We had been on the road for almost 8 hours straight, stopping only for gas and for me to stretch my legs. I wasn’t used to the discomfort of a motorcycle and the off-road detours we took to avoid tolls and road blocks made it even worse. But we finally made it to Nashville. The trip had given me enough time to try to gather my thoughts. I still hated my dad for hiding his secret life from me, but there was no more need to cry over it. The only thing for me to do now was to survive, and if I had to do this running for the rest of my life, then so be it. Irish mentioned at one of our stops that we needed to get to someone named Goose. The only person he apparently trusted, other than my father. As we weaved through the streets of Nashville, I took the time to reflect on a lot of things, one of them being Irish. The more time I spent with him the more infatuated I was becoming. Every time he looked at me I could feel my body responding and all I could think of was how he, well, how he fucked me. And sitting on the back of a droning motorcycle, I can guarantee you that nothing stayed dry.

Finally, we pulled up to a house that looked completely out of character with the rest of the surrounding houses. Grass and weeds had overgrown the garden, and the building itself looked derelict. It was more like a shack on its foundations. The paint had faded over the years, and the gutters were overgrown with misdirected weeds. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought it to be a haunted house.

“Is this where Goose lives?” I asked.

“Yeah, come around the back,” Irish said and led the way.

He had once again parked the motorcycle out of view, and this time covered it with a withered tarp he found piled up in the corner near the refuse bins.

Since leaving the cottage, I haven’t yet had a chance to bathe or change clothes, I smelled like burnt wood, but even that could not dispel Irish’s scent that kept filing my nostrils every time I took a breath

“Do you think he’ll let me take a shower?” I asked nervously.

Irish chuckled, “Yeah, I think he’ll be okay with that.”

Irish knocked twice, paused, knocked twice again, paused again, and then rapped a few times. It was like a secret Morse code. The door swung open and a very scrawny, squint-eyed man stood before us, if he had one tooth in his mouth, it would have been too many.

“Irish ya ol’ basta’d!” the man said and flung his arms around Irish’s neck, “Ya takin ya wee time gettin’ ere ey boi!”

“Goose, fuck, am I glad to see you!” Irish exclaimed and patted his friend on his shoulder before turning to me. “This here is Fergus’ lass, Alana.”

The strange little man with the heavy accent came up to me and looked at me through narrowed slits, then pulled his glasses that were on top of his head down, “Well aint ya a wee sight for sore eyes lass! Com’n in, I bet ya’r tired after ya’r long ride from no’ere!”

“Hello,” I said tentatively as I shifted past the odd character giving him a slight smile. I am sure my dad would never have associated himself with the likes of Goose, but then I didn’t expect him to be part of the mafia either.

Goose and Irish caught up on good and bad times, talking away, while I sat counting my fingers and my toes. Half of the time I couldn’t even make out what Goose was saying with his heavy accent, but it was obvious that he knew my dad very well. From what I gathered, Goose was the go-to-man when anyone needed fake identities and passports, which was clearly why we were here. In a few days, we’ll be crossing the border to Mexico, from there to Brazil, the future looked grim but I couldn’t think of that right now. I had to focus on staying alive, figuring out where my dad was and have a goddamn shower!

I let out an exasperated sigh and stood up, setting my glass down on the rickety table, “Excuse me Goose, but do you perhaps have a shower I can use?”

“Aye! Lass, me noggin is playin’ up yer, Irish will show ya where it is,” Goose said and my insides flipped. Irish was going to show me the shower after what we did the night before?

“Yeah,” Irish said and his lips twisted into that same wicked grin, “Come on, it’s upstairs.”

I followed Irish up the stairs to the second level, half surprised that the stairs didn’t give way. With every step my insides twisted with a sense of excitement, which I obviously suppressed rather than act on. I had to keep it together.

“Goose has clothes that should fit you…”

“Oh no, no, no, I am not wearing…”

“Alana, he’s a good guy, trust me, and the clothes I’m talking about is from his days as a tailor, he used to be a proud man until he lost his son, give the guy a break.”

I sighed, maybe I was being too judgemental, and if Goose was going to help us get across the border I could at least show some appreciation. I followed Irish further to the bathroom, and surprisingly enough it wasn’t as dilapidated as I expected. It was somewhat worn but presentable enough. The enamel was chipped off the hand basin, and water leaked from the base of the faucet. The mirror had black patches of decay that showed years of moisture damage, but still useful.

I glanced around and saw a bath with brown stains at the bottom which I opted to pass and went straight to the shower.

“I’ll get the clothes,” Irish said, and before I could tell him to leave it at the door, he was gone.

I let out a sigh and leaned with my hands on the basin, tears pricked my eyelids. Exhaustion had suddenly washed over me like a heavy layer of wax, dragging me down into oblivion. My butt ached in places I did not know existed; my back was hurting, even my shoulders felt like I had done at least three days of weights without stopping for a break. I looked up in the mirror and shook my head. How the hell did I end up here?

“I thought you’d be in the shower by now.”

I gasped and spun around, pressing my hand against my chest, “God do you have to sneak up on me like that?”

Irish laughed, “I did no such thing lass, and you were miles away there for a second.”

I shook my head and closed my eyes, “I’m just tired, it’s been an eventful few days.”

Irish placed my clothes on the small compactum standing against the wall and then pulled me into his arms. Why was he so goddamn nice? I thought as I rested my cheek against his chest. Why could I not have met him at a normal bar as a normal guy who worked a 9 to 5 job? Overwhelmed by my emotions I fought against the tears that suddenly felt like they were just too many to hold back.

Irish pressed his lips against my hair and I could feel his arms tighten around me, “We’ll get through this, I swear to you. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

I sniffed, and clutched at his shirt, “I have no idea what’s going to happen to me Irish; I’m a fucking lost lamb in the wilderness with a bunch of wild dogs after me.”

Overnight I’ve gone from twenty to thirty. College was no longer a favourite pastime, I suddenly felt years beyond my age. I couldn’t even remember what it felt like going to the movies with my friends, or hanging out around the cafeteria at break. It was almost as if that entire part of me was one big silver screen movie and reality had suddenly dawned.

Irish cupped my face with his hands and he looked into my eyes. With his thumbs, he swept the tears from my cheeks, “I’m in that wilderness with you, trust me, we’ll get through this and when we do, you’ll be back at college doing what you love.”

College… what if I didn’t want to go back to college, what if I just wanted you in my life, I thought, but instead I nodded and turned out of his embrace.

“I’ll be right down,” I whispered and cleared my throat.

The soft click of the door behind me was like a switch, and I sank down against the wall sobbing silently. Things would never be the same, never.