Page 126 of Nowhere Good

“Why?” She didn’t deserve his forgiveness. His goodness.

“You know why.” He kissed her hands and breathed her in. “I believed you.”

“You’re the only one who ever has.”

Silence stretched between them, but it was comfortable. Seth scooted the chair closer to the bed. “How are you feeling with all this, by the way?”

The withdrawal, he probably meant. It hadn’t been fun. “Sick. But I’m okay right now. They have me on something.”

“I’m scared to ask, but… the first time I shot up, my life changed forever. There’s been something missing from me ever since; I think there always will be. It’s not a good feeling.”

Claire nodded, understanding what he was asking her. “I don’t feel that way.”

He let out a breath. “I’m glad.”

“There were these moments where everything felt so nice, it was surreal, but it also made me so, so sick. I could hardly even remember who I was. I didn’t feel like a person anymore. I was like a… substance. Either I was gold or I was dirt. I don’t wanna feel that way ever again, the good or the bad.”

“I pray you never will. And you don’t have to go back to the farm for anything. If there’s something you want there, you let us know and we’ll deal with it.”

“There’s not. My sister and I already talked about it—we’re gonna sell it. The bar too. Till then, I have a bit of cash saved up, so after they let me go, I’m gonna pack up the trailer and leave town as soon as possible.”

“Where will you go?”

He looked at her intensely, maybe with a bit of hope. She averted her gaze, embarrassed. Hopefully, this wouldn’t come off as too presumptuous. “I did used to think about Kansas City sometimes…”

He grinned in relief. “I can help you. There are lots of apartment buildings near where I live.”

So he did want to keep seeing her. She was grateful, but at the same time, something else had been weighing on her during her moments of lucidity. She’d had time to think about what might come next.

“Seth, I don’t know if I can give you what you need. Honestly, I’m scared. I’ve never had to live on my own before. I don’t know what the world outside’s really like, but I think I have to face it. I have to know how to stand on my own two feet. And I’m scared it won’t be enough for you.”

There was no hurt on his face, only understanding. “I don’t expect anything from you. I just want to be in your life, however that might look. We don’t have to go fast. If you want me there, I’ll be there. If you don’t, I’ll go.”

She’d always want him there; maybe that was the problem. Her dad had made her into someone who romanticized the idea of being alone in the world while simultaneously fearing it, not understanding it. If she let Seth become her only crutch, she might never grow.

But if they met somewhere in the middle, maybe she could do both. She could have him and still get to know herself. He’d give her that space; she trusted him to do it.

So, with what little strength she had, she hooked her hands to the back of his neck and kissed him. He kissed her back, letting out a sigh, like all the horrors they’d endured evanesced the moment their lips met. Her heart fluttered freely—with no guilt, no fear of the consequences.

“Well.” She grinned and pulled away. “I would really like to see you lots. Maybe my own apartment in your neighborhood wouldn’t be so bad.”

His eyes crinkled when he smiled, all dimples. He caressed her cheek with his thumb. “Wouldn’t be so bad at all.”

EPILOGUE

A prison in the middle of nowhere, Missouri was a perfect place for Ron Dyer to rot.

Seth followed behind the guard, their shoes echoing down the narrow hall. Some of the state’s worst offenders got to spend their days in a seventy-square-foot box here, forced to stare at a wall and think about what choices they’d made to land themselves in this position. Although he doubted remorse was on the menu for most killers here. Between courtyard fights and prison slop, they probably only ever felt sorry for themselves.

While Ron never failed to throw curveballs, the last thing Seth expected was for him to waive his right to a trial. He’d pled guilty, which landed him in this lovely place over a month after his arrest. A surprisingly speedy process.

Claire hadn’t been at the sentencing, but Seth certainly was. He’d had front row seats, smiled and waved as Ron marched off in his jumpsuit and cuffs. And of course, Ron laughed, because he always laughed.

Marty got off lucky with a seven-year prison sentence at a different facility, so he might actually have a chance to turn his life around and be there for his son. He’d led the investigators to a warehouse where he, Ron, and Dillon stored most of their heroin supply. Although Marty refused to name who else they were in business with, the FBI and DEA found out anyway. Ballistics on a weapon found in Ron’s house linked to an unsolved, gang-related shooting in Illinois. And another in Iowa. Which led them to a biker gang called the Celtic Saints who Ron, Marty, and Dillon had been runners for. Ron was their trusted ally. And apparently an executioner.

The guard stopped in front of a heavy steel door. “Right in here. You know the rules—no touching the glass.”

“Got it.” Seth held a briefcase in one hand and tried not to scratch at his face with the other. He’d been letting his facial hair grow in because Claire liked it, but it was taking some getting used to. Maybe it was time, anyway. He had to admit, he liked that it made him look older.