Page 5 of Ride or Die

So, here I am, waiting in line at the register, a bulk pack of Nicorette tucked under my arm like I’m back on the varsity football team, headed for the endzone, when the woman in front of me sighs so loud it pulls me from my thoughts. I crane my neck to see over the people in line ahead of me, brows tugging together at the sight of the lady being served at the checkout.

Golden hair tied back, a faded ball cap pulled low enough to shield her eyes, and a kid either side of her as she counts the money in her trembling hands.

Summer’s a small town; not quite small enough that I know everyone, but I know most people, especially the ladies. But Iain’t ever seen this one before. Sure as shit I’d remember an ass like that.

With a shake of her head, the blonde reluctantly hands a candy bar back to the cashier, followed by a bottle of ketchup, and a packet of chips. And then, picking up a small fluffy dog, she glances at the little girl beside her and, with a frown, hands it back to the operator too, along with a couple of other items.

The woman in front of me, the one plenty old enough to know better, sighs again. Only this time she adds a scoffed chuckle, and the blonde glances our way with an apologetic look on her pretty face that’s tinged with embarrassment. And that’s when I see it. I normally mind my own business, but something strikes me hard in the pit of my chest when I catch sight of the bruises on her arms, her neck, the one on her face she’s trying so hard to hide beneath that ball cap.

When I watch her walk out, leaving half her shit behind, the two little ones trailing her with their heads hanging down, it’s like looking into my past, and I can’t shake the sting of guilt that pinches me in the back of my neck. I don’t believe in fate or any of that bullshit, but there’s a reason I pulled into the Stop and Shop today, and I can’t help but think that maybe it’s got fuck all to do with nicotine gum.

“About damn time,” the woman in front of me huffs, shaking her head so vehemently it causes her two extra chins to wobble, and I’m forced to bite my tongue to stop myself from saying something I know wouldn’t be considered very gentlemanly of me.

“Howdy, Cole.”

Confused by the suddenly sultry tone of the checkout operator’s greeting, I narrow my eyes, taking her in. Dark hair. Green eyes. Pretty. Unfortunately, that ain’t specific enough.

I allow my gaze to dip down to the name tag pinned to the tight white T-shirt she’s wearing that leaves little to theimagination on account of the air-conditioning blowing a gale through the store.Cassidy. Nope. Still not ringing no bells. But, in my defense, I’m a friendly guy; what can I say? Ladies love me. Or my belt buckle at least.

Tipping my hat, I offer her a nod and my trademark grin. “How you doin’ darlin’?”

“You goin’ to The Saddlery tonight?” Cassidy practically purrs, twirling a long lock of dark hair around her finger while ringing up my box of gum slower than the day is long.

“Not tonight, darlin’,” is all I say as I tug my wallet free from the back pocket of my jeans. My eyes land on the items left behind by the blonde in the baseball cap, the lifeless eyes of the fluffy dog staring back at me from the counter.

“Hey, ring those up for me too, would ya?” I nod my chin at the items.

Cassidy glances from me to the discarded goods and back again, a curious quirk to one of her eyebrows. “These?”

I nod.

“Why?”

I shrug a shoulder, saying nothing because frankly it ain’t none of her damn business, and thankfully she does as I ask, bagging the groceries before giving me my total.

Tapping my card against the machine, I lift my chin. “You got a pen?”

Her green eyes light up, and I know exactly what she’s thinking. Hell, I almost feel bad. When she eagerly hands me a pen, I write my cell phone number on the back of my receipt, Cassidy’s pretty face falling when I give her back the pen, but not my number.

Grabbing the plastic bag, I offer her a casual, “See ya round, Cass,” over my shoulder as I haul ass out of the store, hoping like hell I’m not too late.

CHAPTER 2

CLARA

Tears sting my eyes, and a lump I can barely swallow around sits heavily in my throat I as I walk out into the blistering heat of the sun, burning from high in the hazy sky.

Fucking Texas. Hotter than Satan’s taint and it’s only April.

I navigate the parking lot, dodging cars and wayward buggies, holding Billie’s hand, Tom holding her other hand, until we come to the car. This fucking car. I swear, I could light it on fire and revel as it burns to nothing but a shell. But, of course, I can’t. I need this damn car to last us long enough to get to wherever the hell we’re going. Christ, I don’t even know anymore.

The plan had been to get as far away from West Virginia as we could. The east coast wasn’t far enough, so we headed west. San Diego looks good this time of year. But then, somewhere in the middle of nowhere, Arkansas, the engine wouldn’t start after we stopped for a bathroom break. I know nothing about cars. Less than nothing, probably. All I knew was that the tank was still three-quarters full, so we weren’t out of gas. But that was the extent of my mechanical expertise.

Thankfully, we were at a truck stop, and one of thefriendlytruck drivers was able to take his eyes off my tits long enough to take a look under the hood.

“Looks like your starter motor, darlin’,” he’d said, to my chest.

Eight hundred bucks later, plus the cost of an extra night in a motel I hadn’t budgeted for, we were on the road again. Only now, here we are in god knows where, Texas, unable to risk going any further until I can make us some more money.