Gavin.
The brother of Gordo Livingstone.
The son of Robert Livingstone.
I put the notes back in the glove compartment, unable to look at them anymore.
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.
Kelly was there in the dark. He smiled at me and held out his hand.
Though it wasn’t real, I was grateful for it. I took his hand in mine, and for a little while at least, I could pretend he was with me. That he didn’t hate me for leaving him behind. Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.
He said, “Hey.”
I said, “Hey” and “Hi” and “I’m so happy to see you.” And I meant every word.
“All right?”
I tried to be strong for him, this Not-Kelly. But he was a figment of my imagination, and I was alone. I said, “No.”
He squeezed my hand. “It’ll be okay. I promise.”
It was enough.
By the time I opened my eyes, the sun was rising over the horizon and another day had begun.
Kelly was gone.
WHEN THE PACK BROKE APART after the death of our father, I followed my brothers into the great unknown, Gordo trailing after us. Our blood boiled, and we had rage in our heads and hearts. It burned far longer than I thought it would, the years passing by until it felt like we were ghosts haunting the secret highways known only to those who drifted. These were roads forgotten, roads that led to nothing towns that had died long ago. We told ourselves we were still filled with righteous fury even as we were silent, days passing with only a couple of words spoken aloud.
But we’d been together, the four of us, feeding off each other’s pain, our heads shaved and our hearts hardened.
It was different now that I was alone.
I thought it would be easier.
It wasn’t.
The secret highways were lonelier. Some days I never spoke at all. I was lost more often than I wasn’t, especially toward the beginning. I didn’t know where I was going, at first chasing the rising sun, hoping for something, anything that would point me in the right direction.
It wasn’t until a dead-eyed motel clerk in Utah wished me a merry Christmas that the weight of what I’d done crushed me.
That’d been a bad night.
I thought it’d get easier.
It didn’t, but I got better at ignoring it.
I stayed away from the major cities, knowing Livingstone would most likely do the same. I had conversations in my head with my father, with my mother, with Joe and Ox, with Kelly, justifying why I’d left, telling them that I owed it to him, that Gavin would do the same for me, trying to make myself believe that was true.
We’re looking for him, Ox told me.
No. You’re looking for Livingstone.
We want to help you find him, Joe told me.
Like you wanted to find Robbie?