I’d thought my plan to stay away from my dad’s house for Thanksgiving had been a good one, but in hindsight, I should have been prepared for the night before, too. For the first time in a long time, Dustin hadn’t snuck into my room to stay the night with me as he did most of the time now. He’d explained that his family started their traditions pretty early and expected him to be there, which was understandable. Even if he got up at five in the morning, he would be late, and that early, he’d have a chance of getting caught by my dad or one of his guests. He’d wanted to help his mom with the turkey as she was beginning to grow frail, and I could only admire him for his dedication. How could I not love a guy like that?

I’d gone to bed early that night, knowing I could escape my dad’s house the moment I was showered and ready in the morning. Not having Dustin to distract me, I figured it was possible to get a good night’s sleep, but I was so used to him being the source of security and warmth for me now that I’d felt restless without him snuggled up next to me with his wandering fingers and endless whispers about our future together. When I finally drifted to sleep, my slumber must have only been a light doze because the click of my door’s lock being disengaged had me grappling at consciousness only seconds before light spilled into my room from the hall.

The brightness was almost blinding after the piercing dark that had bathed my room only seconds earlier, and the only respite from the glare was an imposing silhouette taking up the entire frame of my bedroom door. Not a respite at all. My heart started pounding painfully in my chest and adrenaline dumped into my bloodstream as I took in the looming figure. After a second of intense clarity, I realized that this intruder was not my dad. I, at least, knew him well enough to process that much.

“Told you I could pick that shit.” The man’s voice was deep with mirth and rough with lust as he pulled an equally silhouetted woman against his thick form and entered my bedroom in a tangle of limbs.

My mind was going a million miles a minute as I mentally mapped out my personal space for something I could use as a viable weapon. I had a baton from Jen’s misguided attempt to get me to join a team when I was younger. That was behind my bed. Then there was my phone, which was on the nightstand and completely useless in the grand scheme of things. Those options didn’t leave me with much, but at least metal could hurt. Reaching slowly over my head, my fingers touched the cool metal bar of the baton. Wrapping my hand around my makeshift weapon, I pulled the metal stick through the bar before leaping to my feet in the middle of my unstable mattress and wielding my baton. I tried to keep my balance as my breath came in pants, but I was officially terrified, which only served to make me wobble further with instability.

“Get. Out!” I screeched, my voice pitched a few octaves higher than normal as my fear became a palpable companion. I wasn’t sure either of them heard me over the music that was playing in the living room, filtering down the hall. The silhouettes—barely distinguishable where they were melted together—froze suddenly. The huge guy reached out a hand, slapping the wall behind him, while I tightened my grasp on the bar in my hands and pulled the baton over my shoulder as though I were aiming to hit a home run as I steeled my glare in their direction. I had no idea what he was doing until light flooded my room. The overhead light I barely used hit every corner of my sanctuary, including me, balanced on my bed in the center. The couple stood staring at me with open mouths, and I knew they hadn’t expected me to be there. I doubted they realized my dad even had a daughter—let alone a self-sufficient teenager.

“Get out!” I screamed again, lifting the baton high enough to strike if I needed to. “Get out, get out, get out!”

I hadn’t realized I’d been louder than the music until another form, thin and wily, appeared at the door. This time it was my dad. His hands gripped the frame of the door as his eyes narrowed at his companions before finally landed on me on the center of the bed, the baton’s tassels twitching in my shaking grip. Worry flashed over his features, but the uncertainty was gone so quickly, I was barely sure I’d actually seen the emotion there. My father looked back to the man and the half-naked woman clinging to him, and anger stained his features.

“What the fuck are you doing in here, Eddie?” He growled, his hands white-knuckling the frame as he leaned into the room without actually entering. “I told you to stay the fuck away from this room four times, asshole. How many fucking times do I have to tell you to get it to sink in?”

“You didn’t say you had a hot teen locked up in here, man.”

“Shut the fuck up before you say something stupid and get your ass beat. Get the fuck out of here, Ed,” Dad said, finally storming inside and grabbing Ed by the shirt before towing him toward the door and the hall beyond. Still wrapped under Ed’s arm, the woman was moved by proxy, but her eyes lingered on me. A flicker of recognition passed over her glance before Ed pushed her down the hall ahead of him with a sardonic laugh of victory.

“Jeff Quinten is a fucking father?” The laugh was mocking, accompanied by the woman’s—her high-pitched cackling grating my sleep-deprived brain as I turned my glare on my father.

“Shut the hell up, assholes,” Dad countered as he flung his response down the hall in a growl and showed them his middle finger. When his eyes flickered back to me, they took on a softer appearance, and his hands dropped to his sides. “I’m so sorry, Mikayla.”

Sure he was.

Those seemed to be the magic words he thought fixed everything. He was only ever sorry when it was convenient and got him off the hook for some shit he’d been the catalyst of. When things like this did happen—which thankfully weren’t as often as they could be—he seemed to think ‘sorry’ fixed the mistake and exonerated him. That wasn’t the case.

“Whatever. If you can’t control your friends, I want a chain on my door. I can’t keep doing this.”

I waited for some kind of admonishment, my breath coming in shallow, panicked pants even with the baton still gripped and prone over my shoulder. The few times I’d demanded a chain in the past, I’d gotten a scowl or a frown, but this time he offered me an apologetic nod.

“I’ll get one for you soon as I can. I didn’t—”

A roar of laughter came from the living room, pulling his attention from me for a moment, but I still had the baton held defensively. My fingers locked around the metal bar as I looked between him and the hall.

“Just… go back to sleep, Mikayla.” The comment was a dismissal. His responsibility now over. He was bored of me already, and the party was calling to him.

I rolled my eyes and watched him step from my room, his hand fumbling at the lock on my side until the action caught with a click. Then he pulled the door closed behind him, leaving me alone, trembling and breathless. This wasn’t the first time someone had gone against my dad’s request and entered my room without permission. Most of his ‘guests’ seemed to think he was hiding something in here, and in a way, I supposed he was. He was hiding me.

I was Jeff Quinten’s dirty little secret.

There was no way I was going back to sleep in my room after that ordeal, so I did the only thing I could think of. I packed an overnight bag with a couple of nights’ supplies and crawled from my window, heading toward my car with only one destination in mind.

The road was as empty as it always was at that time of night, and when I turned into the driveway, I almost felt guilty about the brightness of my lights that lit up the house ahead of me. I flicked them off as soon as I deemed it to be safe and slipped out of my car. Throwing my bag over my shoulder, I made my way around to the back of the house on tiptoes, pausing at every little sound so I didn’t disturb the occupants. Tapping on the window, I leaned against the cool brick, smiling when Megan’s sleepy eyes appeared between two rows of her blinds to peer out at me.

“Can I sleep here?”

Megan slipped under the blinds and unlocked her window, sliding it fully open with a yawn. “You know you’re always welcome. Your dad starting the party early?”

“Oh yeah, and someone thought it would be funny to break into my room.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, that about sums it up.”

Stepping aside, Megan helped me crawl in before shutting and locking the window behind us. I was beginning to feel exhausted by the whole ordeal as I dropped my bag under her desk before stumbling forward and face planting on her huge bed. I kicked off my shoes and rolled to the side, pulling my knees to my chest as I got comfortable.

“I don’t know why you don’t just move in here. How many times has Mom offered now?” Megan asked, flopping down on her side of the bed and fluffing her pillows.

“Only every day for the last eight years or so,” I replied, yawning. “But I can’t do that to them, and I’ve grown accustomed to my freedom now, so it would be weird, you know?”

“I get it, but as much as I would love to have your freedom, I wouldn’t trade my parents in.”

It wasn’t an insult, and I never took the statement as one. Megan and I had discussed the parent topic often over the last eight years. I’d been lucky to have my mom for as long as I had, and I liked to convince myself that the price I paid for that was my dad and the life I now led. Whereas Megan was quite content with what she had, even if life did get a little annoying when they enforced their rules upon her.

“I also wouldn’t have the discipline to govern myself like you do,” she added, yawning, once again.

The moment her words fell away, the peace surrounded us with the darkness as we both drifted into the place that lingered between awake and asleep. The only thing stopping sleep from claiming me completely was her last words. I was very nearly seventeen years old, and I’d never been in trouble in school. I’d never tasted alcohol or smoked a cigarette. My room was spotless. I had a part-time job. I was saving money to put myself through community college when I graduated, and though I more often than not stayed out all night, it was a necessity if I wanted to sleep at all. If I ever wanted to experience being a teenager, I wasn’t sure I would even know how to flex that muscle. I would always worry someone would find out and go to my dad, only to realize he didn’t care. That would inevitably lead to foster homes away from the people I did love and need in my life. I was sixteen years old and living like a fugitive.

The words turned and churned in my head for what felt like hours, the same thoughts repeating themselves over and over as the self-pity settled in around me. Giving up and allowing Jen to take me in like she’d been trying to for years would have been so easy, but I knew that running to Jen and Mike wasn’t an option anymore. Not with Dustin in my life. I couldn’t give up my time with him while he was still here. I was too greedy.

Rolling over in frustration, I flung an arm over my eyes and sighed, finally letting the sleep win the battle it had been fighting during my reflections. Letting go of my thoughts, I accepted that everything else could be figured out in the morning and drifted into a near peaceful sleep.

“Megan, I can’t—” I sat bolt upright with a squeak as Jen stormed into the room like an unannounced twister. I’d been dreaming about Dustin and felt my cheeks heat as I looked over at my godmother with a sleepy and contrite grin.

“Hey, Jen.”

Pity passed behind her eyes for all of a second before satisfaction replaced it. I wouldn’t be telling her exactly what had transpired the night before, just that the party got too loud, which was a common complaint of mine and not a complete lie.

“She’s here,” Megan grumbled, knowing exactly what Jen had been about to say and rolled over with a groan, sighed and drifted back to sleep. I always wished I could sleep as easily as Megan could. I’d seen her drift off in some of the strangest places without so much as a twitch

“Coffee?” Jen asked, her tone soft as I kicked the blankets back from my legs and stretched.

“Yes, please.” My back cracked, easing the knot in it, and I dropped my arms and grinned up at her. “I’m going to go take a quick shower, but I’ll be right there.”

Jen nodded, shook her head at her daughter in absolute wonder, and then left the room without another word.

Getting ready didn’t take me long. I barely ever dried my hair, opting instead to brush the damp strands out before wandering into the kitchen where the smell of the turkey dinner permeated the air and made my stomach growl. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until then.

“Smells amazing in here,” I said, my arms stretching over my head again. My eyes were already hunting down the proffered coffee, and I couldn’t help the grin as I spotted my mug filled, with the tendrils of steam rising into the stream of light that filtered through the blinds. “Is that for me?”

“It is. You want some breakfast, kiddo?”

“I can get it,” I offered, but was denied and directed to the table in the breakfast nook, while Jen danced around her kitchen with ease. She never let anyone into her domain at Thanksgiving. It was her one rule. No one was allowed in the kitchen while she was juggling with the dishes and timing everything with her usual perfection. That didn’t mean we wouldn’t be roped in to peel and chop at the small table closer to the time.

Slipping some toaster pastries in front of me, she sat opposite, her hands wrapping around her own mug as I picked at the corner of the hot rectangle of goodness.

“Your dad called, sweetie.”

Her timing was unfortunate. I’d just started chewing, and the sudden intake of breath had a triangle of pastry lodged in my throat. I hacked for a moment, waving Jen down as she started to rise frantically. With the help of a mouthful of coffee, the blockage broke into smaller, more manageable parts and left me coughing in surprise.

“You okay?” she asked, sliding me a paper napkin.

“All good now,” I appeased with one last cough. I took another sip of coffee, gathered my thoughts and looked over at her again. “Dad called you?”

“He explained what happened last night. He said he looked in to apologize again, and you weren’t there. I called him back while you were in the shower to let him know you slept here, and that you’re safe.” The no thanks to him went unsaid.

“He went into my bedroom?” I asked, appalled that he would go in there while I wasn’t around, or worse, was sleeping. My room was my place, my sanctuary, and now my solace felt violated even more so than it had when his idiotic friends let themselves in. “That’s it. I’m getting a chain myself. I don’t need…”

“Yes, he mentioned the chain,” Jen said, her teeth impaling her lip as she studied me. “I think it’s a great idea while you’re there, but I think it may be better if you came and stayed here for a while. I know you’re capable of looking after yourself, sweetheart, but you shouldn’t have to.”

I offered my godmother a warm smile and reached a hand out for her to take. When she did, I could see the worry in her eyes. She loved me as though I was her own, she always had. That was why I knew that, no matter what was going on in my life, I had a safe place to go. I just couldn’t bring myself to take her up on her offer. I couldn’t be a puzzle piece that constantly sat on the fringe of their lives, waiting to find where I fit. I didn’t want to always wonder if I was intruding on something that I shouldn’t.

I shook my head a couple of times before squeezing her fingers. “Not long until I’m out of there. I can look after myself, and you’ve made it more than clear I’m welcome here.”

“You are always welcome here, Miki. I just wish you understood that was a permanent offer, not a temporary one for when things get particularly bad at home.”

“I do know that.” I tipped my head to the side. “But I’m stubborn.”

“You get that from both your damn parents. I knew your mom when she was a toddler. She was four years younger than me but wasn’t going to be left behind. You’re like her in so many ways, Mik. I wish you’d had more time with her.”

“Days like this, I feel like I do. The more you tell me, the more I know her. I just wish…” I trailed off and shook my head. I very rarely thought about my dad and how he’d been when my mom was alive. Comparing the person he had been and who he was now only led to disappointment. Wishing wouldn’t change anything.

“He can’t even bring himself to say her name, baby,” Jen said, already knowing where my train of thought had gone. “You look so much like her that I sometimes think it’s why he’s such an asshole. That doesn’t give him an excuse to be a neglectful, arrogant asshole, though.”

I snorted out a laugh and squeezed her hand one last time before releasing my grip. My angry stomach was now demanding that I continue eating, so I nibbled on a piece as Jen retreated into her memories briefly.

My mom had been a force of nature. I knew that from the short eight years I’d had with her. I just spent too much time wishing that I’d had more time to make concrete memories the way Jen and my father had. The impact she’d had on them would last them a lifetime, but mine was fleeting and subject to a juvenile mind that hadn’t known any better.

“If you ever want to talk about her, you know you can come to me.”

I knew I could, and I nodded in agreement, my smile still in place.

“Do I smell bacon?” Megan asked, stumbling into the kitchen, sleepily. Her hair was sticking up in several directions as she rubbed the exhaustion from her eyes.

“No, sweetheart.” Jen rolled her eyes and slipped out of her chair. “That’s the turkey cooking.”

“Eww. It’s too early for that, Mom.”

Pulling my feet up onto the chair, I settled in and picked apart my food as I watched the exchange between mother and daughter. Megan was up and moving, but her brain wouldn’t engage for another twenty minutes or so. She needed coffee and food. Her almost sitting on me proved that. Eventually, slipping into the chair next to mine, her forehead met the surface of the table with a groan, while Jen poured her dramatic daughter a coffee and made her some toast.

Megan eventually joined us in the waking world just in time for a pile of potatoes and green beans to be slid in front of us by a grinning Jen. Our only food-related jobs for the day were underway, and as Megan started to groan, I started to work.

Thanksgiving had officially begun.