“Here,” I said, putting my hands around the flame to block the wind.
He glared at me, but eventually it caught. He sucked in a deep pull and blew the smoke away.
“Thanks.”
“Since when did you smoke?”
“Took it up recently. Do I look cool?”
“Yeah, Tull. Real cool.”
He didn’t smile, only brushed his hair from his eyes. “I wish you’d stop asking me stuff about the family.”
“Why don’t you trust me?”
“You know why.”
I looked down at the sidewalk, staring at my feet.
I knew why—I wasn’t one of them.
Not really, and that was my own fault.
I held myself apart. I wanted to be different, wanted to be better, even if that hurt to imagine.
But the truth was, I never would be, not entirely.
No matter how hard I tried, I’d never escape where I came from.
“Would it help if I said I’m sorry, and that it’s for a good reason?”
He shook his head. “Not really.”
“All right, Tull. I get it. Can I give you a hug then? As an apology.”
He hesitated, glanced over my shoulder. Probably making sure nobody saw.
“Fine.”
I pulled him against me and hugged him tight. I was a little rough about it, grabbing at him all over, trying to be funny. He grunted a laugh and seemed relieved when I let him go.
“I’m gonna head out. You should go back inside. You don’t gotta ruin your night on my account.”
“No, it’s fine. You stay. I’ll finish this and come back in.”
I patted his cheek and shook my head. “Sorry, Tull. I tried, but it’s not the same, you know?”
“Yeah, I know.”
I walked off, leaving him there to finish his cigarette alone. I hurried, moving faster once I was around the corner, then faster when I got a few blocks away.
Until Mack’s truck pulled up in front of me and he rolled down the window.
“Get in,” he said.
I leaned against the door. “I shouldn’t accept rides from strangers.”
He smirked at me. “I have a feeling you don’t mind the danger.”
“True, and you seem nice enough.” I got into the passenger side and he drove off.
“You get what you came for?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Tully wouldn’t talk and I didn’t get a chance to try the others.”
“Why’d you leave then?”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a phone and held it up. “This is why.”
Mack frowned at it. “Your phone?”
“Not mine. Tully’s.”
His mouth fell open. “You stole the kid’s phone?”
“I figure, if he knows something, it’s in here. And if he doesn’t, then we can use it to ask someone that does.”
“Shit, Fiona. That’s devious. Do you think he’ll realize you took it?”
“I doubt it. They’re all getting drunk. He’ll probably assume he lost it.”
Mack laughed, shaking his head. “You don’t happen to know his pin, do you?”
“Of course not. But I can try…” I typed in 1234. The phone didn’t open. “Or maybe…” 0000 didn’t work either. “I’m out of ideas.”
“Don’t worry. I know a guy that can help.” Mack took the phone from me and shoved it into his back pocket while he headed back to the house. “Well done. I’ll admit, this is even better than I expected.”
“I’m pretty amazing when I really put my mind to things.”
He laughed and squeezed my knee.
I stared out the window, thinking back to that group, to the person I could’ve been if I didn’t work so hard to get away from that life. Cath seemed happy, and so did all the others—even if their lives were spent afraid and running away from the death and pain that hovered right on the edges of their awareness. They laughed loud and made fun of each other and acted like a real family—
Because the alternative was to wallow in the horror of their existence.
I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t fake my way through it.
And that hurt so much. I wanted to be a part of them, wanted to have that family again. I wanted that feeling of belonging somewhere.
Instead, I cast myself out, and distanced myself as much as I could.
The only thing that kept me around was Connor.
Now though, I didn’t know what I’d do if this didn’t work and we couldn’t bring my little brother home. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be able to pick up my shattered pieces, or if there would even be much left of me to put back together again.
16
Mack
Azar Repairs was an ailing, rundown shop up near the Olney subway stop, several blocks down from Villanova. I parked the truck nearby and walked over with Fiona, her cousin’s phone tucked into my pocket.
The front windows were plastered with fading advertisement for computer parts that were probably ten years out of date. The door jingled when I opened it, and the interior smelled like dust and melted plastic and was overwhelmingly hot. There were shelves around the far wall and a counter straight ahead, and old equipment covered every inch of the place, some of them with little white number tags, but most without.