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“Oh my God.” I cover my mouth with the sleeve of my hoodie. “That pileup is why we’re here too. We couldn’t get around it, and when we tried …” My voice trails off as I glance over at Lamar.
He’s staring blankly in the direction of the tuxedo shop, like he can see his brother from here.
Mrs. Renshaw is looking at her children the same way. “Sophie and Carter were okay—thank God. But Jimbo …” She shakes her head. “His leg was crushed in the accident, and he won’t let anybody look at it. I’m afraid it’s bad.”
“So that’s why you guys didn’t come home?” I ask. “Because he couldn’t walk that far?”
Mrs. Renshaw nods.
“Plus, the dogs and Bonys,” Carter adds, staring at the table like a kid in the principal’s office. “We never would have made it.”
“So we decided to stay here. We had enough food and supplies in the car to last us this long, and Q has been gracious about sharing the drinking water from their rain barrels with us.”
Q.
I glance over at the runaways’ table and catch her watching us.
No. Not us.
Wes.
“When we woke up this morning and the apocalypse hadn’t happened, I thought …” Mrs. Renshaw’s chin buckles. “I thought maybe things would go back to normal. Maybe we could go back home.”
Carter’s mom tries to hold it together, but as soon as she looks over at Sophie, her face crumples like a paper towel. I’ve never seen Mrs. Renshaw cry before, and knowing that my words made her do it makes me want to throw up. I was so cruel. My mama had taught me better than that. I was trying to hurt Carter on purpose, and this is what I get.
Carter, Sophie, and I all jump up at the same time to comfort her. Sophie kneels at her side and clasps her hand while Carter and I end up standing on either side of her, squeezing her shoulders and rubbing her back.
“I’m so sorry,” I mutter, speaking to Mrs. Renshaw but finding my eyes drifting up to Carter’s.
“Me too.” His deep voice vibrates around me, taking me to a million different places at once.
I know what his voice sounds like when he’s sleepy, when he’s sick, when he’s lying, when he wants me to take my clothes off, when he’s angry, when he’s frustrated, and when he’s playing the part of Mr. Popular. I know what it sounded like when he was six years old and lost his two front teeth at the same time. And now, I know what it sounds like when he’s just plain lost.
“You can have my house, Mrs. Renshaw,” I say, tearing my eyes away from her son. “I’m never going back there again.”
Wes
“Wes, wait!” Rain calls out, but I just keep walking.
I’d rather give myself a root canal than sit around for another second of this precious little family reunion.
“Rainbow!” Carter yells after her.
I turn around at the sound of his voice, only because I want to watch her choose him. Them. I need to see it. I need to feel the twist of the knife because I know that’s the only fucking way I’ll be able to let her go.
“Sorry. I meant, Rain …” Carter has this bullshit, pitiful puppy-dog look on his pretty-boy face, and I want to put my fucking fist through it. “Can we go somewhere and talk? Please?” He pulls his eyebrows up so high that they disappear behind his mop of curly black hair. Then, he bites his bottom lip.
Motherfucker. I know that look. I invented that fucking look.
“Not right now, Carter,” Rain says, picking up her untouched plate of eggs. “I have to go check on Quint.”
Not right now? How about not fucking ever?
I feel my muscles tense and my teeth grind together as I glare at the piece of shit in the Twenty One Pilots T-shirt, but by the time his eyes land back on me, I’m loose as a motherfucking goose. I roll my neck and stick my hands in my pockets like I’m waiting in line at the DMV, not thinking of all the ways I could crack his skull open.
Rain turns and walks toward me, her face flushing when she realizes I stopped to watch their little exchange, but I keep my face slack and my posture relaxed.
You’re not mad. You’re bored. Bored, bored, bored.
