“Where you goin’, darlin’?” he calls after me, all lazy and smug.
“AWAY FROM YOU!” I shout, grabbing his keys off the hook by the door.
“Cat—”
Too late.
I’m already slamming the door and stomping across the porch like a woman possessed. The Tennessee heat hits me full force, but I don’t care. I march straight to his truck, hisprecioustruck, and throw myself inside.
The engine roars to life beneath me, and oh, it feels good.
Petty? Absolutely. But sometimes, you have to make a point.
I gun it across the gravel drive, tires spitting rock, and head straight for the pasture. The wide stretch of open land shimmers in the morning sun, and I treat it like a racetrack, hair flying, heart pounding, fury still bubbling in my chest.
“CALM DOWN, HE SAYS,” I scream over the roar of the engine, yanking the wheel hard and sending the truck drifting sideways through the grass.
Dust billows in a giant cloud behind me, the whole cab rattling as I fishtail, laughing and cussing in Spanish at the same time.
His truck lurches, the pasture blurs, and adrenaline rushes through me. For once, it’s not panic—it’s pure, wild chaos, the kind that makes me feel alive.
I spin the wheel again, drifting hard, the tires screaming against dirt.
My eyes lift briefly, and there’s my loving husband.
Carter stands by the fence, arms crossed, watching me tear up his land in his truck. He doesn’t wave or shout. Instead, he stares at me with a blend of exasperation and heat that makes me want to speed up just to annoy him.
So I do.
I slam the gas, looping around him, spinning the wheel sharp enough to kick up a cloud of dust that engulfs him head to toe.
His muffled cough carries over the roar of the engine, and I cackle, wild and unrepentant.
“CALM DOWN, MY ASS!” I holler out the window.
The dust hasn’t even settled before I’m flooring it again, laughter bubbling out of me like I’ve gone completely unhinged. Because maybe I have.
Who does Carter Hayes think he is, telling me to calm down?
I yank the wheel, making the truck slide sideways again, tires screeching, pasture grass tearing underneath me. The seatbelt jerks against my chest, but I don’t care.
The chaos feels exhilarating. Cathartic.
“¡Vete a la mierda!” I scream out the window, flipping him off as I fishtail past. (“Fuck off!”)
Carter’s still standing at the fence, arms crossed, jaw clenched. He looks like he’s trying not to lose it.
I slam the gas and fly across the pasture, cutting a wide circle around the hay bales. The back end of his truck swings wide, dirt spraying everywhere, my hair whipping around me.
The tires bounce over a dip, sending me briefly airborne. My shriek is a mix of terror and delight. When the truck crashes back down, I’m laughing so hard my stomach aches.
“CALM DOWN, HE SAYS,” I holler, pounding the steering wheel. “¿¡Me quieres muerta o QUÉ, Carter?!” (“Do you want me dead or WHAT, Carter?!”)
I loop again, gunning it harder this time, drifting so wide the entire back end kicks out into a spin. Dust explodes in every direction, and I throw my head back, cackling.
Somewhere behind the haze, I catch sight of him again.
Carter’s moving now, striding toward me with murder in his eyes, his hat pulled low, his whole body coiled tight like he’s seconds from snapping.
