Shift

I can’t help the laugh that spills out of my mouth when he says that last part.

“I do, Dustin. Truly.”

“Fuck this,” I say, sliding from the booth. He steps out before I can stand, though, grabbing my arm, wrapping his fingers around my wrist. The envelope of cash falls to the booth behind me and we both glance at it before staring each other in the eyes.

I’m so goddamn hurt right now. And I’m angry. But I can’t take that out on him. I just can’t, though my instincts want me to be violent, to throw this fucking whale book in his face. To hotwire his truck and peel out of here. What good would that do, though? I’d be just like Colt. I’d really be buried alive then, more than I am right now.

“You want me to leave Ha

His eyes flash with the truth and he nods, just once.

“That’s the deal, Dustin. I can get you out of here, out of this.” He leans his head to the side as if that signals the trap I’m in with Colt and the law. “But you’ve gotta leave my baby girl alone. You’ll destroy her, Dustin. The target you’ve got on you is so hot, so big. It’s not only you at risk anymore, and I can’t . . . I can’t . . .”

He runs the side of his palm under his tearing eyes as he sniffs. I relax my muscles and he loosens his grip, letting me slide back into the booth. I pull the envelope back into my hands, and I swear it burns my skin to touch. It feels dirty.

“What about the DEA or whatever? Aren’t they going to want to know where I am?” I can’t believe I’m considering this.

Mr. Judge leans to one side and pulls a small folded paper from his pocket, opening it and holding it out for me to take. There’s a phone number jotted in pencil. I don’t recognize the area code.

“Your Uncle Jeff, he’s in Oklahoma. I’ll take care of the rest, represent you and make sure the right people know you aren’t ru

“It sure feels like I’m in trouble,” I respond.

I refold the paper and slip it into the pocket of my jeans. I’ve never met my uncle, or at least not when I was old enough to form a memory of it. Why would some man who worked really hard to put miles between him and his sister want anything to do with me?

“Two weeks. When I’m eighteen?” I reiterate. I meet his eyes briefly and he nods.

The silent agreement sits heavy at the table between us, and long minutes pass.

“You can’t tell Ha

“I understand,” I say. And as angry as I am, at her father, mine—the world—he’s right. Ha