Free The Second Chance (Inferno Falls Book Three) by Aubrey Parker Page B

I’ll be staying at Ernie’s rent free. I hate the idea because the place will be rank with memories, but at least I can console myself with the fact that the bastard is finally dead.  
    The place is tiny but clean enough, and I don’t see any druggies or prostitutes hanging out looking for a good time. Really, it’s just another bump on the long American road. That’s something I discovered when I started rambling away from my old home: Most places are just places. If you’re sheltered, you’ll see anything off your normal center as suspect. But I’ve been everywhere now, and I’ve seen it all. The old me might have questioned a place like this, but the new me understands that the people who run it and the people who live nearby are just people. Everyone gets on as well as they can, and it’s not for me to judge them.  
    I pay, and then after I find my room, I cover Carl’s cage with a shirt from my backpack and sneak him inside. He’s a loudmouth in the car, but so far has settled down when we’re not moving. He’s also either loyal or frightened, and every time I’ve let him out he’s stuck by me like a dog. It’s as if he gets what this is, between the two of us. Carl can be my ward as long as he needs me, but the minute the cat decides he’d rather be on his own I’ll be inclined to agree and let him go.  
    I let Carl out inside the room, placing his litter box in the bathroom. I get him a bit of water, lay out some food, then get my backpack from the truck and settle in. My digs here don’t need to be luxurious. The room just needs to have a bed that’s clean and comfortable, and it’s got that. It needs to get me through tonight and into tomorrow. I’m in no rush. There’s still half a country between me and my destination, and I’m used to drifting. I won’t arrive before tomorrow’s done. Tomorrow will be like today, with another motel at the end. A carbon copy of the same day.  
    I kick off my boots then sit on the bed with my back against the headboard, one leg bent up, and the other straight out in front of me. I stare at the TV for a while without turning it on, as if entertainment might magically appear. Then I succumb to what’s been nagging at me all day, and slip the phone from my pocket.  
    I download the LiveLyfe app. I don’t want to set up shop here myself, but it turns out I can browse without having an account. So, after spending a few seconds pretending I’ve done this to check on my old buddy Brandon, I type in Maya Holland .  
    There are a bunch of them. I scroll down, trying to see enough of the tiny photos that go with the names to see which might be my Maya — the girl who used to be my Maya. Annoyingly, a lot of people have used photos of things that aren’t their faces. One of the Mayas is using a watering can as her image. And it looks like just about anyone who has kids uses them as their photo, which seems pretty stupid to me. It’s not the kids’ LiveLyfe account, gals. It’s yours.  
    I’m about to give up and start clicking Mayas at random — surely, one of these kids could be Mackenzie — when I see her.  
    Gorgeous red hair. Bright, wide smile.  
    It feels like I’ve been kicked in the chest. We’ve swapped those few emails, but I could probably count on both hands the number of times I’ve heard from Maya since I’ve left, and this is almost for sure the first time I’ve seen her. I’ve sent plenty of postcards, but those are missives, sent into the world without expectation (or possibility, in my case) of a response. I’ve even addressed a bunch of the cards to both of them, hoping it’s not somehow overstepping a line or insulting. Kids like postcards, don’t they? I loved to get them, once upon a time. The idea of being somewhere else — somewhere not the little one-horse town Inferno Falls used to be — made my spirit fly. I always wanted to see the world, and the postcards I got from friends and relatives only made that