The minute I tried to shift my body, a sharp pain shot through my neck, and I let out a quiet hiss of pain as I reached up to rub at the spot. I'd promised myself I wouldn't fall asleep given my current situation, but sometime over the last hour I must have dozed off. Luckily, whatever Jacob had been jacked up on kept him in a deep sleep across my back seat. Straightening my body, I cracked my neck, then slowly casted a look at the man behind me. He'd changed positions from his uncomfortable body prop against the back door sometime when I was asleep and was now curled in a fetal like position across both seats, his head on my duffel bag, one of his arms over his eyes to keep the sun from stirring him awake, and the other trapped beneath him. I contemplated waking him up considering he'd already put me at least three hours behind schedule, but I figured the more sleep he got, the less likely it was that I would have to deal with a confused man in his wake.

I wrapped my fingers around my phone in the cup holder and lifted it, letting out a barely audible groan the second I caught sight of the overflowing texts and missed calls from Ian. On cue, the picture of us from a concert last year lit up my screen and I swept my finger across my torso and brought the phone to my ear.

"Hey, Ian." I mumbled groggily.

There was a long pause, then a very irritated, "I've been trying to call for hours. You didn't even let me know you left. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Ian." I assured. "I've just been driving. You know how I feel about talking and driving at the same time. It distracts me."

I immediately felt a knot in the back of my throat form and my stomach churn at the lie. There wasn't any need to keep the truth from my brother, but I found myself trying to figure out how to extend the lie further to cover up the fact that Jacob Carter was asleep in my back seat.

"How far are you?" he sounded as if he were contemplating driving to meet me and I didn't like that idea at all. "Have you made it to Flagstaff yet?"

"Not quite." At least that wasn't a lie. "I should be soon, though. I promise I'll turn my volume up and let you know when I'm there."

He sighed and I could see him rubbing a hand down his face or possibly massaging his temples as he responded. "Please make sure you pull over at a motel tonight. You don't need to be driving on no sleep."

"Oh, come on, have you met me?" I tried to lighten the mood with a laugh. "I live off of caffeine, books, and music."

"I'm serious, Isabelle." There it was again, the dad tone. "You wanted to throw the adult card in my face, then you're going to act like one. Make mature decisions."

My eyes involuntarily shot to the rearview mirror, my lips twitching downward when I caught sight of Jacob stirring.

"Did you hear me, Isabelle?"

"Yes."

"Iz, I can't. . . if something happened to you. . . please just be careful, alright?"

His words had warmth spreading through my face-and tears threatening to escape.

"I will." I whispered, then added, "Don't worry. I'll be back home before you know it and you'll wish I'd take another trip."

He chuckled a little at that. "I got to get ready for work. Love you, kid. Don't forget to call me."

"Aye aye, Captain." I even did the salute despite him not being able to see me. He muttered something under his breath and the line went silent.

I had just lowered my phone back into the cup holder when a quiet, gruff, "I'm going to be sick." filled the silence in my car. I quickly unlocked the doors and just as he opened the door the sound of him vomiting sent bile into my own throat and I turned the radio up to try and drown it out.

By the time he returned to his seat, his face lacked all color, and I was sure he was going to start to dry heave again, but he only squeezed his eyes shut and started to shake his head, muttering incoherently under his breath. I only sat in the driver's seat, tense, alert, and anticipating his next words or move. When nothing came, I turned around and whispered, "Are you okay?"

The moment his eyes opened reality seemed to hit him and he jerked suddenly and stared at me with wide eyes. As he turned his head to the left, my own followed suit seeing the lash laceration stretching from under his left eye to the outer corner of his mouth. I hadn't seen it earlier this morning, and it looked as if he hadn't even bothered to clean it up. Which, I suppose in hindsight made sense.

"W...wait. Last night wasn't a dream?" he looked around us and started shaking his head. "No, I'm dead. I—"

"Jacob." I tried to keep my voice as composed as possible, but the fear in his eyes was making it hard to try and stay calm myself. "I'm here. Last night wasn't a dream. I have somewhere to be, though, so if you need me too, I can drop you off at the hospital or—"

His frantic expression quickly turned horrified. "No."

"Jacob." I repeated softly. "If you meant what you said last night, you need to get help."

"I don't remember what I said." the quick aversion of his eyes was a sure indication he was lying. "But I've tried to get help my entire life. Everyone turns a cheek, pretends I'm okay, or like I don't exist at all."

The image of pitcher Easton Lowe initiating a fight in the quad a couple years ago floated to the surface and I bowed my head a little. It was one of the few times I'd actually took credence in my older brother's words and stayed out of it. Unfortunately, the guilt continued to eat at me, and I nearly choked on a sob when Jacob walked into school a few days after their suspension with his face a mutilated mess.

"I mean a hospital." I was careful with my words and phrasing. "Maybe a rehab facility."

He snorted. "You think I'm a drug addict."

"I don't know." I lied. Because Ian had confirmed he was yesterday evening. "But I do know you were severely intoxicated last night and going on about how you wanted to throw yourself off the side of the overpass. That's not normal, Jacob. You need to—"

"Normal?" he leaned forward so his head was between the passenger and driver's seats. "What the hell do you consider normal, Isabelle? Because if we're being honest, neither of our lives have been normal."

The malice spat in the word had be flinching back against my door and I fully considered getting out of my own car and catching an Uber or bus back to Ian.

"You of all people should understand why I have to do it."

"Do what?"

"Kill myself." he was talking about it nonchalantly again, as we were discussing the weather or movie and not ending his life. "I can't keep living like this. I'm exhausted. The nightmares, the constant fear, the guilt, the questioning. That's without people sneering comments or throwing punches any chance they get."

I looked away and out my windshield, my fingers tightening around the steering wheel. "I'm sorry, Jacob. But I. . . I need to be somewhere. I can drop you off at a hospital. That's the best I can do. Or maybe call your sister and—"

"I'll just go." he extended his hand to reach for the door handle, but my own instinctively shot out and hit the button to my left to lock all the doors in the car. "What are you doing, Isabelle?"

I watched my knuckles drain of color as I responded. "I don't know. But I can't just. . . I can't just let you kill yourself. I can't have that on my conscious. Knowing that I could have prevented it, could have stopped you or gotten you help."

"Nothing you can do will change my mind about my decision, Isabelle." He said it matter-of-factly, no doubt having already had his mind set on this for a long time. "I guess you could prolong it, which you managed to do last night, but nobody is powerful enough to kill my thoughts."

I looked to my right, to the passenger seat my father had always sat so comfortable in. For a moment I saw his wise brown eyes narrowing at me as I ran through thoughts and scenarios in my head. I knew he'd want me to try my hardest to help Jacob-he'd always had a soft spot for him. Even after what his father had done. My own would go out of his way to fix Jacob's bikes or offer him food when he was out on the street ridding or skipping rocks. When Ian and I started to tell Dad about the bullying the poor kid down the street was being dragged through, he donated a little of his savings so Jacob could get into karate at the Rec center. I don't think Jacob ever knew how it'd happened or why, but he'd eventually learned to stand up for himself. What I knew deep down was no amount of hits to the gut, face, or groin hurt as much as the words spat in his face daily.

"I'm going to New York." I whispered as my father's image faded. "It's a long trip and I'll be stopping a ton on the way, but I. . . if you. . ."

I trailed off, not knowing how to explain that I didn't want him to come with me but was terrified of the thought of what might happen if he didn't. A small, logical part of me knew that I could just put the trip on back burner, go once I was sure Jacob was going to be okay. But the part of me that my mother was a nomad and would likely be in a different state and town by the time the chance for me to travel again came around.

"You want me to go clear across the country with you?" he sounded as shocked by the fact as I was afraid.

"I want you to see that there's more to life that this shit city." I breathed, then added a bit louder, "That you could always leave here and start over. Go someplace nobody knows who you are, start over."

He just stared at me blankly, the surprise the only emotion on his face, before he finally whispered. "Okay."

"Okay?" I echoed, taken back. Once I'd recollected myself, I said, "Yeah, okay. Do your foster parents know you're gone?"

He laughed without emotion. "I've been gone for over a year, Isabelle. They have no idea where I am. Nor do they care. The second I turned eighteen last year they all but kicked me to the curb. Without a paycheck, I didn't matter."

The thought made my chest hurt. Though I'd been wallowing in my sadness and self-deprecation for the last year over Dad, I still had Ian at my side and in my corner every day. To have nobody and nowhere would be devastating.

"Alright, then I guess we start heading for Flagstaff?"

He slowly leaned back in the seat, arms crossing, and whispered, "Yeah, I guess so."

I waited until he'd trained his eyes on the blur of concrete flying passed in the windows to allow myself to relax a little. I needed to believe I was doing the right thing. I knew Dad would be on my side, would see the best in Jacob as he always had, and assure me that this was the best possible answer to his situation.

When I lifted my head one last time to sneak a look at the man slumped in my back seat in the rearview, I met his eyes. They were still vacant, empty, and frantic. But a new emotion had started to enter them in the few minutes I'd been driving again.

Hope.