Page 59 of Letting Go

"Stop. Stop Bryce." I take his face in my hands. "Look at me. There was nothing to even file a complaint about. He's gone. He was humiliated and he left. He's not coming back."

I lay a hand on his chest. His heart beats hard under my flat palm. "Look at me," I command, with more authority than I feel. He catches his breath. This calms him down, and I weave my head once, forcing him to find my eyes. I place my other hand next to the first. His heart still thuds hard.

"Bryce. I'm fine."

"Sorry. I found out about it halfway here and I … I should have been here." He adjusts his stare, shakes his head and then slides his hands from my shoulders down my arms. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. He's nuts. Honestly. He kept saying how I had to go back to Everlast, had to become the mother of his child, that it's my calling. The guy is screwed up." I say all this in a matter of fact way.

It's transactional. I have something to do, a goal.

It works. As soon as he sees I am unafraid and unscathed, he sucks in a deep breath. I move my hands up around the back of his neck and interlace my fingers.

"I'm sorry you weren't here too. You probably feel gypped. Believe me. You missed nothing. Over and done with."

"Really?"

"Really. I can’t believe I've spent all this time afraid of that guy."

His kiss takes me so by surprise I start to pull back. His tongue is deep inside, working, finding me, trying to deliver on a promise to protect me and I melt into his body. His lips are so soft, his body so hard, he literally takes my breath away.

But my heart is breaking.

He doesn't know I've got a suitcase stowed in the back of Chloe's Jeep under the emergency blanket and, by tomorrow, I'll be gone.

No one is getting hurt because of me.

Chapter Sixteen

Chloe

I turn off the freeway. It's three in the morning and I have to stop at a gas station. If I can just make it to the airport, I'll park the Jeep there and then take a cab to the bus station. I know they won’t understand, but I can only make the promise that I won't be gone as long. I don't want to leave. I can feel the tears starting to stream down my face, but I can't stay. I can’t put anyone else in danger.

I've done this before. When I first left Everlast, I dyed my hair bright red, anything that would make people notice me but not notice me. In college, I watched a movie about a guy on the run who wore crazy loud outfits so people would look at the costume instead of him. Thus, my wardrobe choice: hot pink shirt, turquoise spandex tights, and scarves, a lot of scarves, and a pair of humongous sunglasses with the rhinestones I bought at the drugstore yesterday. They cover up a third of my face. Only my shoes are sensible, running shoes, in case that's the only option I have.

I pull into the station and ask for a key from a kid who looks about twelve. He's nervous and averts his eye. I've parked in the back right next to the single bathroom with a rusty, metal door. I grab what I need from the car: comb, scissors, hair dye, and a towel and check the parking lot one more time. There's absolutely nobody here.

A ratty fluorescent bulb flickers above the chipped sink. I slip off the hot pink shirt and stand there in my bra, run the water and start wetting my hair with the comb. My face looms from the mirror, thin, drawn, and unhappy. My heart is swollen and aches for Travis, for little Cory, for Devin and Laurel. When I allow myself to think of Claire I just want to scream. She is not going to understand this, and she will never forgive me now.

They can't understand. I absolutely cannot go back to Everlast.

And then a single sob erupts and I bend over the sink. Bryce. For the first time in my life, I found someone I think I could fall in love with. Someone who is there for me and accepts me, someone I can trust. I wipe my face my hand and pick up the comb again, drag it through my hair with more water, and lay the scissors and towel on the toilet lid.

Outside, the sound of truck brakes decompressing hisses loudly. I hear men talking, their voices low. A few seconds later there's a knock on the door.

"I'll be out in a minute," I say, nowhere near ready and hoping whoever it is they just go off and piss in the woods. I can't decide where to cut. I've done a trim and decide on bangs.

I have to live with myself for the next few years. The last time I had bangs I looked like the kid at the cash register inside.

I reach up. My hair's damp now, ready to go. Just as I open the scissors. They pound again. "Come on."

This isn't going to work. I'm going to have to go somewhere else. I pull the blouse back on, grab everything in my hand, and shove the scissors in my bag. Shit.

I opened the door just a crack. That was my mistake. Within a second the door flings open.

"Hey!" is what I think and flies from my mouth, as all my stuff drops to the floor. It happens too fast. An arm grabs mine, the door starts to close again and then opens in an instant and cracks my forehead. As my legs start to give, I grab the arm holding mine, look up, and it’s Mike. Matt's just behind him. They drag me or carry me while a scream wells from my throat, but it never escapes. Mike, a giant of a man holds me from behind while skinny Matt stretches duct tape over my mouth. Thrashing doesn't work. My head pounds and I think I might be sick. Suddenly Matt pinches my nose and just stands there glaring at me.

I can't breathe. I struggle harder, trying to twist away from both of them, but it so fucking useless. I'm kicking, bucking, but Mike holds me from behind, tight against him, his arms like clamps. My chest heaves trying to find some air, then black spots scar my vision. Within seconds my burning lungs scream, the black spots start coalescing, merging, and then I hear, "Let her go, brother."