#MNGirl (Midwest Boys Series Book 1)

by A. M. Brooks

  “You both need to try and sleep.” Matt’s voice is gentle. “Molly will be here soon. You should rest while you can.”

  Mila shuffles under the covers, but I still can’t move. “It’s his fault,” I say, my head raising to meet Matt’s eyes. “I blame him. If he hadn’t left us.” My words cut off as my breath hitches. Ugly words I can’t take back now hang between us. My dad is to blame for what happened to my mom. “They were looking for him,” I tell Matt. Every word feels like small paper cuts in my throat. Matt doesn’t blink or look away. There is no judgment or denial on his face, almost like he agrees with me.

  “Get some sleep,” he finally speaks, after several minutes pass between us. Our silent communication and loathing of the man who called himself my mother’s husband is our new shared bond.

  I slide under the covers next to Mila. I shouldn’t be tired, after being knocked out for hours, but my eyes fight to keep open. I want to be awake in case my mom wakes up. I want to meet Molly. All my wants are in vain, though, against the softest thread count sheets I’ve ever slipped into. The pillow cradles my head perfectly and the thick comforter is a shield of protection that lulls me into sleep, once again.

  Hushed whispering brings me to consciousness, much to my body’s dismay, my mother’s voice among the plotting adults. I can feel Mila’s form snuggled next to me and figure she must be asleep as well. They don’t know I’m awake, so I keep my breathing even and my eyes closed, listening to them.

  “No,” my mother whispers adamantly, “no, I did not realize he was in that deep or how he was getting the money.”

  “You had to have known something, Kell. It wasn’t usual for Cal to have that much money, right?” I hear Matt say accusingly. The casual way he uses my dad’s name, as if he knew him, has my ears straining to hear more.

  “No, Rogue,” my mom sighs, “I promise I had no clue. Was it dumb of me not to question why all the sudden his small business firm was bringing in big dollars? Probably. I also had two little girls who were growing up and joining leagues and teams and wanting expensive things. So I guess I buried my head in the sand and went with it. Plus, you know Cal, Matt, he wanted desperately to get back what was taken from him when his parents died.” Her voice wavers over the tears I can practically hear falling down her cheeks.

  “No one is blaming you,” another woman, who I assume must be Molly, answers. “What happened at that house is horrible. For you and for your girls.”

  “I didn’t mean for it sound like I’m blaming you, Kelly,” Matt’s gruff voice interrupts, “I want to kill Cal for what he did. The position he put you and the girls in when he took off. You all could have died.”

  “I never wanted the girls to go through something like this. I can’t believe he left us in danger.” My mom sobs, and it takes all my concentration not to jump up from where I’m lying and hold her.

  “He never mentioned he was back in contact with is extended family?” Matt inquires again.

  “No,” my mom chokes back a sob, “if I had known, we would have left. After everything, everything he went through as a child and losing his parents as a teenager, I never thought he’d be that stupid.”

  “Like you said, though, he’s always wanted back what he lost. He always knew his life should have been different.” Matt’s voice lowers and actually sounds soothing for once.

  “What are you going to do, Matt?” The other female voice, Molly, asks. My heart races waiting for his answer.

  “I can hide you,” he answers; yet, the hint of doubt in his voice hangs in the air.

  “It’s not your usual case.” My mom points out to him. My head spins, trying to place a Matt or Rogue in my memory. I swear I’ve never heard of him until yesterday. This hotel, Molly, and now him saying he can hide us just leave more unknowns and more questions.

  “No,” he acknowledges, “but I can’t not help you either, Kelly. I couldn’t live with myself if I knew I could have tried and did nothing. I should have gotten in touch with you sooner, once I saw the news.”

  “How will this work?” My mom asks the question I’m dying to know.

  “Identities are easy. I have a family willing to help. The only problem is that they know your family already.” Matt’s voice trails off. His thought process clicks in my mind. I know where he’s going with this.

  “They know to look for a woman and two girls,” my mom answers, her voice breaking because it’s making sense to her, too. “I can’t do that. How could any mother choose?”

  “I can’t make the decision for you, Kell. I also have to give you all the facts. Everything is ready and set to go. We don’t have much time,” Matt explains. My mom silently sobs. A few tears escape my eyes, listening to her. I can’t take it anymore. Adults and their secret plans never work out.

  “It’s fine, Mom.” My voice hitches when I sit up quickly. Three heads turn to look at me. Matt is the only one who doesn’t look surprised, almost like he knew I was awake the whole time. “I’ll be fine on my own if it means we’re safe.”

  Our eyes meet and hold. A million little wishes and thoughts pass between us. The strain and fighting over the past couple of days fade away, though. I can feel the courage and pain she pours into me. She’s sorry, and I silently communicate my understanding and acceptance.

  “Will you do it?” she finally asks. Her voice quiet. I spin the words over in my mind and realize I’m holding my breath, waiting for his answer, too.

  “I can,” Matt finally answers, “if that’s what you want, I’ll take her with me.”

  “If it can’t be me,” her voice breaks and her hands come up to swipe the tears off her cheeks, “there is no one else I trust more.”

  “I’ll make the call,” Matt says and gets up, before walking into the bathroom.

  “Saylor,” the woman next to my mom calls my name. “I’m Molly, Matt’s sister.”

  “I know,” I tell her, nodding my head.

  “We have some errands we need to run. Can you help me?” she asks, giving me a conspiratorial wink. The woman must be able to tell I’m five seconds from losing it.

  “Sure.” I give her a small nod and swing my legs over the side of the bed. As I go to get up, everything hurts, and my vision swims.

  “Let’s get you some food, too,” Molly suggests. “You look like hell, chickie.”

  I chuckle, the sound foreign to my ears. “I’ll try.”

  Molly tosses me one of the sandwiches from the fridge, ham and cheese, before leading me outside. It’s almost dark now, the last of the sun falling behind the clouds. I grip the sweatshirt I’m wearing tighter against my body.

  “This way.” Molly leads me to her car, and I hop in. She cranks up the heat, and I give her a small smile of thanks.

  “What are we all getting?” I ask quietly.

  “Just some essentials, for now. Once your mom and sister get to their family, they’ll help them with everything they need. Same for you. Once you and Matt get home, you’ll be able to get more clothes, shoes, jackets, whatever.” She swings her hand around, before leaning forward and grabbing a stick of gum from the cup holder. I watch as she chomps the piece between her teeth fiercely. With the way she mauls the sticky piece, along with the stale smell of smoke in the car and the empty box of Nicotine patches on the floor, I’d say she used to be a smoker and quitting was a recent choice.

  We drive ten miles down the road, before a neon sign for a Walgreens catches my eye. I stuff the last piece of sandwich in my mouth, just as Molly pulls off and parks the car. We get out, and I follow her inside the store. She turns down the aisle with hair products and stops in front of the coloring boxes. My eyes widen, and my stomach drops. “I thought this was something people only had to do in the movies,” I say humorously.

  “None of what you are going through right now is okay, and I know you want to hang onto anything of your old self you have left, but this,” she waves her arm over the aisle, “is a necessary evil. Anything to throw whoever
is after your family off their game is needed. They know what you look like. We need to change as much of that as we physically can.”

  I let Molly’s words sink in. Instead of feeling enraged by the information, I feel a sense of calm. I know she’s right, and at this moment, I don’t want to be Saylor Torre anymore anyway. I reach for the different boxes, pulling different shades off the shelf that I think would provide the most drastic changes in Mom’s, Mila’s and my appearance. I’m about to leave the aisle and catch up with Molly when my eye catches on the silver boxes on the opposite side. Without thinking, I quickly grab the shade that calls to me and cradle it to my chest. When I meet Molly at the register, she has stacks of toothbrushes, toothpaste, feminine products, cotton balls, nail polish remover, and scissors.

  “Here,” she says, handing me an all-black baseball cap and nodding toward my head, as we walk out with our purchases. I rip the tag off the bill and slide my ponytail through the loop, before pulling it down low to cover my face.

  “They already saw me inside,” I remind her, and she shrugs.

  “Worst case scenario, this is the last place you’ll be picked up on camera,” Molly tells me, before unwrapping a sucker and sticking it in her mouth. “Want one?”

  I shake my head no and slump farther in my seat. My chest squeezes with anxiety, and I suddenly wish I had my magical, little, as needed prescription bottle. I had wanted to escape the house so quickly I forgot to grab the bottle out of my night stand.

  “I’m going to have my hands full helping your mom when we get back, since she can barely move. Do you think you can take care of you and your sister?” Molly asks quietly, breaking my concentrated breathing exercise.

  “Yeah,” I respond, clearing my throat, “what do I need to do?”

  “Color her hair. Cut off a little. Not so much that it’s a monumental change or looks suspicious, but just enough to look like a natural length. Have her clip her nails and take off the polish. Change and pack. Do the same for yourself.” Molly fires off the directions.

  “Okay,” my voice catches again. I’m starting to get annoyed with myself for sounding like I could cry at the drop of a hat.

  Before I’m ready, we reach the motel. It’s completely dark out now, and Molly walks at a fast pace to the room. Once we’re inside, Molly helps my mom sit up, handing her a yogurt and water from the fridge to eat, then starts to move her to the edge of the bed to sit up.

  “Saylor,” Molly calls my name softly. “Help Mila.” Sucking in a deep breath, I grab my sister’s hand and lead her to the bathroom. With the door closed, I have her sit on the counter and face the mirror.

  “What’s happening, Saylor?” she asks me quietly. Our eyes lock in the mirror, and I try to paste on a calm expression.

  “We’re getting out of here and heading somewhere safe. I’m half convinced Matt and Molly are super spies.” I crack a smile for her, and it works. Her own lips form a smile back at me. “Mila, we have to change how we look, so we’re harder to track,” I try to explain, while pulling her hairband out of her braid and combing my fingers through her hair. I’ve always envied the golden color of her hair. Some women try their whole lives to achieve this perfect shade of blonde and pay hundreds of dollars at their beauty salons to get it. Not Mila, though. She’s never had a touch of color added. She’s one of the lucky ones. Our eyes collide again. A sheen of tears shimmer in hers.

  “I promise to make it look as beautiful as I can. It’s not forever. It’s just for now,” I reassure her. She nods, unable to speak. “Work on your nails while I do this. Shove the clippings in this bag. You don’t have to watch.” She takes the nail polish remover and clippers from me and gets to work. Popping open the box, I swirl the color together and shake it, before slipping the plastic gloves over my hands. I work the black in, until I’m convinced every strand is covered. Mila avoids looking at the mirror the entire time, examining her fingers and hands over and over instead. While we wait for the timer on her color, I start stripping the color from mine. My brown eyes trace over every deep reddish-brown strand, as I coat them in bleach. Mila’s breath hitches in her throat, and I know she’s watching me.

  When my color is setting, I wash the color from Mila’s hair, until the water runs clear again. Before it dries, I use the scissors to snip a couple inches off the ends. Both of us have grown our hair out since we were little. The long tresses hung down our rib cages, and now, I’ve cut hers so that it lays flat against her chest. When I’m done, she sits on the edge of the tub and helps rinse my color out as well. The water takes on an orange and brown color that makes me sick to look at. For safety purposes I know I have to change the color, but I liked my hair color. I liked that the shade was darker than red and had chocolaty strands mixed into it. I got compliments from strangers on how pretty it was. Watching the color swirl down the drain is nauseating.

  “Where are we going?” Mila’s timid voice brings me out of my conflicting emotional thoughts. Looking at my reflection in the mirror, my head now looks like a combination of yellows with orange ends.

  “I don’t know,” I tell her honestly.

  “Mom said we’re splitting up.” Her eyes drop from mine. Her now dark head lowers.

  “Hey,” I say and lean over to wrap my hand around hers. “I’ll be fine. Matt seems to know what he’s doing. This is all weird as shit, but it makes sense. We’ll be okay.”

  She sniffles, and my heart cracks again. “I want to stay with you, Saylor.” Her words grip my heart painfully and shake it inside my rib cage. “What if I can’t help Mom? You’re the brave one.”

  “Mila,” I wrap my arms around her shaking shoulders, “you are so strong. You saved me in that kitchen. You helped me get Mom to safety. Hell, you even had the guts to get to my room in the first place for help. You are strong, baby sis. Mom trusts Matt, and I…I do, too. We’re going to be okay.” I tell her anything to make the crying stop. I believe she is strong. The jury is still out, though, on if we’ll be okay. My gut screams yes, but my mind tracks all the unknowns. So much has changed in the past twenty-four hours, and nothing is black and white. My whole life has been catapulted into a sea of grey, with no life preserver in sight. I’m literally treading water.

  “It’s not forever, right?” Mila questions. My grip around her tightens, and I nod my head.

  “Right.” I give her the only thing I can. A lie. Not to hurt her, but it sounds better than the truth. I have no idea if it’s forever. I have no idea how Matt’s job works. I hope it’s not for forever, but there is no way to know.

  “I’ll cut yours,” she tells me, pulling back and gesturing to my hair.

  “Okay.” I hand her the scissors and present my back to her.

  “Why did you choose such an ugly color?” she asks, her nose scrunching up.

  I laugh. “It’s just a phase to help this color set in better,” I answer and show her the silver box. I watch her eyebrows raise in the mirror.

  “Well, Dorothy, we’re not in Trinity Prep anymore,” she jokes. Definitely not. No one in our school would be caught dead wearing this color in their hair. It would make them too unique. They would stand out, and, in their minds, being unique is not a good thing. Because if you didn’t follow the social norms at Trinity Prep, you are automatically an outcast.

  “That’s exactly why I chose it,” I tell her.

  “Mom might kill you still,” she points out, a little bit of her sass coming out.

  “At this point, the more different I look is probably better. She’ll get over it.” I shrug and watch as more of my hair falls in front of me.

  “Good?” she asks, gesturing to the length. She only cut the two to three inches off the bottom that were still brownish. I nod and start to dry the strands.

  “Girls,” Molly’s head pops in, “you done? Matt’s back. Mila and your mom have to go now.” Her urgency sends us scrambling.

  Mila braids her hair and tucks it into the hooded sweater she’s wearing. I notice for t
he first time that the clothes she has on are baggier and not hers. It’s hard to tell, looking at her frame, that she’s a girl. The minute we step out of the bathroom, the room is in chaos. Matt is packing Mom’s medical supplies. She is also up, dressed and leaning against a chair. The deep red I had chosen for her hair actually looks nice on her. I know it’s not a color she would ever pick for herself, but it goes well with her freckles and skin tone. A floor length dress drapes her body but still hangs loose and a jean jacket covers the bruises on her arms. Our eyes meet across the room. She offers me a small smile that makes me want to wrap my arms around her and beg her to take me with her. Despite the tears in her eyes, the tension has left her face. She looks almost like my carefree mom. The mom I had before the Manhattan nightmare.

  “He’s here.” Matt’s voice chops through the moment, bringing us back to reality. The rumbling of a diesel truck can be heard from outside the door.

  Mila flings herself into my arms, and I wrap her up one more time, breathing in her scent.

  “I love you, Saylor,” she whispers into my shoulder.

  “Me too, Mi,” I tell her, hating the scratchy way my words sound. My nose tingles, and I fight back the tears for her. “Not forever, remember that.” She nods, before pulling away. Matt places an arm around her shoulders and guides her out the door to a waiting truck.

  “Saylor.” My mom steps in front of me, her body swaying slightly. I reach out and circle my arms around her shoulders, pulling her into me.

  “I’ll be okay,” I tell her because it’s what she needs to hear. “It makes sense this way,” I say, even though the words hurt. After everything I’ve already lost, I feel like I’m losing them, too. A dark pool of dread starts to form in the pit of my stomach.