Page 21 of Break Out the Girl

But he draws back then rests his forehead against mine. Our breaths mingle and my fingers still clutch the back of his neck.

“I won’t lie to you, ever. I want nothing between us.”

The words are a balm on my over-stretched nervous system. I press myself harder into his body and he lets out an animalistic noise. “Fuck, babe.”

A crash in the kitchen has us pulling apart. Taliesin instantly goes on high alert.

I relax when I hear London’s slightly crazed giggle.

He rushes up to us. “Well?”

As he twirls, I take in the floral cardigan and well worn jeggings. “Nice fit.”

“Right, and slippers too!”

“You look like an escaped mental patient,” François snaps. He has the blue sweatshirt over his prison jumpsuit and isn’t looking at London, he’s looking at me.

In fact I would wager his eyes are fixed on my slightly kiss-swollen lips and the chafe of stubble on my cheek.

Rex tosses a pair of oversized, grease-stained denim jeans and a thick plaid flannel shirt at Tally. “Best I’ve got for your size, Bevan. And a baseball cap to cover the face.”

Tally catches them, pulling the flannel over his broad shoulders.

Finally, Rex turns to me, holding out a faded yellow rain slicker, a pale blue synthetic sweater and another pair of jeggings, the elastic of which is held together by a safety pin.

“Sorry,” Rex mutters, looking a little embarrassed. “Gran’s wardrobe is a bit limited. But it’ll keep the rain off, and nobody’ll look twice.”

“It’s perfect, Rex,” I say, genuinely meaning it. I take the clothes and duck into the small bathroom to change.

When I pull the baggy clothes on and cinch the safety pin tight, I look in the cracked mirror. Automatically, my heels click together, my posture straightening into alignment. The girl in the glass is still me, but all the fake Drakeward gloss has been stripped away.

I like it.

François looks up as I re-enter the kitchen. “Charming, chérie. Peasant-chic.”

“Shut it, de Vaux,” I retort, though there’s no real bite to it.

Rex tosses a plastic grocery bag onto the counter. “I packed some bread, carrots, tins of beans.” London squeals at the word ‘beans’. “I don’t mean to be rude, but it’d be great to get rid of you all. Some of the folk in this park would sell their mother for a pack of cigs, let alone a hundred grand.”

Tally pulls the brim of his cap down. “Yeah, let’s move. François can sit up front for this stretch, seeing as he wasn’t featured on TV.”

We turn to leave, but Rex is frowning. “What about the other one they mentioned? Im-something? Where’s he?”

All of us freeze, then Tally slowly turns to Rex. “He didn’t make it.”

Rex shakes his head. “Sorry for your loss.”

Me too, Rex. Me too.

I look from him back to the little old woman in the armchair. She’s still worrying at the blanket, completely oblivious to the fact that her wardrobe just helped disguise the most wanted fugitives in the country.

“Thank you,” I whisper softly to her.

She gives a vague smile to the empty air above my head.

We slip out of the trailer and back into the cold, rusted bed of the truck, the heavy canvas tarp falling over us once more as the engine roars to life.

Hold on, Sky.