Take You Away: A Novella by Ember Casey Page A

sore on his lip. He looks pissed, like he’s just waiting for me to give him an excuse to pull out that shotgun.
    Try it, buddy , I think. Just give me a fucking reason. My hand curls into a fist below the counter. I’ve still got the aches and bruises from my last fight, but I'm not against throwing a swing at this guy. A couple of punches would feel really good right now. Work off some of this damned energy.
    Finally, the man grunts and closes his grubby fingers around my card. My eyes move past him to the rows of cigarettes behind his head. My hand uncurls. A punch would feel good. A cigarette would feel even better.
    I close my eyes and take a deep breath, letting that stale cigarette smell fill my lungs. Fuck, what I wouldn’t do for a smoke right now. I could go through a whole pack in a night.
    It’s been two years, nine months, and seventeen days since my last one. I promised my mom. Promised her I’d do everything in my power to keep the cancer from getting me, too. Those first few months after I quit were hell. I thought it'd get easier, but times like this…
    I shake my head and curl my fist again. I’m not going to break the streak now. Instead, I grab some snacks from a nearby shelf and toss them on the counter. Drinks, too. The attendant looks pissed that he has to ring up another charge, but he doesn’t say a word. Just glares at me. As soon as he’s done, I grab the bag and walk back outside before I have the chance to do something I’ll regret.
    It’s new for me, doing the responsible thing. Though I guess some people might not consider my current situation "responsible" at all.
    This morning, I had a job. It wasn’t exactly a perfect situation, but at least I knew where my next meal was coming from. And I was working for my biological father, though I’m not sure whether that’s a point for or against it.
    At the pump, I grab the nozzle for Unleaded and shove the end into Ol’ Stella’s tank. What the hell am I doing here?
    My eyes drift back down to the car. Down to Louisa. She’s shifted slightly, and her cheek is smashed against the window, her breath forming a small circle of fog on the glass. Something tightens inside of me.
    Three weeks ago, I didn’t even know this girl. I’m not even sure I know her now. But when she told me she was running, I knew I couldn’t let her go alone.
    I’ve never been this confused over a chick before. The first time we met, she threw herself at me. Grabbed me and kissed me in a way that even now makes my cock twitch in my jeans. She didn’t know my name. Didn’t know anything about me.
    She was just a sweet, warm, desperate mouth. A pair of eager hands. She would’ve let me have her right then, if I’d wanted to. I had wanted to. It took all of my strength not to pick her up, throw her down on the bed, and take her right there without a second thought. Without ever learning her name.
    But thankfully there’s a shred of decency in me somewhere.
    I knew from the way she touched me that it wasn’t just a game for her. That she’d regret it after. She looked so scared. So vulnerable. And that night, my conscience beat out the demands of my cock.
    But she’d hooked me that day. I couldn’t get her out of my head. Not her body or her lips or that sad, sad look in her eyes.
    And now I understand that sadness. Well, more or less. Now I know who she really is. I don’t understand why the hell she thought it was a good idea to take a job at Huntington Manor, but grief does crazy things to you. I should know.
    When the tank is full, I slide back into the car. Louisa stirs at the sound of my door closing. Her eyes drift open, and she sits up, pushing the hair out of her face. When her gaze falls on me, her eyes widen slightly, as if she forgot all of this while she slept. She glances away, but not fast enough for me to miss the shame in her expression.
    I know that look. She’s beating herself up again. I’ve never met anyone who carries as much guilt