Page 10 of Ride or Die

“Cassidy Baker was none too happy,” Bailey continues, her tone teasing. “You know that girl’s been bidin’ her time, waitin’ for you to notice her.”

I snap my head up at that. “Cassidy? The brunette?”

She nods.

“Do I know her?” I screw my face up in thought.

“Cole,” Bailey chides, shaking her head with a low chuckle. “You made out with her a few weeks back. At The Saddlery. But then you… I don’t know… Apparently you went home with her best friend, Laci Chambers instead. Or, so I heard.”

I glance up to the ceiling, trying and failing to remember the events of whatever night that was. I grimace, suddenly feeling bad for acting like I didn’t know her today at the Stop and Shop. In my defense I really did have no idea who she was. Hell, maybe I am losing my mind…

“What can I say?” I shrug, flashing Bailey my trademark dimpled grin. “The girls love me. I can’t be held responsible for losin’ track of a few ’em…”

“You are so bad,” she murmurs with another shake of her head. Her smile wry but still full of the love she and I will always have for each another.

CHAPTER 4

CLARA

“It stinks like feet in here.” Billie pinches her nose as we walk into the motel room.

I wince because she’s not wrong. This place really does smell like feet. And stale cigarette smoke, and wet… something. As if on instinct alone, I glance up to the ceiling, noting the tinge of black smudges in the corner of the room. I paid for three nights—it was all I could afford—but that’s it. No more. I can’t risk my kids’ health. Hell, we’d be safer in the car.

Aside from the stench, and the mold festering in the corner, we’re greeted by a nauseating pattern in the faded carpet, two twin beds covered in typically cheap motel duvets, a small table with two chairs set up in front of the window that looks out onto the gravel parking lot, and a dresser with a television sitting on top that looks older than Tom.

“Want me to bring in the rest of the stuff?” Tom asks, dumping his backpack onto the foot of one of the beds.

I shake my head. “No. Let’s… leave everything in the car. Just bring in what we need as we need it.” I don’t add so that we can make a quick escape if we have to, but that is a constant thought, or fear, that lingers in the back of my mind.

Billie takes a seat in one of the chairs, hugging her doggy—Curly. I can’t help but smile. This sweet, innocent five-year-old just learned, three days ago, that we’ve effectively run away from home, that she’s never going to see any of her little friends, none of her toys, her daddy ever again, and yet she’s smiling down at that damn dog like she doesn’t have a single care in the world. I rub at the sudden ache in my chest, turning away to start unloading the groceries onto the small table for easy access. If this is home for the next few days, better at least try and make the most of it I suppose.

After a terribly broken sleep, being woken up by a domestic dispute in one of the neighboring motel rooms at two a.m., I’m a woman on a mission, running on empty, pounding the pavement in town in search of a job, with two children in tow.

I’m having no luck, of course. The whole country is in the middle of an economic downturn. No one’s hiring. The cook at the diner, Pip’s, told me they recently had to let go ofthreepeople. The ice cream parlor, Scoops, just hired a high school kid for their afternoon shift and aren’t looking for anyone else. The Saddlery, the only bar in town, I presume judging by the beer signs in the windows, isn’t open yet, and the only other place on Main Street that looks like it might welcome walk-in applicants is a hair salon, Blondie’s, but I’m not qualified.

I haven’t worked a proper job in more than ten years. I never went to college, so I don’t have a degree. God, I was lucky to finish high school. Even now, I still don’t know how I managed to graduate senior year.

I worked a few jobs after high school, finally landing a full-time gig as a receptionist at a car dealership, which is whereI met Tom’s father. He was the principal of the dealership. A lot older. Divorced. Charming. Now, with the added benefit of hindsight, I can say with confidence that he was also a manipulative, narcissistic professional gas lighter. When I fell pregnant, he didn’t want me to continue working, so I quit and he took care of me financially. It should have been a bright, waving red flag whenhedidn’t want to commit quite enough to moving in together. But I was young, dumb and full of naivety, and that hopeless romantic kind of wistfulness we tend to lose over the years.I didn’t see the signs until it was too late.

When Tom turned two, I found out his father was sleeping with my replacement at the dealership and had been for more than six months. So, it was just me and Tommy. When Tom started kindergarten, I was able to get a part-time job, working as a server at a café, which is where I met Billie’s father. I knew he was bad news. Immediately. But there was just something about him. Something dangerous and, dare I say, exciting. I’d never felt that rush before. Two weeks after meeting, we were living together. Two months later, I was pregnant. Again. And, when Billie was born, I really thought we were going to be okay. But then things changed. And I was stupid enough to put up with it for far longer than I should have.

So, now, here I am a single mother to two beautiful children I would die for, with fuck all work experience, and less than fifty bucks to my name.

As I follow the road out of town, I glance down at the gas tank, trying to calculate how long a quarter tank might last.

“Where are we going now, Mommy?” Billie asks from her booster seat, looking out the window, all eager and excited.

“Stop and Shop, baby,” I say, turning to Tom. “They’re a massive corporation. And everyone needs to eat. Surely they’re hiring, right?”

He nods in response, shrugging one of his shoulders. I flash him a smile I hope is reassuring, despite the way I feel it waver the closer we get to the grocery superstore.

The gust of air conditioning that hits me as I walk through the sliding doors to the Stop and Shop is a welcome reprieve from the stubborn Texas heat. I turn to Tom and Billie, smoothing a hand down the front of my buttoned floral dress. It’s wrinkled as all hell, and one of the buttons is missing, the polyester cinched together with the help of a safety pin, but it was the most professional item of clothing that I packed in my haste to leave West Virginia.

“You look real pretty, Mommy.” Billie beams up at me.

“Aw, thank you, baby.” I crouch down, cupping her warm, rosy cheek as I glance at Tom. “Why don’t you guys go and pick out an icy treat.”

“Are… are you sure?” Tom’s brow furrows in a way no ten-year-old’s brow should from the doubt over whether his mom can afford to spend a few measly bucks on a couple of damn popsicles.