All I can think is that if this is how it ends—if this is the last memory she had of me—I’ve already failed.
I did this.
I broke her and I broke us.
I broke my fucking self.
Four
Kelly
Accidents happen … but this was not a mistake
My car still smells faintly like cinnamon from the box of leftover pastries I tossed onto the passenger seat before leaving work.It should be comforting.Cinnamon always calms me.Even as a kid, Mom used to make cinnamon toast when my anxiety got bad, saying the smell alone could slow down a racing heart.
Tonight, though, nothing slows it down.
My pulse is a wild, uneven drum against my ribs as I pull onto the main road heading toward the rental house I’m considering moving to.
I need a new space.One without memories of him in every corner.
The night’s taunt me.The feelings overwhelm me.My space is no longer safe because it’s filled with memories of him.
Unable to rest, I decide to go out and drive by the possible new home.A chance to be embraced by the night air to breathe.To untangle the knot in my chest.
Riot’s voice echoes in my head, gravelly and low.We shouldn’t be doin’ this anymore.
It wasn’t a surprise, not really.But surprises aren’t the only things that break you.
Sometimes it’s the stuff you’ve been bracing for.The stuff you know is coming.The stuff you still hoped might not even if you asked for it yourself.
The headlights behind me flare too bright, snapping me out of the thought spiral.I glance in the mirror.A truck.Close.Too close.
I shift lanes, expecting him to pass.
He doesn’t.He shifts with me.
A chill crawls its way up my spine.
Maybe it’s nothing.Just someone heading home from a late shift.Maybe they’re on their phone.Maybe they’re oblivious.
Maybe I’m anxious because today has been an emotional dumpster fire.
“Relax,” I whisper, tightening my grip on the steering wheel.“It’s fine.”
But my stomach disagrees.It twists sharply, the way it does when something isoff.
I turn onto the county road that cuts through the wooded stretch leading away from my place.Streetlights get sparser until it’s just my headlights carving a narrow path through the dark.
The truck follows.Still too close.
I try to rationalize.This road leads everywhere — toward the cabins, the lake, the back roads the Kings use for rides.
Just because a vehicle is behind me doesn’t mean anything.Except the headlights flash once, briefly, like someone tapping their brakes?
Or signaling?Or—My lungs seize when the truck suddenly speeds up, surging closer until its grill looms in my mirror like a monster’s mouth.
“What the hell?—?”
