by Jackie Wang
The government didn’t want us poor people to ever break free from the shackles of debt. It wanted to control us, and it did. We became the lemmings we were trying to save, and Trisha was stolen from me. She became depressed, emotionally abusive, volatile and damaged. Beyond saving. A lost child. Alcohol drove a wedge between us, but I was determined not to fail us.
I would save her; then we could save everyone else.
“I love you,” Trisha said, voice trembling. “I love you more than anything, Ki.”
I finished brushing my teeth and rinsed out my mouth. Then I reached for my work clothes and started to get dressed.
This wasn’t the end of our story. I could still save her. We could still be happy together.
“I'm not pregnant,” Trish said. “I don't feel pregnant. I’m not pregnant.”
“I hope you're right,” I said. I leaned down and kissed her forehead. She helped me button the top button of my shirt. Then she traced my jaw with her index finger. “Miss you already.”
I gave her a quick peck on the lips before leaving. “See you later. Let me know how the test goes.”
Chapter Seventeen
Kieran - Present Day
“Why are you…in my bed?” I asked, staring at the sleepy angel beside me.
“Hmm?”
I stood up and fixed my mussed hair. “Rachelle, wake up.”
“Mmm, Rob, it's too early.” Rachelle curled into a ball, looking like a little kitten.
“Rachelle,” I said again, shaking her. “We need to get going. Come on, get up.” I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, stood up and stretched. My bed had been very lumpy; the mattress spring digging into my lower back all night. Plus, I'd fallen asleep pillow-less, and at a very awkward angle. I massaged the huge knot on my shoulder.
I had no idea how Rachelle ended up sleeping next to me last night. I hadn't even planned on falling asleep myself.
Did something happen between us? Something that I couldn't remember? I didn't think so but…goddamn, I wouldn’t mind if it did. This woman was fucking magnificent. Her skin was a milky pearl color, soft and supple; her bee-stung lips slightly parted. She was a vision to behold.
I cursed myself for not remembering what went down last night.
I also wished I had more time with her. I wished I could worship her the way she deserved. Be the kind of man who treated her right, instead of the man who destroyed her reputation and left her fragmented. I’d already fucked up all my chances with her, and I knew it. Even if she knew the full story, she’d never quite forgive me. She’d never understand what I’d been through to get here.
But I had no time to make amends.
Kara was waiting for me.
I rested a hand on Rachelle's shoulder and shook her. When her eyes finally flew opened, they were filled with fear and alarm. She looked down and realized that she was lying spread-eagle on my bed. Her right cheek was covered in pillow marks, and the pillowcase had a spot of drool on it.
“I—Shit,” she stuttered.
“It's okay, I know. You finally succumbed to your womanly urges and decided to sneak into my bed last night,” I said, smirking. “Happens all the time. Did we fuck?”
Rachelle tumbled out of bed, her hair sticking up at sharp angles. She opened her mouth, then shut it again. After rolling her eyes, she said, “No, we didn’t fuck. You were crying last night like a little baby. You grabbed me.”
I arched my brow. “Well, I haven't heard that one before.”
She bit her lip. “It's true. You were calling out for Trisha.”
I froze at the name. Was she telling the truth?
“Who's Trisha?” she continued, combing her hair with her fingers.
“She...”
“What did you do to her?” Rachelle demanded, her eyebrows pinched together. She was twisting my arm to force the truth out of me. A truth I wasn’t ready to share.
“What is this, some kind of interrogation?” I asked, taking a step back. “I need a shower.”
“We're going to be spending a lot of time together,” Rachelle said, standing up. “I'm going to find out.”
Shit. What the hell happened last night? Rachelle knows about Trisha. That must mean I was sleep-talking last night. I hadn't sleep-talked in years, at least not to my knowledge. Now that it's started up again, it could be a problem. I hated the thought of losing control when I was unconscious. I knew too much, and I couldn’t risk exposing my secrets.
I made my way to the bathroom and turned on the faucet to wash my face. The water came out ice cold. The bath faucet was the same. The pipes must've frozen last night. I decided to do a quick rinse anyway just to clear my head. Rachelle had questions. Should I give her some answers?
When I came out later, with a towel wrapped around my waist, I'd realized my colossal mistake.
I'd let my guard down. What the hell was I thinking? She’d attacked me, using Trisha’s name as her weapon, and I’d run away from her questions.
Now my phone was gone. My wallet was gone.
And of course, Rachelle was gone.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I chanted under my breath. I sat down at the edge of the bed, feeling blood boiling in my veins. How could I have been so stupid? To think, for even a second, that Rachelle wouldn't leave at the first opportunity? My fingers curled into a fist and I swung it at the drywall beside me. Several punches and a few bruised knuckles later, I settled down on my bed. She’s probably already called the cops. They’ll be here any minute. I need to go. Fuck!
I looked under the bed and let out a small sigh of relief. At least she didn’t look inside my bag. The duffle was still there. I wasn’t completely screwed.
My head was still cradled in my palms when the door creaked open. I twisted around to see Rachelle standing at the door. With the stupidest half-smile on her tired face. She was holding a tray with two coffees, and a greasy brown paper bag. After setting down breakfast, Rachelle unfurled the paper bag and took out two hot breakfast bagels. Then, she handed me a steaming hot coffee. “I didn't know if you wanted any sugar so—”
“You didn't run,” I said, staring at her in amazement.
“No, I didn't.”
“Why not?”
“You've piqued my interest. I want to know who Trisha is and what happened to you. I want to hear your story.”
“Seriously?” I asked. “You’re not just saying that?”
Rachelle sipped her coffee. “Seriously,” she said, tearing open a sugar packet and dumping its contents inside her cup. “Now eat up before the bagel gets cold.”
I snuck glimpses of her as she stirred her coffee and ate. The quirk of her full lips, the way her cheeks puffed out and moved in circles as she chewed...the dimple on her cheek...
She. Didn’t. Run.
I was still reeling from shock.
This woman was insane. She was actually taking a chance on me. Trusting me, when I did nothing to deserve it.
She was still off-limits though. And I was on a mission. I had to bring the money to Bianca. Then, I'd probably get thrown back in prison. Either that, or face a lifetime as a fugitive, always running, never safe. I didn’t want that for Rachelle. It was a shit life, and I shouldn’t have dragged her into it. She was so bloody innocent. And she didn’t leave, though I gave her every reason to.
Rachelle made me feel inklings of something I thought I'd never feel again. Something strange and unidentifiable. Something wonderful. Sure, I was attracted to her: not just to her body, but also her personality too. She was a fighter. And a good girl; a type I usually didn't go for, but with her, everything felt oddly…right. It wasn’t supposed to feel so damn right. She was the type of woman who could make an honest man out of me. An honest man out of any bachelor. And I stole her from her wedding ceremony. I was a selfish asshole. Yet somehow, she still ended up forgiving me and staying. That gesture alone should’ve been enough for me to share my secrets...but...
“So how do you plan on getting t
o Seattle?” Rachelle asked, swallowing her last bite of bagel and crumpling her paper wrapper into a ball.
“Hitchhiking might be our best option.”
Rachelle leaned against the wall, dunking her paper ball in the trash. “And what's our story?”
“We're engaged. On our way to see my dying aunt?” I suggested.
“How did we get stranded here?”
“Car broke down. Got towed.”
“Why can't we rent a car? Or call up a friend?”
“We're from Canada and we don't have much money.”
“Speaking of money…” Rachelle said, arching her brows. “Why are you carrying thousands of dollars around? Did you steal it?” She reached into her pockets, pulled out my wallet and tossed it at me. Then she kicked my duffle bag under the bed. “Spill.”
I frowned. The money wasn’t technically legal, hard-earned cash. A lot of it was obtained through blackmail. I was not proud of it, but that was all the leverage I had. Back when I lived at home, I was privy to hundreds of illicit political dealings. So I snuck several incriminating photos out of my step-dad’s office before leaving home at seventeen. I knew they’d be useful to me in the future. Though these scandals happened over a decade ago, if revealed, they could still devastate families and obliterate careers. All I had to do was send out a few anonymous letters and wait. I squeezed a few thousand bucks out of old senators who bribed my stepdad. Another few thousand from governors who didn’t want me exposing their infidelities to their wives. Even five grand from the mayor of Northbridge. Yeah, him. Langston Markey, asshole of the year. His secret passion? Kiddie porn. Gag. Of course, the rest I got from gambling in underground poker dens. And there was my meagre salary working at the Lucky Dragon: $180.19. Not that I’d tell Rachelle any of this.
“You looked through my stuff,” I said.
“I needed money for breakfast,” she explained.
“I'm going to Seattle to give this money to someone,” I said.
It was time. Her choice to stay made up my mind. If she chose to trust me, despite everything, I could choose to trust her back.
“Who is it? Trisha?” she asked.
“Her name's Bianca,” I said. “I'll explain everything once we hit the road.”
“I didn't bring anything,” Rachelle said, finishing her coffee. “I'm ready to go.”
“Okay, let me just get changed and we'll go.” I turned around, pulled off my shirt and slipped on a new one while Rachelle watched TV.
“Hey Rachelle?” I said, pulling on my socks.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For staying.”
“Don't thank me yet. I hope you were worth staying for.”
Her words struck me hard. Problem was, I wasn’t worth staying for.
I unzipped my duffle, counted the stacks, made sure my Glock was still there, then hiked it over my shoulder. “Let’s go, Princess.”
After returning the keys to Marvin, we stomped through three inches of snow to get back onto the highway. Everywhere we looked, we were blinded by white powder. The cold December sun blinded us in every direction, and dark spots danced across my vision. Neither of us were wearing the right shoes; and both of us soon suffered from wet, frozen feet. I grunted up the hill that led back to the highway, occasionally pulling Rachelle up when she lost her footing. Surprisingly, she didn't complain once, only followed my lead.
She’d changed since last night. Not just her mind, but her behavior too. She looked fearless and fiercely determined now. Maybe she would help me after all.
Once we reached the side of Interstate Five, I started waving at passing cars. It was about eight in the morning, and none of the cars paid any attention to us. We were two dark sticks on the side of the road, barely even noticeable against the barren landscape of naked trees.
“We'll freeze to death before someone stops for us. Maybe you should reconsider the carjacking plan,” Rachelle said.
“Look at you, already thinking like a criminal,” I said, my breath fogging up the air. I smirked.
“What's another crime, right?” Rachelle asked, deadpan.
“By the way, what did you do with my phone?”
“Destroyed it. They can track your GPS, you know.”
“It was a burner,” I said with a sigh. “But I guess I should thank you for thinking of me.”
“I'm just trying to think like a fugitive,” Rachelle said with the tiniest of smiles. “Am I doing a good job?”
“Excellent job, Fugitive-in-training. Now, how are your acting skills?”
“I did three years of drama club in high school,” Rachelle said. “What are you—”
“Pretend you're hurt. Get ready now,” I said. I stepped out into the middle of the road and forced a pickup truck to stop for us. The driver honked at me to get out of the way. I flailed both arms wildly, and after a few seconds, the man pulled over and hopped out.
“What gives?” he asked. He was a huge guy, even bigger than me. Hairy and built like a lumberjack.
“My fiancée is hurt. We need help, and our car was towed.” I gestured to Rachelle, who was lying on the ground, motionless.
“Where are you headed?”
“We need to be in Seattle by tonight,” I said. “But if you could drop us off at the nearest hospital...”
“Hop in, then,” the driver said. “Make it fast.”
I swept Rachelle up off the ground and cradled her in my arms. She was surprisingly light. She opened one eye and looked at me. Then she winked. I grinned back at her. The driver opened up the door and I placed Rachelle on the backseat, then slid in next to her. With a loud slam, the driver shut the door, went around and hopped back inside.
He gestured to Rachelle, who remained still. “What happened to her?”
“She twisted her ankle and had a panic attack. I tried to calm her down and eventually she kind of blacked out,” I said, hoping it sounded realistic. “My car broke down and I lost my phone. It's been a really shitty day. Thank God you came along.”
“I don't usually do this,” the driver said, “But I guess I need a little good karma in my life. My wife's going to give birth soon. Our first kid.”
“Congratulations,” I said, my lips set in a firm line. “When's the due date?”
“In four days. That's why I'm headed home, to be with her. I'm a long-haul truck driver. Been on the road with eighteen-wheelers for three weeks. Breaks my heart I can't be with her, but we need the money.”
I nodded. “Well, you're definitely saving us, and for that, we're grateful.”
“Whereabouts are you from?” the man asked, occasionally glancing at me through the rearview mirror.
“Northbridge.”
“Oh yeah? My wife's from there too, originally. Her name's Melissa. I’m Frank.”
I let out a sigh of relief. “God bless you, Frank. You’re a hero.”
We spent the next forty-five minutes chatting about his wife's pregnancy and his job. His five years as a marine. By the time we reached the hospital, I felt like I knew the man's life story already. I thanked him again before lifting Rachelle back out. We shook hands. His grip was tighter than an anaconda’s. He wished me best of luck and I returned the sentiment.
“Can I stand on my own now?” Rachelle asked, peeking at me through slitted eyes.
I nodded. “Yeah, he's gone.”
Rachelle sprang out of my arms, her feet gracefully landing on the pavement. “So now we're at a hospital. Next move?”
“Hitchhike again,” I said. “Unless you have a better idea.”
“How about we steal a paramedic van?” Rachelle asked, her eyes glinting mischievously.
“I'm crazy, but not that crazy. They need those to save lives,” I said.
Rachelle nudged me with her shoulder. “I was kidding, Kieran. Lighten up.”
“I wish I could lighten up. Unfortunately, I have cops probably looking for me and a woman waiting for me in Seattle,” I said with a grim frown.
> Rachelle tugged on my sleeve. “How about we grab some food inside? I'm starving. Acting is hard work. We can have a good chat, then hit the road again.”
I shrugged, scanning the barren landscape. Barely any cars passed us. “Fine.” I could use a break. We walked through the hospital's automatic doors and followed the signs to the cafeteria. I wasn’t sure what to say to Rachelle, so I held back. What could I say in an unconventional situation like ours?
“Is Bianca you're...girlfriend?” Rachelle asked.
I shook my head.
“Ex-girlfriend?”
I shook my head again. “She's my ex-girlfriend's sister.”
Rachelle pursed her lips. “How about we clear the air once and for all and you tell me why you're risking everything to see your ex-girlfriend's sister?”
“She needs money,” I said, dragging in a sharp breath. Was I really ready to tell Rachelle everything?
“Okay...But why does she need it from you?”
“It's for Kara.”
“Kara?”
“Yes, Kara, my daughter.”
Chapter Eighteen
Kieran - Ten Years Ago
“I’ll get an abortion if you want me to,” Trisha said, gaze affixed on her lopsided shoelaces. She was wearing those neon Nike sneakers that I hated and sitting on the edge of the rooftop, looking out at the Northbridge skyline. The sun was setting, and the sky looked like a sheet of watercolor paper, watery pinks and violets melting into one another. A romantic setting for a very unromantic conversation. She’d just dropped a bomb in my lap and I was trying to defuse it. Something told me, this was a problem that wouldn’t just go away.