Page 6

But even if I was, there’s no going back now. I’ll just keep moving forward, hope for the best, and make the best decisions I can now that I have the rest of my life ahead of me.

CHAPTER FOUR

MARK

I might actually be insane. That's the only explanation for why I invited a complete stranger to stay with me, even if she is clearly in need of help. I've never done anything like this before, usually more than content to keep to myself and avoid getting involved in other people's problems.

After I had given her my number and address last night, I went to the club with a plan of getting my mind off things for a while, but all I could think about was her. It was annoying as fuck, because I wasn’t smart enough to ask her for her number, so I had no way to get ahold of her otherwise. I ended up leaving the club thirty minutes later after having a drink, suddenly not in the mood for sex anymore.

Seriously, what’s wrong with me?

My phone buzzes with Shane's response to my earlier text explaining the situation: "I don’t even know what to say. Good on you for helping someone in need, but be careful."

I’m not sure if his warning to "be careful" is due to the fact that people in dire circumstances sometimes resort to desperate measures or something else, but I reply, "I will be. She just looked so lost. I don’t know what came over me, but it’s not like I don’t have the space."

"Understood. Keep me updated and let me know if you need anything," Shane texts back.

Setting my phone down, I run a hand through my hair and try to focus. Claire’s been in the guest room for hours now, and while I want to respect her privacy, I also want to make sure she eats something. The thought of her going hungry while staying under my roof doesn't sit well with me. Plus, if she’s living out of her car, I can’t imagine she’s eating as much as she needs to in the first place. But there’s also the chance she might be sleeping right now—I doubt she’s gotten great sleep in that van—so I don’t want to knock on the door on the chance that I wake her.

I may be an asshole by most people’s standards, but I’m not a monster.

It’s a bit early for dinner, but I head to the kitchen anyway, feeling the need to do something to occupy my time. I rummage through the cabinets and fridge trying to decide what I could cook. It’s not often I have to worry about cooking for someone other than myself. I finally decide on pasta with garlic bread. It’s nothing fancy, but as I start cooking, the simplicity of the task calms me. The smell of garlic and butter permeates the apartment, and I hope it’s enough to coax Claire out of hiding.

Sure enough, after twenty minutes, I hear her door open and shut down the hall.

She appears in the doorway a few seconds later, her frame almost ethereal in the dim light. Her blonde hair is damp, andher oversized clothes hang on her small frame like they belong to someone else. That wide-eyed, somewhat fearful expression is still on her face.

"Hey," I say, trying to sound casual despite the awkwardness of the moment. "Are you hungry?"

She nods tentatively, biting her lip, like she’s nervous to admit that she’s hungry.Weird, but whatever.

"Go ahead and have a seat," I say, gesturing to the small round table by the window. "It’s almost ready."

As I plate the food, I can’t help but steal glances at her. She’s young—too young to have that hollow look in her eyes. She stares out the window at the storm enveloping the city and fidgets with the hem of her sleeves. I can’t help but wonder what kind of hell she’s been through to end up here, so young and as skittish as a stray kitten.

"So, how long have you been in Chicago?" I ask as I set a plate in front of her then sit down across from her.

"About three weeks." She picks up her fork but glances up at me, only taking a bite after I’ve done so.

I want to ask where she came from and why she left, but something about the way she’s behaved so far makes me think it would be too serious to tell a stranger, and she’s guarded enough that I doubt she’d tell me anyway. Instead, I go with a safer question.

"So you came here, got a job delivering pizzas, and then what? Got any grand plan, or are you just going with the flow?"

She chews on her bottom lip before she answers. "I hope to find a better job, since this one seems to be more dangerous than I expected it to be… Then, hopefully one day I’ll be able to save up enough money for my own apartment. Maybe go to college one day." A hopeful expression lightens her expression with the last statement.

"So you just plan to live in your car until then?"

The words come out sharper than I intend, and her reaction is instant—she shrinks back slightly and breaks our eye contact. I curse myself internally.Great. Way to sound like an asshole.

"Sorry," I blurt. "I didn’t mean it like that."

She shakes her head. "No, it’s okay, it’s a valid question. But yes, that’s the plan." The tension lingers in the air, neither of us knowing what to say next.

We eat in silence, and guilt sits heavy in my chest. I know what it’s like to scrape by, to wonder how you’re going to make it to the next day, to not have any family to rely on when you need them most. That was most of my childhood, so I know the last thing she needs is someone making her feel worse about it. I don’t know where she came from, but it’s clear that she’s making the best out of a shitty situation.

Clearing my throat a couple minutes later, I try again. "Do you have any questions for me? I want you to feel safe here. I know we didn’t really have time for introductions."

She hesitates with her fork hovering over her plate, then asks, "What do you do for work?"