Chapter 2: Haley

Saturday morning, April 25th

I stared at the sidewalk in front of me, feeling like cracks in the pavement mirrored the ones in my heart. After the frenzy of packing and fleeing the loft, I had spent the last ten minutes walking to the corner store to catch a cab. Familiar with the route, and having budgeted enough time to reach my destination, my mind was free to wander.

My head rationalized that I was making the right decision. If things went as planned, my absence would allow Ethan and the guys to set aside their differences and reunite. And, I would remove myself from Douglas’s grasp, hopefully eliminating his threats to reveal my identity or release detrimental information on Theo, or any of the guys. My head understood all of this, but my heart was another matter altogether, and I wasn’t sure I would ever fully recover.

For the last seven months, my life practically revolved around “my” guys—they kept me safe, made me laugh, and embraced me as one of their own. And, now, the unimaginable was happening. I was turning my back on the life I created with them. There would be no more duets with Chase, tickle fights with Theo, stargazing with Ethan, running with Knox, relaxing with Jackson, or cooking with Liam. In other words, I was walking away from the place—and the people—that had become my new home.

The cab appeared a few minutes after I arrived at the corner store, and I settled into the backseat, grateful for the break from walking, loaded down as I was by my backpack, guitar, and purse. After a short drive across town, we pulled up to the Museum of Art and History. I checked that my iPhone was powered on and silent, then shoved it behind the seat cushion. If, or rather when, the guys decided to access the tracking feature on my phone, they would be led on a wild goose chase. I doubted my distraction tactic would buy much time, but I’d take anything I could get.

I paid the fare and watched the cab drive off, waiting until it was out of sight to turn in the direction of the bus station. Arriving at the station, I checked the schedules and relaxed once I realized that there was a bus to San Francisco in the next thirty minutes. I purchased a one-way ticket and took a seat in the waiting area until it was time to board.

With every step I took away from the loft and my life with the guys, I felt simultaneously relieved and pained. I was relieved that I had made it this far without my flight being discovered, but I was pained that my separation from them was becoming more and more of a reality. I shook my head, willing myself to focus on the present; the bus was boarding, and I had a lot to figure out during the ride.

Thankfully, there were plenty of empty seats on the bus, so I didn’t have to worry about someone sitting next to me and trying to make small talk. That would have been bad enough on a good day, and today was anything but.

As the bus made its way out of Santa Cruz, I found myself taking a mental snapshot of every sight to tuck away for a rainy day. My sense of home had always been connected to the house in Coleville and my dad, and I had never attached those kind of feelings to a city . . . until now. Now, I understood how a place could so vividly evoke a memory. The paths and streets I ran on almost every morning. The cafés and ice cream shops I frequented with the guys. The library, grocery stores, and boutiques. They had all become a part of me.

Once we were on the highway outside of town, I knew I had to begin making a plan before I drowned in sadness. I pulled out the tiny pen and notepad I always kept in my purse and decided to start a list. Maybe if I could organize my thoughts, I would be able to keep my head above water.

First on the list: City. I closed my eyes and pictured a map of the western part of the United States, imagining the relatively large cities. How far should I go? I wondered. Although it would probably be best to get as far away from Santa Cruz as possible, I wasn’t willing to move across the country. I had no idea where my dad was, but I had a hunch that he had stayed in the area. Thus, I would only consider cities that were basically within a day’s drive of Northern California.

Deciding I at least needed to get out of the state, I immediately crossed off Sacramento, Los Angeles, and San Diego. That left Las Vegas, Salt Lake City, and Portland. Sadly, Vegas wasn’t possible, since it would likely be one of the first places the guys would check because of Jessica. I didn’t know all that much about the last two on my list, but I had a feeling it would be easier to get lost in a crowd in Portland.

I exhaled deeply. Portland it is.

Next: Transportation. What were my options? Airplane, train, bus, boat, car. I ruled out the first three for being too easy to track. I already anticipated that the guys would discover that I’d taken the bus to San Francisco within a day, if not sooner. Although I liked the boat idea, I knew it was too complicated on my tight schedule, and hitchhiking was downright irresponsible. The only real option was to drive myself. A rental was tempting, but again, too easy to track. So, I would have to buy a car. Hopefully I would be able to find a really cheap one on Craigslist that I could pay cash for and ditch later.

Once those decisions were made, my list expanded with small details. What to do when I made it to San Francisco, then Portland. Finding a job and a place to live, preferably a furnished apartment. A different look, including an entirely new wardrobe. There were so many things to think about, and I could hardly believe that after only seven months, I was completely starting over . . . again.

I was so engrossed in making plans that the bus ride to downtown San Francisco, which was a little over three hours, went surprisingly fast. In the station, I checked a map and was relieved to find a public library less than a mile from the bank since I desperately needed internet access.

After taking a transfer to the library, I headed straight for the computers. Knowing I wouldn’t be able to check my old e-mail address, I set up yet another new one that I could leave in the safe deposit box for my dad. Then, I quickly researched the best route to Portland, motel options along the way, and someplace to stay temporarily once I arrived there.

The car issue was more complicated. Not only did I need to find a public place to meet and pick up the car, I wanted to take a rather complicated route there to make it more difficult for the guys to track me. Since parking would be a nightmare in downtown San Francisco, I would hop on a cable car after I stopped at the bank and then hail a cab to take me across the bay to Oakland. I found a park that supposedly had free parking available and decided it would have to do.

I didn’t have time to e-mail a bunch of people and wait for them to respond, so I had to find someone who actually posted a phone number on Craigslist. After skimming several pages of cars, I found one that looked promising—a Civic with high mileage and chipping paint. It wasn’t the prettiest, but I just needed it to be reliable enough to get me the six hundred and fifty miles to Portland. And, since the owner listed his phone number, at least I had a chance of getting ahold of him right away.

I jotted down the number, along with a few back-ups in case I didn’t reach the Civic owner, then made my way to the front desk, wishing I had already picked up another burner phone. Although I could technically use the Batphone, I didn’t want to chance it absent an emergency.

Noticing a girl about my age organizing books at the far end of the desk, I approached her with a smile. “Hello. Is there any way I can use the phone? It’s really important.”

Stacey, according to her nametag, glanced toward several other employees nearby and then shook her head. “Sorry, it’s against policy.”

My smile dropped. “Oh, okay. Thanks anyway.”

When I started to walk away, she said, “But you can borrow my cell, if you’d like.” She pulled a phone out of her pocket and held it my way.

Surprised, I asked, “Are you sure? I’ll have to take it outside for a few minutes.”

Stacey raised her eyebrows and looked pointedly at the case in my hand. “If you leave that as collateral, I trust that you’ll be back.”

I hesitated, not wanting to let the guitar out of my sight for even a moment, but ultimately agreed. Since she was a library employee, it was doubtful she would disappear with it, especially since I would have her phone.

After exchanging the guitar for Stacey’s phone, I told her I would be back shortly, then stepped outside. I checked the time and mentally calculated how long it would take to walk to the bank and then make it to the park in Oakland. It was already almost three-thirty, so I decided to give myself at least two hours in case traffic was a problem.

I dialed the number and prayed that the owner of the car would miraculously answer on the first try. Of course he didn’t, so I left an urgent message, asking him to call me back as soon as possible. I waited about ten minutes and sighed in relief when the phone lit up with his number. The call went shockingly well, and he agreed to meet me at five-thirty.

Walking back into the library, I had an unexpected bounce in my step. Everything was going according to plan. I could do this; I had to.