Page 6 of Ride or Die

“I’m sorry, kids,” I say to Tom and Billie, unlocking the car. And I am sorry. I’m sorry for everything. Sorry, and terrified because even if he never finds us, even if it’s only just the three of us from now on, I’m scared that one day my babies—the two souls that each own a half of my heart—are going to look back on these days, and they’re going to hate me for the mistakes I made, for the mess I got them into.

“It’s okay, Mom,” Tom mutters, helping a sniffling Billie into her booster seat.

Shaking my head, I pull open the trunk, placing the grocery items inside. My stomach roils as I look at all we got. Things we couldn’t do without, like toothpaste, and washing detergent, ramen, and hot dogs. God, it’s only the no-name brands—the cheapest off the shelf—but with the war going on, things are so goddamn expensive nowadays.

I take a moment to try and ease my racing heart, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes to relieve the pressure building behind them.

I don’t know what I’m going to do. I have one hundred and fifty dollars left to my name. We can’t sleep in the car tonight. Not again. I don’t have the excuse of not being near a motel like I was able to use the last two nights. We drove by three motor-inns on the way into this damn hell hole.

Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry.

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

I jump from the deep, unexpected voice that drawls from behind me, spinning around with a gasp to find a man standing right there. Far too close for my liking. With a shuddered exhale, I take a step back, putting as much space as I can between us.

“I’m sorry,” the man says, holding up a hand as if to placate my obvious unease. “I-I didn’t mean to startle you. You… forgot these.”

When I notice the grocery bag he’s holding up between us, my brows knit together with confusion when I see the contents are the items I left inside, the ones I couldn’t afford, that damn dog poking out the very top.

“We didn’t—those arenotours,” I finally say, my words resolute as I look at the man again, taking him in.

He’s young. Younger than me, at least. Probably twenty-something. Tall. Wide shoulders cause the black T-shirt he’s wearing to stretch tight across his broad chest. The cowboy hat perched on top of his head casts a shadow over his face, but blue eyes cut through the darkness, and they’re almost piercing when they meet mine. His lips quirk behind a neatly trimmed mustache, hiding the hint of a smile that causes a set of dimples to ghost his cheeks. He’s obviously handsome. But I get the distinct feeling that he knows it.

“It’s okay, you can trust me.” He takes another step closer.

“No.” I shake my head again, because I can’t trust him—I can’ttrustanyone—and I can’t accept whatever it is he’s offering. I won’t. “I-I?—”

“Mom?”

I startle, turning to see Tom standing behind me, looking from me to the man to the bag and back again, his little chest puffed out all protective. “Is everything okay?”

The man’s eyes narrow a touch as he looks down at Tom, his face turning white like he’s seen a ghost or something. My heartlurches up into the back of my throat because I immediately assume that means he knows. I don’t know how, or why, but he knows.

“Tommy get in the car,” I whisper.

The man clears his throat, that dimpled grin returning. “Your mom forgot these,” he says, indicating the plastic bag he’s still holding.

“We don’twantthose,” I bite back, acting a hell of a lot tougher than I feel on the inside, that’s for damn sure. “We don’t wantanything.”

The man purses his lips, looking down at the bag contemplatively before glancing toward the car. When he’s not looking, I reach a hand behind me, stopping Tommy from getting any closer.

“Well,” he starts, his voice a little louder as he digs his hand into the bag and pulls out that godforsaken dog. “I guess if y’all don’t want these, I’ll just have to give ’em to?—”

“My doggy!”

I close my eyes and release a heavy sigh at the sound of Billie’s delighted squeal coming from inside the car. Great. Before I can tell her no, her door swings open and she’s bounding out all excited and so damn innocent it cracks my heart.

The man’s eyes flit to me, a flicker of smugness flashing in his gaze as he looks down at Billie, her grabby hands held up in the air.

“This yours?” He holds the dog out to her, quirking a brow.

She nods so fast it causes her wild blonde curls to bounce up and down.

He tugs the dog back, holding it to his chest, eyeing her dubiously. “What’s his name?”

“Hmm.” Billie hums out loud as she ponders, little rosebud lips twisted to the side. “Curly.”

“Curly?” the man balks incredulously. “Well, I’d have gone for something like Tank or Killer, but I guess Curly’ll do.” He hands Billie the fluffy mastiff, and she squeals again, clutching it to her cheek and openly swooning.