Page 3 of End It All

"You have to go," she whispered. "It'll just be a matter of time before they track you back here. They're not stupid."

"They'll come looking for me."

She nodded. "That's why I'm sending you to New York," she whispered. "Here. I bought these as soon as I saw the news earlier. Tickets. Go to the bus station and get the hell out of here. Those men might be monsters, but they're your family. I know what that means to them. They won't turn you away."

I frowned, my chest tightening. "How do you know that?" I asked. "What if they do?"

"They won't," she said as she pressed the tickets against my chest. "Just trust me.” She shook her head. “Get out of here. Go. You really don't have time to waste. I don't want to see you locked up for a quarter of your life because of a stupid mistake. You've already got so many priors..."

It was true. I had never been a "good boy" as she always told me to be. Life on the edge just spoke to a rotten, dirty part of my soul. If they caught me, I was going away for a long damn time.

"What about you?" I asked.

"No time," she muttered as she swiped away tears and grabbed hold of my damp jacket. She dragged me back into the living room. "Get out. Now!"

I moved toward my loot and she stepped in my path. "What are you doing?" I asked.

"You can't take that with you. If they find it, that's just more evidence."

"And if they find it on you, it'll be the same thing," I said pointedly.

My mother held her head up high. "It's my job to protect you. And I'll do that until the end."

Nausea washed over me even as pride bloomed in my chest. I stepped toward her and pulled her into one more tight hug.

"You wonder where I get my craziness from?" I whispered. "Definitely your fault."

She chuckled. "Sure, blame the mother. How cliché."

We stood together for what felt like a lifetime. By the time we separated, my heart was in my throat. I didn't want to leave her. I couldn't stand the thought of it.

"I can't go," I choked out.

She laid her hand on top of mine, the one I cradled her cheek with, desperate not to let go. "You have to. Please, for both our sakes. I'll find a way to contact you soon. Destroy and ditch your phone on the way."

"Yeah," I muttered. "I know." I sucked in a sharp breath. "I love you."

"And I love you more than life itself," she whispered.

She'd been saying those words to me since probably before I could even remember. They stuck in my brain as I left the apartment and made my way to the streets below. I tried to tuck away the emotions that threatened to spike, but I didn't make it out of the building. Turning, I slammed my fist into the wall. Pain vibrated up my fist, shaking my bones. I shook outmy hand, tempted to do it once more. Instead, I turned and left behind the only world I'd ever known. I didn't stop moving until I made it to the bus stop.

Leaning against a wall, I stared at the paper in my hands, and frowned.Vitale.

Who the fuck are you?

I pulledmy leather jacket around me more tightly as I looked down the street. Reaching into my pocket, I dragged out the address my mother had given me. Thinking about her made my stomach tighten into knots, but I swallowed down my unease at leaving her behind. She was right, I had nowhere else to go. My juvie record was as long as my arm, and if they caught me, I'd be locked up until the end of time.

The only thing I could do now was push forward.

A man slammed into me. He didn't even look my way, just skirted around and kept going, his phone pressed against his ear. I glared.

"Fucking asshole."

As I looked around, the pain in my chest grew. I already missed California. The palm trees, the sun, and the smell of theocean were all gone. No more motorcycle rides to the beach. Instead, I was greeted by a cold, concrete jungle, the smell of food, trash, and weed smoke dizzying my senses. New York was not my world.

I stopped walking when I reached the address on the paper. Every building was a skyscraper, each one taller than the last it seemed. It was so damn high I had to crane my neck to look up at it properly.Damn, this is definitely some rich people shit.

Anger burned the middle of my chest as I continued to take it in. Did my father really live here? Had he been here all this time, living it up, while me and my mother struggled just to eat? I balled my hands into fists and tried not to lose my fucking cool.