Page 146 of Property of Fang
Darko sighs, words strained on an exhale as though he rises out of bed. “Is she in trouble?”
I sigh, wrestling the steering wheel as it fights the ruts in the road. “I don’t know.” Jenna might have a darn good reason for doing something so stupid, but rules are rules, and they’re enforced for a reason. To maintain their integrity.
Why the fuckwouldshe take my bike? I get that she felt as though she’d overstayed her welcome, but the goddamn sheriff’s department had offered the women help with crisis housing until they could get on their feet again. Even if she’d wanted to avoid that route to keep her distance from the law, Freckles had a million different options before she had to steal my fucking property.
“She headed left on the interstate,” Darko advises.
Away from Temperance.“Where’s your next camera?”
“I can’t hook in again for another fifteen miles. I’ll call you back when I figure out more.” He disconnects.
I swing the truck left when I reach the highway, mentally mapping the next fifteen miles in my head from memory. How many possible exits does Jenna have? What reason would she have to take each one?Fuck.
This shit would be a darn sight easier if I knew her fucking reasoning.
Whatever it is, my gut says it won’t be good.
FORTY-NINE
JENNA
I settleinto a rhythm over the next hundred miles, moving my feet to the highway bars every so often to rest my legs, and arching my back to flex the stiff muscles. Wind cuts up the bottom of the oversized jacket, cold air chilling my neck and under-jaw until I can’t feel them anymore. The illness at taking what’s not mine slowly eases until it’s replaced with the dread of where I’m going. I swallow back the nerves, take a deep breath through the rising nausea, and remind myself why this is right.
He can’t avoid me if I’m face to face.
And there’s a chance he’ll find it harder to lie when I can read his eyes and body language.
The time passes, and the fuel tank is in the final quarter when I pull up outside the house.
Herhouse. Having my father live here is an insult to her memory, as though he prospered out of her death.
Fuck, I hope he’s home.I strip the helmet and hang it on the bars. My stomach twists, heartbeat firm enough against my ribcage that there’s no way I can ignore it. I sit astride the bike a moment longer and look around the neighborhood: at the tall trees at the far end of the street, at the worn paint on thetwin homes opposite ours. At the signs of people going about their lives, just trying to get by: cars with dents and worn tires, overgrown strip gardens neglected by people who don’t have the time, an online food delivery waiting on a neighbor’s porch.
It wasn’t easy when it was just Mom and me, but we were happy enough.
We had each other.
My chest aches, the pain of her absence registering for the first time in a long time. I haven’t slowed down enough to acknowledge it, honor what I lost the day she died. I’ve been full steam ahead with solving this goddamn debt issue, never giving myself adequate time to grieve. To remember. To transition.
No wonder I’m such a fucking wreck.
Drawing a deep breath, I use my hands to push off the tank and swing my leg over the bike. If Dad is home, I’m surprised he hasn’t come outside, which makes me wonder if this is just a waste of time.
I make my way up the dark and dirty concrete path to the front door.
Do I walk inside, considering this is technically my home too? It doesn’t feel right, for whatever reason.
I knock instead. And then decide to let myself in when nobody answers. The door is unlocked, which is a start. Means he must be around somewhere.
“Dad?” The title tastes more sour than usual. “You home?” I veer right into the living room and drop my shoulders.
He sits on the sofa, beer in hand and elbows to knees while he waits. “Didn’t think it’d be you.”
Explains why he didn’t come outside or answer the door, then. He expected trouble.
Just not from me.
“Well, it is.” I remove Fang’s jacket and set it over the side of the armchair to my left. “We need to talk.”
