“Ran to the store. She’ll be back soon. You like school?”
Vincent stiffened but pretended he was unafraid. “ ’S okay.”
“Bet you’re a smart boy. But there’s a better way to make yourself some money. Bet you’d like that.”
Warning bells clanged. He peered up and gauged the distance from the table to the door. “Don’t need no money.”
The man laughed. It held no humor. “Gonna depend on your poor mama to provide for you, huh? Not very manlike. Maybe it’s time to step up and help out.” He licked his lips and took another step. “I can help.”
He got ready to run. He’d been here before and thank God he was fast. He knew when and where to hide. Outside in the woods he stashed an old blanket and some water to hole up with if needed. His closet door locked and most didn’t want to bother bashing in the door.
He clenched his fists, rose to his feet, and got ready.
The door opened. His mama stumbled through, a cheery smile on her face. Her nose was bruised and pink from her last nosebleed. She had on a short strawberry skirt and a tank, and her bones stuck out in odd places when she moved. He remembered how much he had loved her hair when he was little. It was long, dark, and silky, and he’d bury his face in it and take a sniff, and she’d giggle and call him her shining star. Now the strands were cut uneven and choppy around her head.
“Hey, baby.”
Vincent relaxed. She was normal today. For a while. “Hi, Mama.”
“Getting to know Johnny?”
He nodded. The man named Johnny forced a fake laugh and grabbed the grocery bag she held, walking over to the small linoleum counter. “Yeah, we’re having a man-to-man talk.”
“That’s nice. I got some chicken on sale, baby. Gonna cook it just like you like it.”
Vincent stood up. “Thanks. I’m gonna go study for a while.”
“’Kay, don’t go far, it’ll be ready soon.”
He made his way to the large closet that served as his bedroom, and not for the first time wished to hell he was Harry fucking Potter and was really a wizard. Wished he could escape the hell of his life and feel safe. Just for a little while.
Instead, Vincent tried not to think of the man’s face and ignore the feeling that his luck was starting to run out.
He was ten years old.
Six
GENEVIEVE OPENED HER eyes.
Ugh. Blinking through crusty lashes, she groaned and rolled over tentatively. Her stomach gurgled with an emptiness that craved carbs, and her head felt like a bowling ball that had knocked out hundreds of pins. What happened? Where was David?
The memory made her head jerk painfully. Not a nightmare. It had really happened. She’d left David on the day of her wedding, at the altar, in front of hundreds of people. She was ruined. Her life was over. She was going to die.
The emotions wracked her body like the flu, causing tiny shivers and convulsions to break out. Why get up? She’d lie here under the covers until they discovered her rotting skeleton. Then everyone would cluck that she’d been mentally unstable anyway, and David had been saved a lifetime of pain. No one would ever remember her again. Except her sisters. And parents. Oh, and her friends. But that was it.
The door creaked. Gen refused to look up. No reason when she intended to commit suicide by not leaving the bed. Also, it hurt her head.
“Sweetheart? It’s almost eleven. You need to eat something.”
She mumbled into her pillow. “Gsh rway.”
Footsteps. His scent hit her nose, a clean twist of soap, coffee, and sunshine. “I’m not going away. And I’m not letting you sleep all day either. Come on, I have something planned, but first you need actual food and not Sno Balls. And a shower is mandatory.”
“Lrve me rawlone.”
The mattress dipped. She opened one eye.
His face was serious and determined. She knew then he wasn’t like her girlfriends and refused to let her languish in bed with a box of tissues, lamenting over her mental state and how her life was ruined. Men sucked. They were so action oriented, as if actually doing something productive helped. Which it wouldn’t. Was that coffee?
He spoke as if he heard her thoughts. “Yes, here’s your mug, and two aspirin for your head. I know you’re freaking, but this is my vacation, too, and I don’t want to spend it cooped up, sharing heart-to-hearts about our broken love lives.”
She sniffed. Managed to sit up an inch. “You don’t have a love life.”
“Right. Well, it’s my job to distract you for at least another twenty-four hours and then we’ll deal with the shitstorm at home. Deal?”
Every time she tried to think about what to do next, splitting pain like sharpened knives stabbed her brain. The tempting idea of playing the denial game for one more day was heaven. Tomorrow she’d have no choice but to contact everyone and begin putting back the pieces. Problem was, she had no clue what to do. If she spent the day with Wolfe, maybe she’d get an aha moment and be able to figure out what her next step was.
“I’m glad you agree. Now sit up, take your pills, and come eat.”
She took a sip of the strong, hot brew. “What’s for breakfast? Pancakes? Omelet? French toast?”
He rolled his eyes. “Cereal, Gen.”
“But you bought eggs!”
“For hard-boiled. Maybe. You know I suck at cooking.”
“You lived with Julietta, who made homemade pasta and sauce and those delicious sausages and meatballs. You told me you were focusing on learning her trade secrets.”