Replaced by a man and woman sitting behind the desk at the news station, announcing, “Tonight, you can watch Dan Seagan’s special report about sex trafficking in the Nashville area.”
Pulling my eyes from the TV and sitting up, I reach for the phone next to the bed, dialing the only number I can think of that will lead me to Hope.
“Hello?” my aunt answers on the first ring.
“Aunt Marlene,” I get out through a strangled breath, holding the phone closer to my ear. “Have you seen my mom?”
“Did, but she’s gone now,” she mutters, and I hear her light a cigarette. I’m sure she’s sitting in her recliner, where she always is, with her feet propped up, smoking cigarette after cigarette and watching TV.
“Where’s Hope?” I close my eyes, praying my mom didn’t take her with her.
“Hope’s with me. When are you coming to get her?”
“I’m in Tennessee,” I whimper, not knowing exactly how far away I am from Kentucky.
“I know. Your mama was here when the news came on,” she tells me.
Tears fill my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I refuse to let these people hurt me anymore. I wasn’t surprised my mom told my aunt what happened or that she didn’t care. My mom stopped caring about me when my dad died, when she no longer had to pretend my brother and I mattered to her more than her next high.
“I’m on my way. Please tell Hope I’ll be there soon.”
“I gotta work tomorrow night, so keep that in mind,” she says right before the line goes dead. Setting the phone in its cradle, I rub my eyes.
My family is what most of America would classify as trailer trash. I hated that term growing up, but we were poor and lived in a trailer. There was a time in my life when I was okay with the kids at school calling me that, because I knew I might’ve lived in a trailer and been poor, but at least I had my family. Then, when I was seven, my dad died in a coal mining accident, leaving my older brother and me alone with my mom, who had an addiction to pain pills. Even though she was sick long before we lost my dad, we never suffered because of it. My dad always made sure we had food and clothing. We didn’t have much, but we had each other. After he passed away, we lost everything.
“You’re awake.”
Looking over my shoulder at the open doorway, my gaze connects with Jax’s concerned one. I don’t know what to make of him. I still don’t understand how someone who has just met me could show me more care in just a few hours than the people I have known my whole life ever have.
“I need to get to Hope,” I say, placing my fingers on my throat, which I’m just noticing is dry and scratchy.
“I know, baby. I’m gonna take you,” he says, stepping into the room.
Baby? Why do I like that? Why do I get warm all over every time he calls me that?
“Thank you.” I close my eyes in relief then open them, saying, “I’ll pay you back as soon as I get home.”
“No,” he rumbles, making me jump, which seems to cause his jaw to grind. “I mean that’s not necessary,” he says gently, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans giving me a chance to really look at him.
I wasn’t kidding when I said he’s a giant. His shoulders are so wide I’m pretty sure I could fit twice between them. His hips are lean, his thighs thick, and his legs are long.
His head is covered in a ball cap, drawing attention to his eyes that seem hazel in the dark, and he has an angular jaw, full lips, and an almost perfect nose that has a slight tilt to it. “My mom and dad are here. Mom brought you some clothes if you want to change before we leave,” he informs me, taking a step towards me then stopping and pulling his ball cap off his head, giving me the opportunity to see his dark brown hair for the first time, which is short on the sides and longer on top.