“The heart wants what it wants, right?” I tamped down the flood of emotion threatening to overwhelm me. “I want to be better, Colt. I want family. I want to be happy. Ichooseit. Because if I don’t, then the weight of Shelly’s death—”
He pulled me to him, mindful of his injury. “All right, darlin’.”
I parked Colt’s truck in front of the trailer Silas pointed to. The blue paint was flaking, the tin roof looked like it had seen far too many hailstorms, and the lawn in front was more weeds than grass.
The rumble of Boxer and Reap’s bikes came to halt.
Colt turned off the engine and climbed out of the truck. The two of us followed Silas up the worn dirt path to the steps. Silas showed no hesitation whatsoever about reaching for the door handle, but Colt stopped him by placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“I’ll go first,” Colt stated.
“Why?” Silas asked, brushing hair that was too long out of his eyes.
“Because,” Colt said with a rueful smile.
Silas smiled back and I breathed a sigh of relief. The boy had spent enough time around the Blue Angels not to be afraid of them. For that, I was grateful.
I gently urged Silas back to stand in front of me. Colt went inside first, pushing the door open wide. The smell of stale cigarettes and sweat filled the air, and I instantly breathed through my mouth.
Silas’s father was sitting in a recliner, staring at the television, a bottle of whiskey in his lap. He raised it to his lips as he briefly looked in the direction of the door.
His eyes scanned the three of us in confusion, but he said nothing.
“Silas,” Colt said, his tone soft. “Why don’t you show Mia your room. Pack your things, yeah?”
“Okay,” Silas said, latching onto my hand and dragging me to the back of the trailer, through a kitchen with peeling linoleum and warped, mildew-stained walls.
Silas pushed open a door and waved me inside. I stepped into his room, which was nothing more than a twin mattress on the floor. It was surprisingly tidy and I wondered if that was Silas’s doing, or if Cheese had been the one to clean it.
There was a tin bucket by the window and half of it was filled with dank water.
“What is this?” I asked, pointing to it.
“The roof leaks,” Silas said.
I inhaled a shaky breath, trying to keep my anger contained. Silas didn’t need that. I looked around for a suitcase or a bag. Silas was tossing action figures and a few comic books onto his bed along with a few clothes.
“No suitcase, huh?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“Garbage bag? In the kitchen?”
He nodded. Silas bent down to crawl into his closet and I noticed that his pants lifted to show his ankles. Too small, I realized.
I didn’t tell him not to pack his clothes even though we’d be getting him new ones almost immediately. Even little boys had pride.
I slipped out of his room and headed back into the kitchen. Colt was sitting on the stained brown couch, not even a foot away from Silas’s father, his body turned toward the man who hadn’t even bothered to greet his son.
I couldn’t hear what Colt was saying and I didn’t want to know. All I cared about was getting Silas out of this place.
I rooted around underneath the sink, letting out a startled squeak when my hand brushed something furry.
“Fuck this,” I muttered.
I slammed the cabinet shut and high-tailed it back to Silas’s room. He looked at me with questioning eyes.
“Er—all out of garbage bags.”