Page 112 of Moms of Mayhem
Her gaze lingered on me, unreadable. Finally, she grabbed her backpack, slung it over one shoulder, and walked over to the truck, eyes down, jaw clenched. She opened the passenger door and paused again before climbing in.
“No one needs to know where I live,” she said, low and sharp. Her shoulders hitched up toward her ears, body language shut down.
I knew where she lived—probably the same run-down trailer on the edge of town. If her dad really hadn’t changed, he was already drunk, maybe passed out in the living room with the TV blaring.
She didn’t want us seeing that.
Didn’t want anyone seeing that.
“They won’t say a word,” I promised, voice just as quiet. “Hell, Mikko hardly speaks English and Logan is so full of shit no one trusts anything that comes out of his mouth.”
Her shoulders dropped just a little, but I saw the hint ofamusement hiding in her eyes. She nodded once, then got in, pulling the door shut with a little more force than necessary.
From behind me, Logan called out, “Play us some sad girl bangers, baby. I could use a good scream-cry.”
Mikko leaned across the center console from the backseat and tapped on my truck’s screen to control the music. “Anything is better than you crying on a reformer, Logan.”
“It was intense!” Logan shouted.
Mikko snorted. “You were whimpering.”
I shook my head and started the truck, the weight of Shannon’s trust settling over me like something fragile and earned. She sat back in the seat, hood up, arms folded tight across her chest, and went back to the weird silence.
Amy Lee scream-sang over the speakers as I pulled out onto the road, headed toward what was once the Wilder Family Farm.
It was just past noon and the sun bounced off the snow like a mirror. Linwood looked deceptively perfect under all that light—quaint shops lining River Street, a couple of skiers grabbing burgers at The Lantern, the Eagle River flashing silver as it rushed past the edge of town. The mountains stood tall on either side, jagged and unforgiving, even under a cloudless sky.
We passed my place and Shannon didn’t look. Just sat in the front seat, arms crossed, hoodie drawn up like armor while Logan belted every single word to the Evanescence song.
A few minutes later, the pretty parts of Linwood gave way to forgotten ones. The fences here sagged, broken boards leaning at angles that made my chest tighten. An old windmill creaked as we drove past it, the blades long stopped spinning. The big barn had collapsed into itself after years ofneglect, its red paint faded to rust, like the bones of something that used to breathe.
The farmhouse sat like a ghost beside it. Paint peeled off the siding in chunks, the roof was buckled on the west side, the porch was rotted through, and all the windows were boarded over. A truck in even worse condition than her hatchback lay half-buried in the snow.
A trailer sat beside the abandoned house, looking not much better. It leaned slightly on its cinderblock supports with duct tape running along the seams like stitches. One window was patched with cardboard and black plastic. Midday sun made the whole place look worse—no shadows to soften the edges.
Shannon hadn’t said a word the whole drive, but I felt her go still, like she was bracing for impact.
“Just drop me here,” she said suddenly, her voice quiet.
I eased off the gas, pulling over to the side of the road just past the gravel drive. “Shannon?—”
“I can walk the rest.”
“You don’t have to,” I said gently, wishing there was anything I could do to help this burden. If my mom hadn’t been an absolute saint of a human, my life might have looked pretty similar. But Shannon didn’t have that support, only a shitty dad and shittier brothers.
“I want to,” she bit out, then after a pause, quieter, “Thanks for the ride.”
She opened the door before I could say anything else and slid out of the truck, not looking at any of us. Not even when Logan leaned forward like he might say something.
The wind caught her hoodie as she walked, making her look smaller than she already was. She didn’t glance back.Just marched toward the trailer with that same stubborn spine I’d seen in the studio a dozen times.
Logan let out a long breath. “Jesus.”
Mikko watched in silence, eyes narrowed. Not judging. Just seeing.
“She doesn’t need your sympathy,” I said, more to myself than them. “Just space.”
Logan nodded slowly. “Yeah. But it sure looks like she’s running out of that too.”
