I could barely restrain myself from stopping every guy I saw, just to look closely at his face. Was that guy the one? The dude in the blue sweatshirt? What about the gray jacket? Was he the douche bag?
I was looking at every face, searching for guilt.
“My sister doesn’t have much stuff,” Morgan said as she pushed resolutely into the small room.
She went straight to the garbage can in the corner and pulled the trash bag out of it. Underneath were four more unused bags that she tossed onto the bed.
“I’m going to do her clothes first, then the desk.”
“I can do the desk,” I replied, grabbing a trash bag. “Should I leave anything?”
“No.” She cleared her throat. “No, she’s not coming back.”
I stopped and watched as Morgan angrily opened the top drawer, almost pulling it completely out of the dresser.
“She’s never coming back to this place,” she hissed, snatching out handfuls of clothes and stuffing them into the garbage bag in her other hand.
“Sweetheart,” I said softly, trying to calm her.
“I can’t,” she said, shaking her head and refusing to turn toward me. “I need to get her stuff out of here. I need to get out of here.”
“Okay,” I replied, clenching my jaw. I wanted to wrap my arms around her and force her to take a second, but I didn’t. Instead, I turned toward the desk and quickly removed the notebooks, pens, and random school shit. It ended up being really heavy and I had to double-bag it, but thankfully Miranda really didn’t have much.
All of her personal items filled only three garbage bags.
“Just a sec,” Morgan said, walking into the bathroom. She came out only a few seconds later with a small makeup bag in her hand. “I’ll replace the rest of it,” she murmured, shaking her head.
Then I was lifting the bags from the floor and following her out of the room. A few people watched as we moved through the common areas, but no one said a word as we carried Miranda’s things out of the dorm. Not one person asked who we were or why we were stealing bags of shit from one of their schoolmates. It was the weirdest fucking thing.
“Trunk,” Morgan said, opening it up so I could put Miranda’s things back there. As soon as I’d dropped them in, her head drooped forward. “Jesus.”
I wasn’t sure if it was a prayer or an exclamation. Maybe it was both.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” I said, reaching up to cup the side of her face.
“I don’t even know where to go,” she said with a watery laugh. “I need to get a hotel room or something.”
“I’ve got one,” I replied, sliding my hand down to squeeze the back of her neck gently. She seemed so brittle, standing there, that I was afraid to touch her anywhere else.
“Okay. Where are you parked?”
We agreed that she’d follow me back to my hotel, and I left as soon as she’d climbed into the driver’s seat. As I passed the car, I glanced inside the backseat and saw Miranda leaned against Etta’s seat. The baby was sleeping peacefully, and Miranda was holding her hand. It was as if she’d needed that connection, even though Etta was completely passed out beside her.
When I climbed into my truck, my phone chimed again.
The message I’d ignored earlier was from Katie, and I ignored it again. The most recent message was from Morgan.
Hotel won’t work. Miranda refuses to stay anywhere near here. Thanks anyway.
I sighed and brushed a hand over my face, smoothing down my beard.
Makes sense. My house?
I sent the text, not expecting an agreement, so when the reply came, I was shocked.
I checked my rearview mirror at least fifty times as I drove home. Every time, the Riley women were still following right behind me.
Chapter 14
Morgan
Going to Trevor’s house wasn’t my smartest idea. I knew that. However, when I’d made the suggestion to Miranda and she’d agreed, I hadn’t had the heart to refuse. At that point, I would have done anything to make her feel safe.
Trevor seemed to do that for her. I’d seen her glance out the tinted windows of the doctor’s office more than once and watch as Trevor had played with Etta in the grass. For some reason, he seemed to help her. Maybe it was from his “I’m big and strong” speech when we were standing in the hallway, or the inherent kindness that seemed to ooze out of him. I think a part of her may have been reminded a little of the day our dad had come to get us from our caseworker’s office. Whatever it was, I wasn’t willing to take it away.
She’d been through enough.
I refused to let myself think about the things that had gone down in that doctor’s office. Miranda had let me stay only after I’d promised not to go crazy. She’d known even before they’d called us back that it wasn’t going to be pretty. There’d been a lot hidden under the baggy clothes she was wearing. Things that I couldn’t bear to think about. Not yet.