Chapter Echoes of You: Prologue

The numbers and letters on the textbook page swam. I blinked, trying to right the twisting of the slanted scrawl. Algebra was confusing enough; I didn’t need my blurred vision adding to it.

I reached for my Coke as I glanced at the clock. One thirty-three. The neon glow of each number taunted me. I’d told myself I’d get to bed earlier this week. That I’d finally manage at least six hours of sleep each night.

A laugh bubbled up, but it was the hysterical kind. Getting six hours would be a dream. Between my after-school job, volunteering at the humane society, homework, and nightmares, I was lucky if I pieced together four.

I leaned back in my chair, trying to loosen the muscles that had tightened over the course of the past few hours. It didn’t help much.

Heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway. On instinct, my body braced. I closed my eyes, breathing deeply.

The door to my bedroom flew open, crashing into the wall. If the door had been made of anything but the cheapest possible material, it likely would’ve put a hole in the drywall.

My mom’s form filled the space as she leaned against the doorframe for balance. Her face was an unhealthy red color, which was nature’s way of warning me of things to come. I saw a spill of some sort down the front of her low-cut halter top—beer or, more likely, something harder.

The scent of stale alcohol wafted into my room, and my fingers itched to light the candle sitting on my desk. To spritz some of the room spray resting on my nightstand. Anything to clear away smell.

I fought the shudder that ran through me and met my mother’s stare. I didn’t bother saying anything, I just waited. My only hope was biding my time and trying to decipher exactly what kind of drunken mood she was in.

My mom leaned forward, her lip curling in a sneer. “What’re you doing?”

Her words bunched together, sounding like one instead of an entire sentence as she pushed her bleached-blond hair out of her face.

I swallowed, staying completely still as if that would somehow protect me. As if my mom were a grizzly and I needed to play possum. “I’m just finishing up my homework.”

“You think your grades are gonna save you? That you’ll get out of here?” Mom scoffed.

That familiar ache flared to life in my chest. The deep longing for…more. For parents that cared about me. For a true family. For someone who loved me. For escape.

I didn’t give my mom a single word. It wouldn’t matter whether I defended myself or played down my actions. She would still find a reason to hate me.

Her eyes narrowed on me. “You think you’re better than me?”

“No.” Because her blood ran through my veins. Her blood and .

“Yes, you do. Ever since you started hanging out with that Hartley boy, you think you’re fancy like they are. But you’re not. You’re trash. Nothing. The only reason they pay you any mind is because they pity you.”

Pain lanced my chest.

I chanted the word over and over. I wouldn’t let her in. I wouldn’t let her twist my mind.

“You’re nothing!” Spittle flew from my mother’s mouth. “You’re worse than nothing. You ruin everything!”

A broken sob flew from her throat, and she collapsed in on herself. My throat tightened, but I pushed back from my desk and rose. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

I reached out to take her arm, but she ripped it from my grasp. “Don’t touch me! You took him from me,” she wailed.

I hadn’t done anything. I’d hidden every bruise and cracked rib. But he’d gone too far. And the police had stepped in.

I’d never felt more relief than I did when I’d lain in that hospital bed. When the chief told me that my father was going away and that I would be safe.

Mom’s hysteria picked up a notch, forcing me back to the present. “Let me help you. Please.”

“I hate you,” she hissed.

“I know.” I took her arm again, guiding her into the hall of our doublewide and toward her room. The weight of those words was burned into me. The knowledge of her hate. Of living with it every single day.

I flicked on the light in my mom’s bedroom and winced. I cleaned the trailer from top to bottom every Sunday, but it had been a while since I’d been able to sneak into her room. She was home too often. So, I shouldn’t have been surprised that it looked as if a tornado had swept through.

My nose wrinkled. That same stale-alcohol scent was here, but something else, too. Vomit.

I breathed through my mouth and guided my mom to her bed. The tears still came, but her words were indiscernible now. That was a mercy. It didn’t change my knowledge of her hatred, but at least I didn’t have to hear it over and over.

I pulled back the covers, and Mom plopped down, mumbling something. I bent and grabbed one of her boots. With one swift tug, it came off. I moved to the other and struggled to pull it free. Working the boot back and forth, it finally gave way.

“Lie back,” I said, my voice soft.

She obeyed.

Lifting Mom’s legs, I positioned her in the bed and pulled the blankets over her. By the time I got her situated, soft snores filled the air.

The sound brought a margin of relief but not enough. Because waiting for Mom to wake up from one of these episodes was like playing Russian roulette. She’d be remorseful at times. And while she’d never actually apologize, she’d tell me that I looked nice and give me a couple of dollars for school lunch. Other times, she woke in a fury that had me running for cover.

Everything inside me clenched at the thought, my body holding on to a million different memories, and none of them pleasant. But it spurred me into motion.

I headed down the hall and into the living room. The door to the trailer was open, and the contents of my mom’s purse were dumped on the floor. She hadn’t wasted a second getting to me so she could tell me just how much she despised me.

Grabbing her bag, I pawed through the contents until my fingers closed around jagged metal. Taking these risks was stupid. I could end up with a mark on my record. Or worse, be placed in foster care. I knew how rough that second option could be, and there was no way I was going back.

But I couldn’t resist. Because when the worst happened, there was only one place I wanted to be.

I’d just pray that I didn’t get pulled over on my way. At least my fifteenth birthday had brought with it my learner’s permit. It wasn’t like I needed driver’s ed. My mom had made me drive her home from bars since I was thirteen.

I stepped out into the cool night air, pulling the door closed behind me. I locked it and headed to the Plymouth that was on its last legs. I didn’t want to think about what would happen when it went. It was my only saving grace. My one tool of escape.

Sliding behind the wheel, I pulled the seat up and started the engine. It took two tries for it to catch, but I breathed a sigh of relief when it finally did. I backed out of our gravel drive and onto the paved road.

Our trailer might have seen better days, but the land around it was beautiful. It backed up against thick woods that had been my refuge more times than I could count. I rolled down the window and let the pine-scented air wrap around me as I drove.

The road bent and curved as it rose into the mountains. The moon was close to full, and I got the occasional glimpse of the lake below. Everything about the landscape reminded me that there were forces out there more powerful than me, my parents, or of us.

A few good hours from Seattle, Cedar Ridge had that feeling of being removed from the rest of the world that I’d always loved. As much as I wanted out of my house and to go to college and get a degree, I loved this town. It had always felt like home in a way that wasn’t entirely logical.

As I slowed at an imposing gate, I wondered if that feeling was because of this place. Because of the people who lived here. Because of Nash.

Nash and I had become attached at the hip in kindergarten, and I’d spent more time here than at my house. It hadn’t mattered that I was a even if some of his other friends made fun of him for it.

We were two peas in a pod. Best friends from the moment I tripped a bully about to try to take Nash down. When that same bully came after me the next day, Nash had punched him in the nose. His parents had not been pleased that their five-year-old got suspended, but once he’d explained the circumstances, his father had given him a pat on the back and took him for an ice cream sundae. The bully never bothered us again.

I stared at the name burned into the beam above the entrance as I punched in the code I knew by heart. As the gate opened, I flicked off my headlights. I didn’t want to chance waking Mr. and Mrs. Hartley.

They were worriers. If they knew how often I snuck onto their property, they’d know that things weren’t okay in my world. And they’d try to fix it. But doing that had the potential to make it so much worse.

I slowly guided the car up the winding drive and pulled to a stop on the far side of the house. Shutting off the engine, I climbed out. I hadn’t bothered with a bag. I’d be gone before the sun rose anyway. But I’d get a few hours of peace first.

Rounding the side of the house, I smiled at the glint of silver in the moonlight. I still remembered when Nash had ordered the fire emergency ladder from some random website. He’d had to convince his oldest brother, Lawson, to buy it since he hadn’t had a credit card at the time.

He lowered it out his window every night, just in case. My heart squeezed at the tenderness of the action. And the fact that when I couldn’t count on almost anything in my life, I count on this. On .

I moved to the ladder and wrapped my hands around the rung. A breeze picked up, and I swallowed hard. I didn’t love heights, especially while hanging off the side of a building, but I’d do anything to get to Nash.

I could almost hear his voice in my head.

Doing as he instructed, I climbed. When I reached the top, I tapped lightly on the windowpane. In a matter of seconds, it slid up, and a groggy Nash pulled me inside.

Something about his disheveled appearance was comforting. His blond hair stuck out in every direction as if he’d stuck his finger in a light socket. And his green eyes were just a bit bleary.

Nash slept like the dead. His three older brothers and younger sister teased him about it mercilessly. Yet, somehow, he always heard me when I tapped on his window.

Nash’s arms came around me, pulling me into a hug. His grip was tighter these days. Maybe it was all the training he did for football. Or working on the volunteer search and rescue team with the rest of his family. But his body was changing. And I couldn’t help but notice.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gruff.

I nodded against his shoulder. “She was just wasted. I needed out of there.”

Nash’s arms tensed, and he pulled back. “She didn’t—?”

“No,” I cut him off quickly. “She just gets mean.”

A bit of the tension slid out of Nash, but I didn’t miss the shadows swirling in his green eyes. Shadows the incident with my father had put there. Guilt swirled in my belly. “I’m fine, really. I just…”

I wasn’t sure how to explain the pull I felt. “I just needed you.”

Nash’s green eyes sparked and blazed as he pulled me into his arms again. “I’ve got you, Mads.”

His words burned through me, bringing the best kind of pain.

We stood there for a few moments, and I let myself soak in the feel of Nash. I never felt safer than when I was in his arms. He finally released me, and I felt the loss of him instantly.

Nash guided me toward his bed and then motioned me in. Toeing off my shoes, I climbed under the covers. His sheets were so much softer than mine, his comforter thick and heavy.

Nash slid in next to me, his arms going around me and pulling me against him. “I wish you could just move in with us.”

“It doesn’t work like that, and you know it.”

“Maybe my parents could get approved as a foster placement—”

“And we would still have no control over where I got placed.”

After the incident with my dad, I’d been placed in a group home a town away. I shuddered at the memory.

Nash pulled me tighter against his body, my tank top riding up a bit with the movement. It was my favorite feeling in the world, being engulfed by Nash—his comfort, his protection, his care.

His fingers tangled in my hair. “What did she say this time?”

I tensed.

“That bad?”

I swallowed the sting in my throat. “That she hates me. That I ruined everything for her. Nothing new.”

A low growl rumbled in Nash’s throat. “She never deserved you. God, I’d like to—”

“Don’t.” I squeezed the arm he had wrapped around me. “She’s not worth it.”

Nash pressed his lips to my hair. “You’re not alone. You have me. Always.”

I let those words sink into my skin, reveling in the feel of them. But if I’d known they wouldn’t always be true, I would’ve held on to them a little tighter.