#MNGirl (Midwest Boys Series Book 1)

by A. M. Brooks

“I know you will be,” my mom says, a sob hitching in her throat. “You’re the bravest person I know, Saylor. I love you so much. I’ll think about you every day. I’m so sorry, Love.” She uses my childhood nickname. My eyes slam shut, my face turning into her hair, as I inhale her scent too--one of warmth, home, mom.

  “I don’t blame you,” I tell her honestly. We pull back, and our eyes meet. Sympathy in her gaze collides with the rage in mine. We both know where I believe the blame lies.

  “You have to go.” Matt comes back in through the door and holds out a hand for my mom to grab. Our gazes stay locked, until she steps out the door, and I can no longer see her. I hear a door slam, and the engine fades away, before Matt comes back in the room. It’s over and done. The tension I’d been holding onto leaves my bones, and I feel weak.

  “When do we leave?” I hear Molly ask.

  “In a few hours,” Matt answers. He cleans up the trash that’s scattered over the floor, shoving bloody sheets into giant pillow cases.

  “Where are we going?” I ask. Both of them turn to look at me, but it’s Molly who speaks.

  “We can’t say yet, Saylor. Even though we’re safe here. Too many lives are on the line,” she tells me. If that’s not the most ominous answer ever, I don’t know what is.

  “Let’s get cleaned up then we’ll have time for some shut eye before we need to leave,” Matt says.

  I help them clean everything possibly seen by the naked eye from the floors, blankets and beds. Matt isn’t satisfied until even the tiniest bit of lint is off the floor. He leaves then to shower, and I hear the sound of an electric shaver going off. Molly and I sit on separate beds and watch the news again. There has still been no mention of what happened. For some reason, this knowledge makes me uneasy. I can tell looking at Molly, it’s the same for her, too.

  She clears her throat before turning toward me. “Do you need help with the rest of your hair?”

  “Sure,” I answer, shrugging my shoulders. It’s not that I don’t like Molly or don’t trust her; I just feel like it’s a final piece of my old self that is going away.

  “How about I just help rinse if you need it?” she replies, watching me. My eyes narrow at her perceptiveness and the way she seems to already know me.

  She surprises me more when she laughs. “You remind me of my son,” she answers, and I’m taken aback.

  “I didn’t know you have kids,” I answer honestly.

  “Just one.” She faces me again. “He lives with Matt, actually. Being the medical professional, I’m usually gone a lot, so he lives with Matt for now. You’ll meet him when you get home.”

  I bite my lip and ponder over her words. “Is it okay that he’s home by himself when you and Matt are both here?”

  Molly laughs. “He’s just fine, Saylor.” She continues to laugh when my mouth drops open. “Ciaran is eighteen. He’s fine.”

  “You don’t look old enough to have a son that old,” I blurt out. My filter momentarily missing.

  Molly’s smile grows larger. “Thank you. I actually had Ciaran when I was really young. I had just started college when I found out I was pregnant. His dad and I tried to make it work, but we wanted different things. I moved back and have been in the family business since then,” she explains. The family business is what I want to know most about.

  Matt walks out of the bathroom then and I notice his hair is shorter and the facial hair’s completely gone. “Finish anything you need to.” He looks in my direction. “We leave in seven hours.” I waste no time finishing up the color in the bathroom and cutting my fingernails down, after removing the pink birthday manicure Oaklynn had bought for me. Just thinking of my best friend brings on another wave of tears. Hopefully, one day, they’ll all dry up. I dry my hair quickly and examine the purple shade in the mirror, twisting the locks in my hand. “Definitely not Trinity Prep worthy,” I whisper to myself. Saylor Torre is gone.

  When Matt said seven hours, he really meant five. I feel like my eyes barely closed, before he had us up and out the door based on a gut feeling. Once again, my body is flying on autopilot, fueled solely by adrenaline. By now, I don’t even question his urgency and instinct. Matt has been right about everything else so far. I quietly follow Molly and him out the door and into the backseat of a different car than the one we arrived in. Again, I do it without question. To any passerby, we look like a family of three, driving away from the motel we took a little vacation at.

  Matt and Molly keep a silent conversation while we drive. I pay attention, for a while, before the scenery out the window starts to change, and my concentration is thrown off. I wish I had my phone. I wish I had my music and silencing headphones, so that I could stay in a happy place. The farther we drive, the more spread out everything gets, and I don’t recognize any landmarks. From the last road sign, it appears we’re going west. No one says anything, though. I lean my head against the window, and the glass is cool against my skin. It’s comfortable. My eyelids flutter closed, just when the sun breaks the horizon.

  “Hey, kid,” Matt calls, while jostling my shoulder. My body jerks up, ready to run if need be. “Whoa, easy. We’re getting gas and switching vehicles.” His words register in my brain, my eyes opening wide. All I see is trees, dirt and this lonely gas station. It’s dark again, which means I slept all day.

  “Where’s Molly?” I question, pulling myself upright. Somewhere on our journey, my body had sprawled across the whole back seat.

  “She ran inside to use the bathroom. You should, too, if you need it. And get a snack.” Matt nods toward the gray and red building, before turning back to the gas pump. I open my door and slide out, pulling the hat back down over my head, even though it’s dark out. Walking quickly into the store, I pass Molly on my way to the bathroom. She smiles at me, even as worry lines crease her forehead. Shivers run up my arms when I slide into the single stall bathroom. The florescent light zings to life, while I splash water on my face, trying to force life into my pale features. I look sick. I look like a dump truck ran me over then backed up and did it again. My hair is a rat’s nest, sleepers are crusted in my eyes, and my lips crack when I move my jaw because they’re so dry. Fuck me. How long was I actually out for? My stomach rumbles under the baggy shirt I’m wearing reminding me I should eat again.

  Sighing, I run a wet paper towel over my face and pinch my cheeks to bring some color to them. I pull my hair out of the ponytail it had been in and finger comb the strands, before adding a single braid that rests over my shoulder. I slide the black hat back on, as I leave the tiny room, hating that it brings me some comfort to wear it still. We might be far enough away from New York, but the fear of being chased is still too new. I don’t want my face picked up on any cameras. I spot Matt waiting by the register; we make eye contact, and he uses his hand to gesture for me to hurry it up. I slip down a few aisles, before meeting him. He hides a grin while the attendant rings up my Pringles, sour gummy worms, Chapstick, a Red Bull energy drink and a box of Milk Duds.

  “What?” I say, shrugging my shoulders at him. Everything sounded good, and I want to stay awake, instead of passing out, like I seem to keep doing.

  “Nothing, kid,” he answers, while his grin grows bigger. I follow Matt out the door and notice the chill in the air. Guess that blows my theory he was taking me somewhere warm and tropical.

  I fling my purchases into the back seat and crack the energy drink open, before noticing that Molly is on the phone. She hangs up right as Matt gets in.

  “Still same location?” Matt asks her.

  “Yup, they made it to the first site. Andy said they’d rest, then do another couple hours tomorrow,” Molly answers.

  “My mom and Mila?” I ask, holding my breath and waiting for one of them to answer, excited to hear anything at all. My heart thumps painfully in my chest thinking of them.

  “Yeah,” Matt replies, “they’re on time, and nothing looks suspicious.” His words should make me feel better, and they do, but they don’
t take away the pit of fear that still exists low in my stomach. “We’re going to drop Molly off then we’re about eight hours away from our location,” Matt says, making eye contact with me in the rearview mirror. My gaze flicks to Molly then back to Matt.

  “You aren’t coming with us?” I ask her, confused.

  “No.” Molly shakes her head and turns to look at me. “I got a call for a job while we were driving. I will be away for a while.”

  “Oh,” I answer, starting to piece together what Molly’s role is in their family business.

  “We’ll also switch cars again when we drop Molly off,” Matt reminds me, even though I don’t remember him saying this a first time. I nod, like it’s old news, and glance out the window. The moon is full and high above us now. We’re in the middle of nowhere. And I still have no idea where we are going. Unease starts to fill my chest, the unknown causing my anxiety to amp up even more.

  Molly and Matt keep up small talk and include me, this time. In between their questions about my hobbies and school, I snack on my chips and a few gummy worms until my stomach hurts. My last real meal was days ago, and I just filled my stomach with junk food. A few hours later, Matt takes the exit for Chicago and recognition fires in my brain. I finally know where I am. As the city grows closer, skyscrapers lay out before us, the lights surrounding the city create a halo of yellow light. It’s familiar and reminds me of better nights spent at home. Chicago is not New York, but it is a large city with people. A hum of energy courses through my veins, and my eyes eat up the chaos happening outside our vehicle. I liked that about living in New York. It was hard to feel alone when you stand on a street and are immediately surrounded by people.

  Matt takes us a little ways outside the city to a development of apartments. The car comes to a stop outside a row of town houses. Molly and Matt climb out, before moving to the trunk. I follow, feeling unsure about my place at this moment. Do I hug her? Shake her hand? Wave? How do you thank the person who saved your mom? Just like before, Molly knows where my thoughts are going and how jumbled they are. Without speaking, she makes the decision for me and wraps me up in her embrace. I freeze for a second, before letting go and allowing myself to take a bit of the comfort she is offering.

  “You’re going to be okay, Saylor,” she whispers next to my ear. “You’re a fighter.” My eyes squeeze shut while her words sink deep into my soul. Molly pulls back from me, before I’m ready, and turns to give Matt a hug as well. They exchange a few words, while my brain is still stuck on what she called me. I’m a fighter. Molly is amazing and comforting, and now, I realize how much I’m going to miss her, too. I attempt a half smile when she turns to wave goodbye to us. I don’t miss the black duffle bag slung over her shoulder or the new surgical face mask she’s donning as we pull away. These people, the secrets, this family business…I probably shouldn’t be curious, but when have I ever run away from a challenge?

  On the last eight hours of our trek, I learn two things. One, Matt sucks at small talk. Two, very few radio stations are coming in clearly, and the only ones Matt seems fond of are the country music ones. I’m even more agitated when my foot starts tapping on the floor board along with the song, while I shove the last remaining Milk Duds in my mouth.

  “Are you going to tell me yet where you live?” I ask around the chewy caramels.

  Matt’s eyebrows raise. “You didn’t see the sign back there?” he asks. My head whips around to look out the back window.

  “No,” I answer feeling anxious. “What sign? I didn’t see one. What did it say? Are you sure?” My thoughts run rampant, while my neck twists at odd angles to see as far back as I can.

  “Oh,” Matt looks out his window as well, “well, maybe we didn’t pass it yet then. It’s pretty hard to miss.”

  “What are you---” My words die off when my gaze finally catches on to what Matt is referring to. There is no way to miss the giant stone statue in the shape of the state with bright red lettering across the middle. Welcome to Minnesota.

  “Minnesota?” My memory scrambles to remember the geography tests from fourth grade, the ones where they make you memorize the states and capitols and where each state is located on the map. I haven’t thought about it in years because, well, Google.

  “Yup,” Matt answers, turning his eyes to mine, a hint of a twinkle lights up his irises. “Home sweet home.”

  “To who? Eskimos?” I reply, my jaw hanging open in astonishment. What in the actual fuck? Matt laughs at my outburst, while my mind continues to whirl. Minnesota is up by Canada. Isn’t part of it even jutted into the Canadian border? My mind hurts trying to remember all the specifics. I think it’s located by the huge lakes that used to be glaciers, right? My stomach fills with dread thinking about the weather…lots of snow and tornadoes? I swallow past the lump of anxiety in my throat that’s cutting off my oxygen.

  “What about tornados?” I ask him, my mouth still gaping open.

  “Okay,” Matt turns to me, trying to keep a straight face, “First of all, yes, Minnesota touches the Canadian border. The Great Lakes were created by glaciers, and they’re super cold. I don’t recommend swimming in them unless you can stand prickling cold water. As far as seasons go, you’ll get a little bit of everything here. It’s fall for a few more weeks. They aren’t predicting snow just yet. Tornadoes happen on occasion, but it’s been years since there has been a really bad storm like the ones that people see on the news in Tornado Alley.”

  I swear my eyes go rounder with each question he unpacks from my brain. I hadn’t meant to say all that out loud, but it sounds like I did. My eyes flick back and forth from the scenery outside the car then up to Matt’s profile again. The grin he wears only grows bigger the longer I take to formulate an actual response. Minnesota. Fucking Minnesota. “Guess my mom’s solution really was best. Dump her as far away from normal as possible. No one will find her here.” I shrug, letting the sarcasm roll off my tongue.

  “Believe it or not, Saylor, this will be one of the safest places you ever live. There may not be huge buildings and bars open until four am, but you’ll go to bed every night not having to worry about the shadows and the boogeyman.” Over the past few days, I’ve learned that Matt’s voice hardens a little when he starts to get serious.

  Still… “How did you know?” I ask. I’ve only been repeating that phrase to myself since we left New York.

  “You talk in your sleep.” Matt casts a glance my way. My body tenses. “You also snore and drool a little bit.”

  “Shut up!” I can’t help the small twist of my lips. “I do not.”

  “She smiles,” Matt adds, before looking back to the road. Miles tick by, and we pass a large city, I’m told is one of the Twin Cities, before we continue north for almost two hours. It’s dark outside again by the time we pass a city limit sign, but I catch it briefly, Savage Lakes, population 723. My forehead taps against my passenger window as we pass through the smallest town I’ve ever lived in. We pass three churches before reaching the main drag. One side of the road is lined with brick and stone small businesses and shops. The other is fitted with two fast food joints, a gas station and Rogue’s Car Repairs.

  “Is that yours?” I ask, nodding to the car shop as we pass.

  “Yup,” Matt grins again, “It’s my day job.”

  We travel another couple miles down the road and pass a local mom and pop restaurant with a sign for spicy chicken, and I smile, thankful there is some country cooking up here. We wind around a lake, before making our way out of town. Huge pine trees line the roads, and what’s left of colorful leaves are sprinkled over the tar.

  “Why is it called ‘Savage Lakes’ if there is only one lake?” I ask, unable to keep still or quiet any longer. My knee bounces with apprehension, knowing we’ll be to Matt’s home soon. This is all too real now. It was easier, not thinking about it, when I had no idea where we were or where we were going, only that we were driving for a long time. With the road trip being over, my stomach summe
rsaults and twists again. This is where I’ll be living, on my own, without my family. Matt and my mom may go way back, but he is essentially a stranger. I have no idea what I’m expected to do or how to I’m expected to act now that I’m here. Matt seems oblivious to my discomfort.

  “There are two lakes. The one we passed is the tourist one with the beaches and boat dock. The other is more a hidden gem the locals use,” he explains. I nod, taking the information in and storing it for later use. The slower Matt seems to drive, the more my hands start fidgeting with the string on my hoodie. The road he turns down next has a few houses with enough yard space. My breath hitches in my throat when we finally pull up to the curb in front of a white paneled two story home. The only light on is the porch light. A driveway sits between the building and a smaller garage next to it. The backboard and rim of a basketball hoop hang over the garage door. My eyebrows raise at the sight. Matt gets out of the vehicle, and I follow, my knees wobbling and threatening to give out, as I try to get a grip on myself.

  Tires screeching against the pavement pull my attention toward the road, right as an all-blacked out truck pulls up to the driver side of the car. Matt motions for the driver to go forward. Whoever is in the truck pulls ahead of us, leaving a few car spaces between us and it. I follow Matt to the trunk but can’t take my eyes of the truck. Goosebumps rise on my arms and chase down my spine, before spreading over my legs. Even with the blacked-out windows, I can tell there is more than one person in the vehicle, and I wonder if they are watching me as intently as I’m studying them. Probably not, because I’m nobody to them. The bass coming from the truck’s radio pulses in the night air and causes another round of shivers down my spine.

  “Here ya go,” Matt says, handing me my school bag and a plastic shopping bag from my trip with Molly. I take my bags and step away. “Go on in,” Matt gestures to the front door, “I have to take care of this quick.”

  “Okay,” I mumble and walk on shaky legs toward the house. I keep my back to the truck, even as I feel it. Heat, scorching hot attention, slithers up my spine and bores into the back of my head. Awareness of being watched and studied flushes my cheeks red. A window cracks, and Wiz Khalifa’s “King of Everything” leaks out, the lyrics wrapping around my body and compelling me to turn and look. Guess they have more than country music here. My gaze focuses on the window I know I’m being watched out of, staring back just as intently, searching for a shape, a profile, a face, anything, like an obsessed creep.