FIFTEEN
BECCA
Puck refused to leave until the next morning, despite my begging and pleading. He said it was already too late in the day and he was right.
Still pissed me off.
At first he’d tried to get me back to Callup for the night, which I flatly refused to do. I wasn’t ready to face Regina and Earl, not after what I’d done. He didn’t trust me to stay by myself, though, so I ended up hanging in the kitchen for a few hours at the Armory with London Hayes, Reese Hayes’s wife. Darcy had called over—apparently she wanted to come check on me. After she saw the look of horror on my face, London convinced her to stay home.
I hadn’t been brave enough to tell Danielle where I was, although I texted to say I was safe and with Puck. She was a tough girl, and with Blake at her back I had no doubt she’d try to invade the Armory. Odds were good she’d do it, too. Danielle was many things, but cowardly wasn’t one of them.
Regina and Earl also wanted to talk.
I couldn’t do it. They had to know what I’d done by now—Callup wasn’t a quiet kind of town. I begged Puck to call them and let them know I was all right.
He frowned, but he did it.
Then he drove up to Callup to pack a bag, stopping off at the Moose to let them know my mom had died. Teresa was wonderful about it, making me feel even guiltier that I hadn’t called her earlier.
In fact, the longer I sat in bed (and no, not the nasty one on the second floor—once Puck decided to leave me there, he arranged for a real room), the more my guilt grew. There were people who cared about me. People who’d given me everything, yet when things fell apart I didn’t reach out.
After this was all over, I’d go to them. I’d make sure they knew how much I loved and appreciated them.
Well, unless I was in prison.
Of course, that was probably less likely now that I had Puck with me. Sure, he’d been caught before—but only once. He had to have learned something about covering his tracks along the way, right?
God, I hoped so. I didn’t want him going to prison on my behalf. He didn’t seem particularly worried about that happening, though—I knew this because when he finally crawled into bed after returning to the armory, he told me.
“I’m your old man,” he said. “You need to trust me. I’ll handle it.”
“How will you handle it?” I asked, my head tucked against his chest. “I’m part of this—I need to know what the plan is.”
“Your job is to follow my lead,” he replied. I opened my mouth to protest, but he rolled me over on the bed. Then his fingers were inside me and I totally forgot about the question.
—
The drive was supposed to take around twenty hours, which we’d do over two days. I’d suggested that if we weren’t going to leave right away, we should consider driving straight through on Friday. Puck pointed out that arriving all exhausted wouldn’t help our cause, but he was on board with leaving at six the next morning and putting in a long day.
We’d pulled away from a truck stop after dinner when Teeny called Friday night. I stared down at my phone, paralyzed.
“What should I do?”
“Answer it,” Puck said. “Tell him that you’re getting him the money—you can say you’re working me for it. Then ask about your mom’s ashes or something. Anything to get him talking. Maybe he’ll give us something we can use.”
Nodding, I answered. “Hello?”
“Becca, I expected to hear from you by now,” my stepfather replied, his voice all smooth and smug. “You make any decisions yet?”
“I’m working on getting the money,” I said, parroting Puck. “Um, there’s this guy . . . We haven’t been together very long. He’s not sure he wants to help me out. I need a little more time to convince him.”
Teeny gave a knowing laugh.
“Little slut.”
I wanted to throw the phone out the truck window. Instead I looked at Puck, all strong and silent next to me. He reached over and gave my leg a squeeze. Just that little touch steadied me.
“I’m doing what it takes,” I told Teeny. “How are you handling things? I would imagine this is kind of crazy . . .”
“Call me when you have the money,” he said, ending the call. So much for pumping him for information. I put down the phone, staring ahead at the yellow stripes splitting the road.
“I take it he didn’t feel like chatting?”
“Nope. He’s all business. Wants his money.”
“It’s not too late,” Puck said.
“Too late for what?”
“To end this,” he replied. “Just walk away. I can still take care of him for you.”