Page 21 of After All The Wreckage

“He went to D.C. That’s his last pinged location,” I said, waving the phone at them.

“I was going to ask if you’d tried to find him that way,” Audrey said, worry creasing her brows.

“His phone is offline.” My voice was thick with emotion.

“Try not to think the worst,” River said. “His battery might just be out of juice.”

“But where the hell has he been staying? If he’s been on the street…” God, I couldn’t think about it. Demi had lived on the street multiple times. Or in her car. Anywhere the mood took her, flitting around as if the norms of society didn’t matter. She’d sleep in people’s backyards, sometimes even people’s she didn’t know. She went to wild parties and stayed with strangers. She said life was too short to stay in one place for too long.

Jesus, was Monte going to end up like her?

No. He wouldn’t. He absolutely wouldn’t. He hated what Demi had done to us. To Ivy. There was no way he’d do the same thing.

“I’ll stay here with Ivy,” Audrey said. “You two go. See if you can find him.”

It didn’t escape me that she hadn’t suggested calling the cops. Maybe it was because she and River had a bad history with law enforcement. They’d been roughed up a time or two simply because of the way they looked. As if they were part of the biker gang mixed up with drugs and chop shops who frequented Tall Mike’s. Or maybe she’d simply had the same thought I’d had—that if we called the cops, they’d see me as unfit and take my family from me.

Hell, maybe I was unfit.

But I wouldn’t give my siblings up. I’d die first. I’d run for the border before I’d let anyone take them from me. I’d promised myself Monte and Ivy would always have one person who’d be there for them, no matter what. A constant in their lives.

Except I hadn’t been.

I’d let Monte down, and he’d gone to take care of things on his own.

If something happened to him, I’d never be able to forgive myself.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Rory

GOING WHERE THE WIND BLOWS

Performed by Mr. Big

I wokeon Sunday morning with the spiral of Mom’s notebook embedded in my cheek. What time had I fallen asleep? I rubbed a hand over my face, my gaze landing on the time in the bottom corner of the computer screen. It was after eleven. Shit. I’d actually slept. In a horrible position that made me groan as I moved, but I’d slept.

When I’d first gotten home from the bar, I’d been wired. Thoughts of Gage, the feel of his touch, and the way he’d stepped up to defend me had all whirled in my brain. No one had ever done anything like that for me. Not Dad. Not Mom. I’d always been solo on the job. So, Gage shoving the guy up against the wall for touching me had tugged at an unspeakable longing deep inside me.

With my brain refusing to turn off, I’d picked up where I’d left off before Shay’s call, searching websites for the emblemin Mom’s planner. I’d found three company logos that looked like the drawing. One was for a literary agency in Los Angeles, another was for a Montana ranch, and the last was for a weather-related company in Colorado. None of them were anywhere near D.C., and none of them had any military contracts tying them to the Space Force.

I stretched, easing my stiff muscles and rubbing the mark on my face. My stomach growled. I needed to get to the station to grill Muloney. But first, I had to get some food in me, visit Mom, and apologize to Shay for leaving her.

When I got out of the shower and entered the kitchen, Nan was placing plates with cheese omelets on the table. It was quiet as we ate, but instead of the sense of comfort I normally had around Nan, the air was tense and heavy. I was just about to ask what was wrong, when she pushed her half-eaten food away and said, “I think we need to consider the doctors’ advice.”

My fork dropped, staring at her in torn silence.

She looked at me and then down, before glancing back up. “Your mother wouldn’t want you living this way. She’d be upset you sold the condo and furious you’re giving up on your dreams to run the agency. She wouldn’t want us going bankrupt to keep her body breathing when her soul is already gone.”

“She’s there!” I growled, frustrated that I was fighting tears once again.

“Is she? I look at that body lying in a bed, withering away, shrinking, becoming smaller and smaller.” Her voice cracked. “And that isn’t my daughter. That isn’t my vivacious, energetic, full-of-life girl. That’s a shell that no longer holds everything I loved about her.”

“There are studies, Nan. They show people recovering after a year.” My voice was thick with emotions just like hers.

“We’re almost at the year mark, Rory,” she said sadly. God… part of me couldn’t believe it had been that long. “I didn’t tell you, but they’re raising their rates.”

“Who?” My brow furrowed. “Shady Lane?”