Here we go! 😁❤️❤️ I'm going to alternate between this book on Wednesdays and Stay in your Lane on Sundays. Hope you en-Joy!

Chapter One

God, are you listening? It's me, Joy.

I gripped the dewy grass beneath my hands and ground my teeth.

Do you hate me?

A single tear rolled down my cheek, and I didn't bother wiping it away. Gone, all of it, every cent, every dollar, gone.

Was this a punishment?

The throbbing pain between my thighs was the only answer I received. I grabbed the vodka bottle to my right and chugged, wishing it were disinfectant. My mind flashed with snapshots. A dark figure in my doorway. His gloved hand atop my mouth. A faceless, scentless, silent shadow come to steal the goods I bartered to survive. He could have his turn; that wasn't what hurt. A baker doesn't cry over a missing loaf of bread. But the rest. All my savings.

He took it all, God. Are you happy?

I inspected the empty vodka bottle and considered asking God to send more.

I know I ain't living right, but fuck if I'm not trying.

I tossed the bottle and flopped back down to the earth. My eyes shifted to the shovel at my left.

I've been trying, but you...

I reached, my pinky finger just managing to touch the worn wooden handle.

You let this happen.

I traced the grooves, the thought of living another day too exhausting. I couldn't do this anymore. I couldn't start all over, not when I'd been so close. Everything, all of it. He'd taken it all.

I tried, God. When mama left, I didn't have a choice. I had to eat, but I've been saving. I've been trying to get away from this town, to start over.

I gripped the handle and hobbled off the ground. "Do you hear me?" I screamed into the Tennessee sky. Billions of stars stared back at me, mocking. If the almighty was up there, he wasn't talking. If he was real, he was an even shittier father than my own.

"I'm gonna dig!" I slammed the shovel into the ground and wedged out a lump of dirt. "Everyday, I'll dig. Right here!" I dumped the first bit and moved on to the next. "When I make it six feet down, I'm done. I give up." My voice cracked.

"I—" Another shovels worth. "—Give—" Two more, then another. Sweat beaded my forehead, coated my neck, rolled down my spine. "—Up!" I slung the shovel as if it bit me and stood there heaving lungful after lungful of cool, crisp night air. It burned my lungs and numbed the rest.

"No more men," I shouted towards heaven. "I refuse. You owe me a miracle, something!"

A wave of nausea hit me, and I stumbled. "You do that—" I hit my knees, stretched out onto the cold Earth. "Do that, God, and I'll stop digging."

                                          * * *

"Joy! Wake up!"

I cracked my eyes open a fraction but immediately regretted the decision. My head ached, my body burned, and I was strangely wet. I tried again, and Kyle's worried face greeted me.

"Why are you asleep outside. . .next to a hole? Does it have to do with this?" He held up my empty vodka bottle and lifted an eyebrow.

"Help me up," I grumbled. "And leave the hole alone. I'm making something."

"Making something? Since when the hell do you make shit?" Kyle lifted me, none too gently, and plopped me down onto my feet.

"Since now." I blew out a breath. "I need a shower."

"Damn straight you do. Good lord, Joy. Is that... vomit?"

"Maybe." I shrugged and clutched my forehead. "Let's just go inside."

Kyle supported me at arms length, half helping me into the trailer like a person discarding a shitty diaper. He stayed with me up to the bathroom door then couldn't get away from me fast enough.

I scrubbed my skin raw in the shower, wishing I could peel it off the way I had my soiled clothes. How could I tell him? How could I have let this happen? I let the water hit my face, wishing I would drown. I fell forward, letting my cheek rest against the shower wall as a sob seeped from my lungs. I had to tell him.

I dried. I dressed. I looked like a husk, withered, wilted. After several deep breaths, I made my way down the hall.

Kyle was sitting on the couch, waiting expectantly with one leg crossed over the other and his foot tapping incessantly. "So. . ."

I took the spot beside him, letting my eyes roam over his copper hair, his smooth skin, and sharp features, both preparing and stalling the blow I was about to deliver. "It's gone, Kyle."

His brow furrowed, and he hesitated. "What's gone?"

"The money. All of it. It's gone." I held my breath. Kyle and I had been planning to escape for years. This town didn't want us anyway. People hated me for being a whore, the same way they hated him for being gay. He was my best friend, and I'd ruined his chance.

He shifted, straightening. "What do you mean?" His jaw twitched, tensed.

"Someone broke in here last night." My voice shook as the memories resurfaced. Rough hands and hateful words. Bile rose into my throat, and I swallowed convulsively to keep it down. I needed another shower. "He. . ."

"Jesus," Kyle breathed, pulling me into his arms. He held me tight, crushing me against him. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine. It doesn't matter." I sank into his warmth, breathed him in, letting all his good wash away the bad like no shower ever could. "The money is gone, as I can't. . .I can't anymore." My voice hitched. "I just can't. No more men. No more Johns."

Kyle's hand ran up and down my back, a slow steady rhythm that reminded me of Mama. "Good. No more Johns. I've got us. Don't worry."

I didn't argue, but Kyle couldn't help me. I'd drag him down, like I'd been doing for years. If it wasn't for me, he'd have been out of our shit-town ages ago. He'd been waiting for me. I knew it. "Maybe you should just go..."

He leaned back, and his hard look stilled my tongue. I should have expected it. I had expected it. Kyle would never leave, not as long as I still lingered here to stop him. My thoughts drifted to the small hole I'd started the night before. How long would it take to get six feet down?

"Okay! You need cheering up." Kyle grabbed the remote then pulled me into his side. "Detective shows. We need to prepare you, and those always seem to make you feel better."

I grinned. I didn't deserve him. "You hate them."

"I do. They creep me the fuck out, but you like them, and you're gonna be a detective right? Once we move away. You're gonna use that crazy eye trick you do, like your mom always did. You're gonna read them without even asking a question. Like a true boss."

I threw a hand over his mouth to stop him. "Just watch the show."

He licked my palm, then winked at my disgusted look and settled me back against his chest. "We're gonna watch this shit all day. If any Johns come knocking, I'll run them off. You just sit here and don't worry about anything. Big daddy Kyle is gonna fix all of this."

I couldn't respond, and thankfully Kyle didn't  seem to need one. We sat in silence, him quietly bearing my favorite programs, while I stared blankly, lost in my own thoughts.

At first, all I could think about was the money I lost, but after a while, my mind drifted further into what it really meant for me.

I was never going to be a detective. All those years, all the planning, mama's encouraging words. . .gone.

Mama had a way of reading people. She used it with her Johns, but Mama could read any man or woman from a mile away. She'd taught me how to do the same. How to spot a liar, then deeper than that. Mama said I could use it when I left, the way she always planned for me to.

Tears pricked my eyes, but I rapidly blinked to hold them at bay. All that and she just left. Up and left me alone, all for a man, for a John. What did she think I would do? I had to make money. I had to eat. Still, I'd saved. I'd planned, and, deep down, I still wanted to make her proud, to get away and make a new life for us.

I shook my head to dispel the thoughts. Dreams. That was all they ever were, and now they were dead.

As if sensing my distress, Kyle lightly caressed my arm. I sighed, snuggled closer, and allowed my eyelids to droop shut. It would break his heart when I was gone, but I selfishly didn't care anymore.

He'd be better off without me anyway.