Born To Die by Lisa Jackson

she’d cut class. But she had never let her grades drop, had never jeopardized her future.
    And that was what Bianca was doing.
    Throwing it all away.
    Just like her older brother.
    Outside, Pescoli turned her collar to the brittle wind and watched a few kids scurrying to their cars or carrying athletic bags, hurrying toward the gym. Daylight was fading fast. A thick layer of snow had already covered the tracks she’d made when she’d wheeled into the parking lot, and more of the white powder continued to fall.
    Climbing behind the wheel, she turned on the engine, and as the wipers pushed a thick white film off her windshield, she tried texting her daughter.
    Where R U?
    She hit SEND and waited.
    Nothing.
    â€œDamn it, Bianca!” she burst out as the phone suddenly rang in her hand. “Pescoli,” she snapped, expecting her daughter’s apologetic voice on the other end.
    â€œSantana,” Nate said, mimicking her tough, no-nonsense tone.
    â€œOh. Hi. Thought you might be my kid.” But her voice softened a bit.
    He chuckled, and she imagined his face, all bladed planes and taut dark skin, evidence of a Native American ancestor somewhere in his family history. And then there were his eyes, deep set and so sharply focused, she sometimes wondered if he could see straight into her soul. Except, she reminded herself, she didn’t believe in any of that romantic garbage.
    â€œI’m not disappointed,” she said. “Just worried. She ditched school again.”
    â€œWith the boyfriend.”
    â€œSeems so.”
    â€œSounds like she needs a father figure.”
    â€œSounds like she needs a better father figure. She’s got Lucky, remember?”
    â€œHe know about this?”
    â€œI haven’t talked to him,” Pescoli admitted as the windshield, now cleared of snow, began to fog.
    â€œYou could move in with me,” he said. “All of you.”
    Something deep inside of her melted, and she was tempted. “Look, you know how I feel about this. Until the kids are set—”
    â€œSome people might think you’re putting your own life on hold for your kids.”
    â€œThat’s what you do if you’re a responsible parent.”
    â€œIs it?”
    â€œLook, I’m not in the mood for any psychological mind games, okay? I just left the counselor’s office, and let’s just say it wasn’t a great experience. Now I have to run down my kid.”
    He didn’t say anything, and she closed her eyes for a second. “Santana, don’t do this. Okay? Not now. I’ll call you later.” She hung up before he could argue, even though she knew he wouldn’t. As she drove out of the parking lot, she felt empty inside, as if she were intentionally undermining her one chance at happiness.
    Maybe Nate Santana was right.
    Maybe she should do what she damned well pleased and let her kids just deal with it.
    Then again, maybe not.
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    Knowing nothing good would come of this, Trace pulled into the lot of Jocelyn Wallis’s apartment building and parked his truck in one of the few vacant visitors’ spaces.
    He’d called her twice on the way from the house, but there had been no answer. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the rearview mirror and noticed how haggard he looked. He didn’t like being here; this was a mistake. He knew it deep in his gut. Just as he’d known he should never have gotten involved with her, not in the least. Not only had it been a bad idea for him, but getting hooked up with Jocelyn had been a disaster for Eli, who, though he’d never said it, had to have noticed Jocelyn Wallis’s slight resemblance to his mother.... What was that called? Transference? Close enough.
    He glanced around the snow-covered grounds as his windows began to fog with the chill. Lamplight glowed from Jocelyn’s apartment, one in the living area, another in her bedroom, but the shades were