I won’t have any of that if I leave.
“What’s your name?” I ask, because for some reason, I don’t want to stop talking.
Or rather, I don’t want to be alone.
“Geoffrey,” he replies. “And yours?”
My real name slips out before I can stop myself. “Esme.”
“It’s lovely to meet you, Esme,” he says genuinely. “You know, no matter how bad life gets, there’s always a way out of it.”
“I wish I had your kind of faith,” I sigh. “But my life has changed so much in less than a year. It feels surreal, and not in a good way.”
He nods. “I know what you mean. I was living on the streets when I was fifteen. A year later, I was dealing drugs. Soon after, I was using. It took years before I was strong and brave enough to get sober. And even then, I can’t take all the credit.”
“You fell in love?” I guess.
“Yes, I did,” he replies with a distant smile. “She was the most beautiful girl in the world. She still is.”
“What’s her name?”
“Olive,” Geoffrey tells me. “She’s thirty-three years old now. Has two boys of her own, too.”
I frown. Geoffrey must be at least sixty, if not older.
He sees my confusion and smiles. “She’s my daughter,” he explains.
“Oh!”
“I was in my twenties when she was born, and I was too fucked up to be her dad,” he tells me. “When her mother stopped me from seeing her, I was angry, but I understood.”
He rubs the back of his neck like he’s going through the emotions all over again.
“I vowed to get clean. It wasn’t easy. I fell off the wagon a few times. But when Olive was about eleven, I finally managed to make it stick. It took a while longer to make her trust me again. To make her mother trust me again. But it was worth it.”
Someone shuffles into the bus station and heads towards the booth. Geoffrey stands with a muted groan and pats me on the shoulder in a fatherly way.
Then he goes back to the ticket office. He has a small limp and a hunched back, but his shadow stretches on for miles beneath the lone fluorescent light high overhead.
I look down at my map, at the new town that I’m to make my home.
I feel resigned to the decision. It’s not perfect, but this isn’t about things being perfect. It’s about survival.
I stand up, steadying myself on the armrest of the bench, and take one step towards the ticket booth. The shooting pain is there, but I ignore it.
Until, one step later, it doubles.
Triples.
Suddenly, it’s all I can feel, sharp and insistent and glaring. Then—moisture between my legs. A trickle of something that catches me off guard.
For one horrible second, I think it’s blood. Like all the stress my body has been through in the last few hours is finally taking its toll.
But when I look down at the concrete floor, it’s not blood I see.
It’s water.
My water just broke.
Oh God.
I’m having this baby.
I’m having this baby now.
“Esme?”
The other passenger has moved off to a far corner. Geoffrey is looking at me from behind the glass of the ticket office with his eyebrows knitted together in concern.
I meet his gaze. The world spins. I feel my knees shake a little but I will myself to keep standing.
“I… need to get… hospital,” I choke out. Another wave of pain has me wincing.
I hear footsteps, fast, but with a discernable limp. Then I feel a hand on my arm, strong and firm.
I lean into his weight at my side to stop from falling over. I have to trust him. I don’t have any other choice.
“Hold on, girl,” Geoffrey orders. His voice is so deep and soothing that for a moment, it actually succeeds in calming me.
“I… I can’t,” I gasp. White light streaks across my eyes like shooting stars. “This baby is coming…”
And then, one by one, the stars snuff out.
All that’s left is darkness.
17
Artem
A SMALL FARM OUTSIDE OF PICACHO DEL DIABLO, MEXICO
“Señor!” Guillermo greets, giving me a smile that I’m sure he thinks is convincing. “Nice to see you.”
I don’t bother with the fucking small talk.
Or with any talk.
I just punch him square in the face.
The weapons dealer stumbles back with a yell of pain. Blood spout from his nostrils.
“Keep in mind—the next punch will break your nose,” I tell him calmly.
“What the fuck?” Guillermo stammers as he tries to get his bearings. The blood is thick in his hands now.
He’s stumbled right into a murky puddle of mud and horse shit. His black rubber boots are mired in it.
“That was a warning,” I tell him. “A taster of what I will do to you if you don’t give me the information I need.”
“I… information?” Guillermo stammers. “I have no information. Just guns.”
“I have enough of your fucking guns,” I remind him. “I’ve kept your fucking side business going for the past few months. Which is why you owe me.”
Guillermo’s wipes the blood off his upper lip and spits on the earth.
“Fuck, it hurts,” he complains. “I think it’s broken.”
I narrow my eyes. “If I wanted to break your nose, trust me, it would be fucking broken right now. You’re fine. Be a fucking man and shake it off.”
He looks up at me, new fear tainting his expression.
“Mira, cabrón,” he says, straightening up. “I’m just the gun supplier around these parts okay? I’m not involved in the politics.”
“Like fuck you’re not,” I say. I feint closer.
He lunges backwards like I’d shocked him with a cattle prod. Ends up even deeper in the pile of shit.
Good. That’s where trash like him belongs anyway.
“Now, you’re gonna answer my questions,” I tell him, with a meaningful glance over his shoulder. In the distance behind him, two young boys are playing in the field. His
