Hellion (Southern Rebels MC)

“Of course, Mom, but I also want to graduate high school, which is why we need to stay until finals are over.”

“You’re a sophomore,” she protested, “You have plenty of time.”

“Junior,” I corrected, inhaling through my nose. “I’m ahead of most kids my age.”

“See? Homeschooling is better for you. They can’t teach you what you can learn by doing and exploring,” she stated, using her standard argument.

“Yes, but we agreed I could have a year of normal school,” I said, growing a little desperate. It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest if she showed up in the middle of classes, the RV packed and ready to roll, and pulled me from school. It wouldn’t be the first time after all.

“I know we did, but the weather is miserable here. We’d be so much more comfortable somewhere else.”

“Friday. Can we just stay until Friday?” I pleaded, my backpack hanging from one arm as I met her eyes. “Please, can you just give me until Friday?”

She cupped my cheeks in the palms of her hands, squeezing lightly. “Of course, buttercup. We’ll leave after school on Friday.”

***

I started the truck, the engine’s roar pulling me out of the past as I fished Officer Noah Breaux’s note from my pocket. “Do we stay or do we go, Nico?” I asked, unfolding the paper as I stared at the scrawled address written in all caps.

17652 BITTERSWEET LANE

“Stay or go,” Nico repeated, flapping his wings. “Stay. Go.”

“Sage advice,” I murmured, reaching for the map on the truck seat. “Now, let’s hope this address existed when this map was printed.” I scanned the street names methodically until I found Bittersweet. “Got it.” I traced the route from my location to the street, easily memorizing it since there were only two turns. “Apparently, he was headed home,” I said aloud, used to talking to Nico, even though he didn’t always answer back.

“Am I crazy?” I asked, shifting gears on the truck as I eased onto the highway.

“Yes,” Nico squawked. “Crazy.”

“Thanks. You really didn’t have to answer,” I told him dryly. The need to leave, to escape, surged through me, and in that brief moment, I could understand why Mom had dragged us around the country. “I should probably just keep driving.”

“Stay,” Nico repeated, scraping his beak across the cage bars. “Stay.”

The turn to Noah’s place came up and before I could change my mind, I flipped on the blinker, slowing down to make the turn. “I’m taking advice from a parrot now,” I whispered to myself, going slow as I looked for Bittersweet Lane. “If that doesn’t make me crazy, then staying at a stranger’s house definitely does.”

It didn’t feel crazy though. Noah Breaux didn’t seem like a stranger. I wasn’t sure if it was because I’d spent two hours listening to a salon full of women gossiping about the poor man, or the fact that even stranded on the side of the road I’d felt perfectly safe with him, but Officer March wasn’t the cause of my nerves.

“What if he doesn’t want anything to do with me?” I asked, voicing aloud the single biggest worry I’d had since I’d been forced to abandon the life I’d built since Mom’s death. “He doesn’t even know I exist.”

At least I didn’t think my father knew of my existence. I’d come to Friendly based on a single conversation with my mom when I was fourteen. A conversation I’d dismissed for years as irrelevant to my life and happiness.

“Exist. Family stays.” Nico’s words echoed in the cab of the truck as I checked the mailboxes searching for Noah’s address.

“He’s the only family I have left,” I murmured, rubbing my arm out of habit. “If Mom was telling the truth, then maybe he’ll help me.”

“Help Nico,” he crowed. “Give Nico crackers.”

I laughed under my breath, not wanting to encourage the little fucker. “When we get settled,” I promised, then let out a snort when I saw the mailbox. It appeared Noah Breaux enjoyed fishing if the giant bass mailbox was any indication.

A one story brick rancher stood to the left as I turned down the driveway, but I steered to the right when I spotted the oversized carport. I did a three point turn in his yard, then backed the travel trailer under the carport.

“Hang tight, Nico,” I said, hopping from the truck.

“Miss you already,” he crooned, tucking his head into his feathered chest, his normal reaction when I left him, whether it was five minutes or ten hours.

“Drama queen,” I muttered, walking down the side of the RV to check the hookups. A whistle escaped me when I saw it. “This is nicer than most parks.” There was water, electricity, and even a sewer hookup. It looked like someone had parked an RV here permanently at one point. “Better than boondocking.” I started hooking everything up, the process old hat for me, but it still brought back the old memories.