Saving Landon Part 35

Steven was going to be seriously p.i.s.sed.

16.

Angel Trent drove like a maniac, whipping between the few cars along the Interstate and keeping us over eighty miles per hour the entire way. The jeep felt like it was going to rattle apart as we soared along.

With one hand firmly on the steering wheel and another clasped around my thigh, his eyes were fiercely locked to the road.

"We should slow down," I warned him.

I could already feel the tension building.

"No," he told me, a hint of his arrogance s.h.i.+fting back into his voice. "I know what I'm doing."

"You're driving like a crazy person," I pleaded. "They're not going to leave without us, right? Just...please, please slow it down. For me."

He coldly turned to regard me for a moment, but then visibly softened. "You haven't met my band manager...the guy's a complete p.r.i.c.k. He all but has it out for me. Thinks I'm a hotheaded, egotistical jerk."

"Are you?" I asked, trying to swallow the mounting pit in my throat. I could feel anxiety begin to take its hold.

"Of course I f.u.c.king am," Trent grinned. "But our manager is paid to handle that. If he can't then, well, tough s.h.i.+t."

I struggled to nod.

"Listen, I don't think I can stress too much how little time we have here, so I'm going to need you to be in-and-out when we arrive," he reiterated. "We don't really have the time to hang around, alright? If you need to say some goodbye's you can do it by phone once we're on the road."

"Trent," I croaked weakly.

"You run in, take care of what you've got to and lets get out of here."

I was getting tunnel vision now.

Please, not now.

Be strong.

Be brave.

Trent was saying something else, but I couldn't hear him.

I focused on the first thing to jump out at me the logo on the glove compartment. I made it my core, my stone, mentally latching onto it with all of my strength.

It's okay, I thought to myself.

Just keep it all together.

You'll be so happy if you just hold on.

He's taking you away from here.

His voice came through again. He sounded urgent. I wondered what the matter was.

I faintly felt something around my face. I was being tugged away.

No! My stone! I need it!

I panicked, trying to flail.

Trying to tug at what was holding me.

My fingers clawed wildly at my face.

"...Down, Angel! Calm down!"

I paused, feeling my chest heave over and over. I realized that I was holding his hand rather, that Trent was holding my chin in his fingers, his eyes locked onto mine, and that my fingers were trying to pry him free from me.

We weren't moving.

"Angel, what's wrong? What is it?"

"I...I just...so fast...I can't..."

"Angel, settle down...we've stopped."

I focused on that, pus.h.i.+ng down the crippling anxiety that had infiltrated my mind. I clamped my eyes shut and bit down on my lip, concentrating on our immobile position.

A car rocketed past, and the jeep swayed slightly. I almost leapt back into gripping terror, but Trent was pulling me close, stroking my hair.

"Look, it's okay, Angel, everything's okay...it's all fine now. I'm here."

I fought back a sob.

Be brave, Angel.

"Are you...can you tell me what's going on?" He asked quietly.

I shook my head.

No. He can't know.

He can't know that I'm a freak.

"Okay," Trent whispered, allowing me to slide back into place. "I know the jeep rattling like that must have been scary. We'll just have to deal with my manager when we see him."

I nodded aloofly.

My stone, I thought, looking at the logo on the glove compartment again. My stone's back.

We rode in silence for the rest of the trip, never going higher than sixty miles per hour. After about forty minutes, we arrived at the Riverton Bar, and I extracted myself from the jeep and let myself in through the back door.

"We're going to be running late," Trent reminded me. "Do you need me to give you a hand?"

I shook my head. "I'll be quick, I promise."

"Okay," he nodded. "Once we leave, we're not coming back anytime soon. If you can't carry it, leave it. Clothes, books, just leave it all. I'll take care of anything you need."

"Ok," I answered, rus.h.i.+ng inside.

I knew I didn't need much.

A moment later my hands descended upon my backpack, and I quickly checked through the contents.

I liked to call it my Breakaway Bag. A st.u.r.dy, waterproof backpack, it contained everything that I needed to scamper off under the moonlight. I checked for a few discreet pockets social security card, state ID, s.h.i.+t like that and then did a very brisk inventory of the rest.

Towels.

A few changes of clothes.

Extra socks and underwear.

Pads and tampons.

Cheap first-aid kit.

Throw blanket.

Folding knife.

Taser.

Yeah, I was golden.

I had just enough room to shove in a couple of small items of some sentimental value a birthday card that Old Greg had given me when I realized that I was abandoning him.

He'd done so much for me.

He'd never know what happened.

I s.n.a.t.c.hed one of my old notebooks back out of the trash, tracking down the only writing implement I could find a thick permanent marker. Hastily, I scribbled a clumsy note for him: Old Greg, Thank you for everything, from the bottom of my heart. I'm going on a little adventure and I might not be coming back. I'll call and tell you all about it...

I'll never forget you, and I wish you the best.

Angel I pinned the note up above my cot, grabbed the trash bag, slung on the Breakaway Bag, and locked up on my way back out.

He'd be here in a few hours probably. That was his routine on the weekends, after all. Luckily, I didn't work tonight either, so he had time to find someone to replace me.

I hoped, at any rate.

After turning the key in the lock for the last time, I realized that I didn't know what to do with it. Thinking quickly, I slipped it beneath an easy chair by the door.

Hopping back into the jeep with Trent, I avoided his glance. I knew he'd be mad that I took so long.

"No second thoughts?"

I looked back up at him.

He wasn't furious.

He was pleased.

"I'm ready."

"Good," he smiled, twisting the key in the ignition.

His hand clasped onto my thigh as we kicked out gravel from beneath the tire. My hand rested upon his, enjoying his warmth, his pressure, and his companions.h.i.+p.

I felt like I was where I needed to be.

I felt like, just this once, I belonged.

17.

Trent It was well past daybreak by the time we finally pulled up behind the RipFest venue, parking with the other rental cars. It appeared that half the busses had already left, eager to make distance on the day.

Predictably, Steven flew out from my tour bus as soon as we were within earshot. With his trademarked hands in the air routine, he was even more livid than before.

"Alright, you dumb f.u.c.k, you and I are gonna have some words," my manager angrily declared. "And without the company of your dumb b.i.t.c.h here." He turned to her. "Babe, show's over. Your sweetheart's getting back to work now, bye."

I poked a firm, commanding finger into his chest, and let my anger be known.

"If you ever call her a 'dumb b.i.t.c.h' again, I will shatter your bones under one of these tires," I practically spat at him.

He didn't back down.

"Cut the s.h.i.+t, a.s.s-wipe. We were supposed to be on the road over an hour ago, right? Why the f.u.c.k ain't you picking up your G.o.dd.a.m.n phone?"

"I forgot my phone," I answered unapologetically.