kind

of… And besides, how do you know he won’t just take the money

and still press charges. He’s not a good, honest guy.”

“No, he’s the guy you beat up.” She picks up the creamer

and pours some into her coffee. “Now quit arguing. This is how

your father’s handling it. And be grateful that he’s handling it.”

I unintentionally snort a laugh. “Be grateful.” I gesture at my

side, which is starting to scar over. “For what? For this?”

She raises the cup to her mouth and scowls at me over the

brim. “What? The injuries you put there yourself?”

I slam the cupboard and it makes her jump. “You know that’s

not true… and I wish… I wish…” I wish for once she’d just admit

that she knows but doesn’t care. It’d be better than her pretending

that none of this exists.

She lowers the cup to the table and flips a page of her

magazine, shrugging nonchalantly. “All I know is that you cut

yourself and that your father wasn’t even here that night.”

“Mom, you are so full of—”

She smacks her hand down on the table and her body is

shaking. “Kayden Owens, we’re not going to talk about this

anymore. It’s being taken care of and we’re moving on because

that’s what we do.”

I lean back against the corner, bend my arms behind my

back, and grip the countertop. “Why are you always protecting

him? You should be protecting your kids… but you won’t even

admit the stuff that’s going on.”

She shoves back from the table, grabs her magazine and

coffee, and hurries toward the doorway. “Do you know what it’s

like growing up so poor that your mother has to sell herself on the

corner all so you can have a used pair of shoes from the local

surplus store?”

My mother has never really talked about her childhood or

her mother, so I’m stunned. “No… but I’d rather grow up without

good shoes than grow up getting my ass kicked every day.”

She swings her arm back and throws the cup at me. It zips

past my head and shatters against the wall. Sharp fragments

sprinkle all over the floor and get stuck in the cracks of the tile.

“You ungrateful little shit. You have no idea how lucky you are.”

She’s shaking from her anger and her eyes are bulging.