Neither of us speaks as I hustle her out of the small apartment block and into my car. I make another trip inside for out belongings and throw them into the trunk. I slip our keys through the super’s door, annoyed at having to kiss our security deposit good-bye, but it’s one of those things. Meghan curls up in the front seat of my GTO and promptly falls asleep. I don’t mind because it gives me time to think and figure out where the hell we’re going. Normally, Meghan is the one who makes the decision. Just as I was getting used to a place, I would come home and she would have the map out. Colored dots marking all the places she’d like to go. Sometimes she just liked the name.
In the darkness with the radio playing quietly in the background, I drive, putting more and more distance between us and her scumbag boyfriend and the place we’ve called home for the last six months. The truth is I don’t know what that word means, not really. The place where I grew up wasn’t home, not in the typical sense of the word. Not in a way that means anything. Everywhere we’ve lived since then isn’t home either; I don’t feel a connection with any of those places. Nothing was there for me. The only thing that makes it home is Meghan; wherever she went, I was happy to follow. But lately, I’ve felt maybe we both need more.
I decide the next place we find is going to be our fresh start. This is going to be a do-over, the start of our future. We’ve just been drifting the past two years, but this shit just got real. I don’t want to keep moving every six months, and I’m going to do everything I can to convince Meghan of the same. Maybe she would settle in one place if she met a nice guy who wouldn’t treat her like shit and who actually cared for her, past the obvious sex appeal. No more shady boyfriends because she deserves something better. And as her brother—okay, her younger brother—it is time I was there for her and protected her. Not cause her more problems.
Looking over at my sister sleeping peacefully, I feel a rush of anger toward that douchebag and wish I’d done something worse than hit him on the head with a chair. She has looked after me for as long as I can remember, and now, it’s my turn.
Chapter Two
The sun is rising on the horizon when Meghan stirs, her big blond hair disheveled with strands falling down around her face. Mascara rings her eyes, and most of her makeup has rubbed off, making her look younger. Straightening in her seat, she rubs a hand down her face.
“Where are we?” She squints out the window, watching the scenery passing by the window.
“Damned if I know. I just drove.”
“You look ready to drop. Pull over the next chance you get,” she instructs in a soft voice, and I shoot her a sideways glance.
“You okay?” I ask, in a gruff voice.
Meghan offers me a weak smile before refocusing her attention out the window. “Yeah.” I hear the wobble in her voice but don’t press her.
After another thirty minutes, we reach a town and drive slowly along the main street until Meghan shouts, “Stop here,” and points at a diner just in front of us. I pull onto the sidewalk, and I have barely turned off the engine before she is out the door and reaching into the trunk for her vanity case. My muscles ache from sitting in the same position for hours, and I unfold myself from behind the steering wheel and stretch out with a loud groan.
Meghan has already started toward the door of the diner with her vanity case swinging from her arm. I’m left with no option but to follow her. Plus, I’m starving. When I enter the diner, Meghan is nowhere to be seen; no doubt, she has scurried away to the bathroom to sort her hair and makeup out. I slide into a booth and slouch over the table, exhaustion from having driven all night finally creeping up on me.
“What can I get you to drink?” An older waitress approaches.
“Coffee please, two.” I order for Meghan and the waitress hands over a menu. Her smile widens and eyes soften the longer she looks at me. I’m sure I look like crap with disheveled hair, bloodshot eyes. Once she leaves, I pull on my black hoodie and wait for my sister, who takes her sweet time.
Finally, she returns, not looking at all like she's spent the night in a car. Now with full makeup on, her hair has been combed and pulled back into a high ponytail. A scarf tied around her neck hides the start of the bruises on her neck. She slips into the seat opposite and flashes the waitress a bright smile when she sets down our coffee. Something catches Meghan's eye and I watch as her gaze drifts past me to focus over my shoulder. When I twist in my seat, I see a tall guy sitting at the counter with a couple of his friends. But he’s staring straight at her with a bright smile on his face, clearly checking her out. With a muffled groan, I turn back to look at Meghan, taking in her lowered lashes and coy smile.