Worth It (Forbidden Men, #6)(5)

My eyes flared. If you couldn’t even buy a meal with twenty dollars these days, I wasn’t prepared for life on the outside at all.

And there went the acid in my stomach again.

“Come on. I know you need it. I’m the one who pulled your possessions. You have exactly eleven cents in your pocket.”

I swallowed and slowly reached for the cash. “Okay, thanks.”

He glanced away. “Don’t get too excited, it’s not much. I wish I could’ve helped more. You’re a good kid. You never belonged here.”

My throat closed as I studied him. I was going to miss him. He’d been the only source of nice I’d had in the last six years, and I was probably never going to see him again. I opened my mouth to thank him, to say good-bye, to...I don’t know. But nothing I thought to say sounded even remotely effective enough to convey what I really meant.

“I...” I glanced down at the money. “It’s more than I expected.”

Shit, that sounded awful.

The guard laughed softly and nudged my shoulder. “Go on. Your ride’s waiting.”

I glanced at the taxi, then back to him. “Good-bye.”

He nodded. “Stay out of trouble. I don’t want to see you back here again.”

“Yeah.” He didn’t have to worry about that. I sent him a small wave before half walking, half jogging toward my one and only state-funded cab ride to a destination of my choice.

My clothes stretched and pinched as I moved. I’d grown enough that the hem of my pants fell well above my ankles and my shirt was so tight the seams groaned, protesting each step.

The last time I’d worn this very outfit, I was being arrested for raping Abbott Bainbridge’s only daughter.

“Where to?” the cabbie asked as I opened the back door and slid in.

I sat there, staring at him. Where to?

Why had I not thought of an answer for that question until this very moment? All morning, ever since I’d been informed I was being let go, I’d only been concerned about getting free; I hadn’t even thought about what I’d do when I actually was free.

I just knew what I wasn’t going to do.

I wasn’t going to find her.

“Well?”

“Uh...” I drew in a breath and rattled off my address, though I had no idea what to expect once I actually reached it. No one in my family had come to visit me or contact me in any way, not once in seventy-two months. They probably had no idea I was out.

My mom would be happy to see me, I was eighty percent certain of that. My dad would pitch a shit fit and most likely slap me around a little, then either put me to work or tell me to get lost. My brothers and sister...hell, most of them probably wouldn’t even recognize me.

But I didn’t recognize myself, so they wouldn’t be alone.

As we approached the city, I stared out the window, identifying some landmarks, while other landmarks...not so much. Even the things I did remember looked different. Felt different. I tensed when I realized what was coming next.

The Bainbridge estate. A long drive lined with trees that ended at a stone-set circle drive and introduced the snowy white mansion of Abbott Maxwell Bainbridge.

When the tree line broke away, there sat his property, as proud and pretentious as ever. I sucked in a breath, not expecting the flood of longing, regret, heartache.

It tore through me, shredding open my chest and slashing into my guts. The breath-stealing sensation lingered as his house just as abruptly disappeared and more trees sprang up.

My trees.

I clenched my hands around my knees and closed my eyes, ignoring the ache in my chest. My heart banged against each memory like a battering ram, bruising every tender image that flashed through my mind.

If only...

No. There were no what ifs. No should haves. No if onlys. This was life and how it had happened. I had to let go of the past and continue from here. Without her.

The taxicab began to slow. I scraped my top teeth over my bottom lip to combat the nerves. I actually ached to see my mother, all my siblings, even our stupid worn-down shack of a home. I couldn’t wait to—

The car pulled into a drive.

I blinked.

“What’s this?” I said, pointing out the window, sounding accusative, feeling accusative, as I scowled at the driver.

But my home, the place where I’d lived for the first eighteen years of my life, was...it was gone. A convenience store gas station sat in its place.

“It’s your stop.” The cabbie put the car into park and glanced back at me nervously.

I stared at him with a slight frown before turning back to gape out the window. “But...”

This was the right location, it had to be. My woods were right there, we’d just passed the Bainbridge place, there was nowhere else the house could be. “There should be a small faded blue cottage here.” With half a dozen broken cars in the yard that had grass and small trees growing up through their engines, along with a haphazard metal fence to keep in our hound dog, Tidbits.

The cabbie sent me an odd look. “How long you been locked up, kid?”

Stupefied, I glanced back at the gas station.

“Too long,” I murmured, my shoulders falling as my hope deflated.

“Look, you can’t sit here all day,” He shifted in his seat, probably uncomfortable and beyond ready to get the ex-con out of his car. “This is the address you gave me.”