She’d let him be angry and, for the most part, hadn’t argued back. And she’d tried to apologize, even if it hadn’t worked.
Sometimes, trying was what mattered.
Her watch lit up.
Bianca
I just have a bad feeling about this whole thing.
And then, as if her mother had conjured a shift in the weather, fat snowflakes started to pelt the car. Monica swore under her breath and turned on the wipers. Swirling snow danced across the highway surface. She slowed down.
The wind picked up, suddenly, and it went from snowing to a serious squall in a matter of seconds.
Hitting the brakes, Monica slowed down, but the car locked up—fucking rentals—and she skidded sideways. Headlights appeared out of nowhere, and she steered into where she wanted to go, her heart racing. The other car screeched past her, too close for comfort, but she was fine, she was still on the road…
And then she couldn’t feel the road.
It felt like she’d taken flight, and she had no control over the direction of the vehicle. No amount of “steer where you want to go” mattered if the wheels weren’t gripping the road. She hit the shoulder, the tires finally bit into the gravel, and the car whipped around.
When it came to a stop, she was facing the wrong direction.
Her heart pounded.
It took her a long beat before she remembered to breathe again.
Another car appeared, headlights ghosting out of nowhere, then blew past her, rattling the windows.
“Oh my God,” she whispered out loud to herself, her voice cracking.
Where the hell had this weather come from?
Her hands shook. She wasn’t sure if she could safely get her car turned around and pointing in the right direction in this squall, so she decided to wait it out. Minutes ticked by, and then the wind slowed down, and the sleeting snow returned to lazily dancing fat flakes.
The road looked clear in both directions, so she pulled out to execute a quick three point turn.
From nowhere, a pickup truck loomed in front of her, horn blaring. She floored the gas, rocketing across the highway and into the ditch on the other side, coming to an ominous crunch against a thick tree trunk as her airbag exploded in her face.
12
Josh hadn’t moved.He was still sitting on the floor where he slumped after Monica left, his back against the cold cement wall. His legs stretched out in front of him, his head in his hands.
In his pocket, his phone kept vibrating. He knew without looking that it was the Kincaid brother group chat going nuts.
Fuck.
He didn’t know what to tell them. He didn’t know what to tell himself.
Across the garage, his shop phone rang, interrupting his miserable silence. He still didn’t move.
Ten seconds after it stopped, his cell phone rang. Not a vibration, but the loud jingle that meant the call had broken through his Do Not Disturb settings. Fuck. He yanked it out of his pocket, ready to answer it and tell his brothers to leave him alone—or maybe just throw it across the room.
But it wasn’t his brothers. It was the central dispatcher for the company he used to funnel tow truck calls in his direction.
Jesus fuck, he didn’t want to go out and respond to a call right now. But tows were a steady, reliable income stream for his garage. And he needed that money. Part of being his own boss meant kicking his own ass when he didn’t want to work.
He replied affirmatively. Yes, he could respond to the scene of a single vehicle accident north of town.
Then he flipped over to the group chat texts, since he was already in the messenger app. They’d started an hour ago, almost as soon as he’d dragged Monica out of the party.
