The van growled along the empty road, its engine a low, stubborn hum that buzzed in my skull. I couldn't tell if it was dawn yet—the world outside was still a smudge of gray, streetlights smearing past like ghosts. Mia slept in the back, sprawled across the seat, her little chest puffing up and down. She was out cold, thank God. A small mercy in this shitstorm. I envied her—those dreams she was lost in, probably full of cartoon dogs and ice cream, not the nightmare I'd dragged her out of.
I glanced at Mike, his hands choking the steering wheel, knuckles pale as bone. Ginny sat beside him, gnawing her lip raw, her eyes darting to me every few seconds like I might vanish if she didn't keep watch. Their worry hung heavy in the air, mixing with the stale stink of old leather and Ginny's lavender perfume, which was starting to turn my stomach. They were scared—for me, for Mia, maybe for themselves. And why wouldn't they be? I'd hauled them into this mess, this runaway train with no brakes. But damn, I loved them for it. For not bailing when I showed up at their door, bruised and babbling, Mia clinging to my leg. Friends like that? You don't deserve them, but you clutch them tight anyway.
My hands wouldn't quit trembling. I jammed them under my thighs, the cold vinyl biting into my skin. Every jolt of the van sent a shock up my spine, stirring the ache of bruises Enzo left behind. Hidden under my sweater, they throbbed like a secret I couldn't shake. I caught my reflection in the window—hollow eyes, messy hair stuffed under a cap. I looked like hell. Felt like it too.
Mike pulled into the bus station, the neon sign flickering like it was on its last legs, buzzing loud enough to wake the dead. Mia stirred as I scooped her up, her sleepy voice mumbling, "Where we going, Mommy?"
"An adventure, baby," I said, plastering on a smile that felt like a lie. "To see an old friend."
The ticket counter smelled like burnt coffee and despair. A woman—Gladys, her name tag said—peered at me with eyes that had seen too many sob stories. I slid my ID over, voice tight. "Two tickets to Richmond, please."
She tapped at her keyboard, slow as molasses, then looked up. "Account's frozen, ma'am. Can't process it."
The words hit like a punch to the gut. Frozen. That bastard. Enzo's slimy fingers were still wrapped around my life, squeezing from miles away. My fists balled up, nails carving half-moons into my palms. "You've got to be kidding me," I muttered, louder than I meant to. Gladys didn't flinch—just stared, bored.
Mike stepped forward, sliding his card across the counter before I could stop him. "I'll cover it," he said, his voice clipped, like he was mad at the world for me. I wanted to argue, to say I'd figure it out, but my throat locked up. All I could do was nod, heat prickling behind my eyes.
Gladys handed over the tickets with a flat, "Have a safe trip," like she didn't give a damn if we lived or died. Fair enough.
Outside, the bus squatted like a tired beast, engine rumbling. Ginny yanked me into a hug, fierce and shaky. "Be safe, Tina. Please." Her breath hitched against my ear, and I nodded into her shoulder, words too big to push out. Mike clapped my back, his hand steady but his eyes wet. "You got this," he said, voice cracking just a little. I forced a smile—brittle, fake—and grabbed Mia's hand. The bus doors hissed shut behind us, locking us in with a dozen strangers and a future I couldn't see.
The ride to Richmond was endless. The bus rattled and swayed, jarring my bones. Mia slumped against me, her head heavy on my shoulder, her bunny tucked under her chin. I stared out the window, watching the world slide by—city lights fading into suburbs, then patches of nothing. Dante kept creeping into my head. That easy smile of his, the way he'd lean in close when he talked, like you were the only thing that mattered. He'd loved me once. Said it over cheap wine in his shitty apartment, back when we were young and dumb. I'd picked Enzo instead—God knows why. Charm, maybe. Power. A mistake I'd paid for in blood and broken promises. Now Dante was my last card to play, a thin thread of hope I was betting everything on. Would he even want anything to do with me.
Mia mumbled in her sleep, something about cookies. I brushed a curl off her forehead, my chest aching. She deserved better than this—a mom who wasn't a wreck, a dad who didn't leave marks. I'd failed her there, but I'd be damned if I didn't fix it now.
The bus jerked to a stop in Richmond just as the sky turned a sickly pink. Dawn, barely. I tugged my cap lower, hiding my face—paranoid, sure, but Enzo had eyes everywhere. Mia clung to my leg, groggy and whining, as I hauled our bags off the bus. Dante's place wasn't far—a little bungalow on a dead-end street, the kind of spot you'd miss if you weren't looking. The porch light glowed, soft and yellow, pulling me in. I trudged up the steps, heart thumping, and rapped on the door. The sound bounced in the quiet, too loud, too real.
It took a minute. Then the door creaked open, and there he was. Dante. Hair a mess, eyes bleary, but still gorgeous in that effortless way that used to make my stomach flip. He blinked, taking me in—me and Mia and our sad little pile of luggage. "Tina?" His voice was gravelly, thick with sleep and surprise.
"Hey," I said, aiming for casual but landing somewhere shaky. "Long time no see."
He stepped back, waving us in. "Come on, get inside." The house smelled like coffee and old paperbacks, warm and lived-in. Mia peeked up at him, clutching my hand. "Who's this?" he asked, crouching a little, that smile of his breaking through.
"My daughter, Mia," I said. She waved, tiny and unsure, and he grinned back.
"Hi, Mia. I'm Dante." He straightened up. "She looks beat. Guest room's down the hall—let her crash."
I led Mia to the room, settling her on a lumpy bed. She curled up, bunny and all, and was out again in seconds. I shut the door soft as I could and shuffled back to the living room. Dante was in the kitchen, fiddling with a coffee pot. He handed me a mug, steam curling up between us. "So," he said, leaning against the counter, "what's going on, Tina? It's been what, eight years?"
I sipped the coffee, letting it burn my tongue. "Yeah. Eight." Where to start? I took a breath and spilled it—everything. Enzo. The wedding that felt like a trap five minutes after the vows. The fists that came later, the threats, the way he'd smile after, like it was nothing. Running with Mia in the dead of night. Dante listened, his face hardening, jaw tight.
"That son of a bitch," he growled when I finished, slamming his mug down hard enough to slosh coffee over the edge. "I knew he was bad news. Always did."
"I should've listened," I said, quiet. "But I didn't. And now I need help. Can we stay here? Just for a bit?"
He ran a hand through his hair, glancing at the guest room door. "Tina, what if he comes looking for you here? He's got reach, right?"
I opened my mouth to say, "He doesn't know about you," to swear Enzo had no clue Dante even existed in my past. But before I could, a loud knock, sharp, like a gunshot in the silence. Dante's eyes locked on mine, wide and flickering with something close to panic.