Maybe it does.
I spot Melissa's car near the back. Her little blue sedan parked crooked because she's always in a rush. She leaves her keys in the cupholder. Has since college.
The door is unlocked.
Thank God.
I wrench it open, and there they are. Keys sitting in the cupholder like a gift.
"Sorry, Melissa,” I mutter, even though I'm not sorry at all. Not anymore. "Consider this payment for sleeping with my groom."
The engine roars to life. I throw the car into reverse and peel out of the parking lot.
In the rearview mirror, I see Melissa running out of the estate, waving her arms. Shouting, but I can't hear over the engine and my own racing heartbeat.
I don't look back.
I drive.
The dress is bunched up around my thighs, tulle spilling everywhere. Bobby pins rain down on the dashboard. My hair whips around my face, half up and half down.
My makeup is running because yes, Callum, I'm crying.
But this time, they're not sad tears.
They're relief.
For the first time in two years, I can breathe.
The road stretches ahead, winding through farmland and forest. The sky is that perfect shade of early autumn blue, and the trees are just starting to turn. Reds and oranges and golds flashing past like promises.
My hands shake on the wheel. My heart pounds. But underneath the panic and fear and shock of what I just did.
Freedom.
Mom: I couldn’t cancel the honeymoon.
I chuckle at the idea of it, the honeymoon where I was supposed to go and produce a little Callum.
Me: Go Mom. Have fun. I’ll get your passport to you by courier.
Mom: No need. Aunt Linda can do that.
Even better.
I smile at the idea of Mom maybe going on my honeymoon and finding her happy ever after.
Largo Waters – 147 miles
My foot eases off the gas.
Largo Waters. Home. Mom still lives there, in the same house where I grew up. The same house with the porch swing Dad built and the garden Mom tends every spring. After Dad died, everyone thought she'd sell and move closer to Aunt Linda, but she refused. Six years ago, I kissed Carlos, one of Callum’s best friends, and ran before the sun came up. Largo Waters, where the Negrorio pack still lives. Where they run half the town. Where I swore I'd never go back because facing them would mean admitting I chose wrong.
My hands turn the wheel.
Toward the four alphas I've spent six years trying to forget.
I press harder on the gas.
