Having never hitchhiked before, I wasn’t sure how long it would take to find a willing driver. I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt over my head, concealing the side of my face and my long hair. Maybe I’d have a safer ride if I didn’t look the part of a stupid girl seeking trouble in the middle of nowhere.
An eighteen-wheeler was the first vehicle to pull over. I wondered if it was common for them to pick up hitchhikers. They’re likely being paid to drive the truck, so it’s no skin off their back, plus they get company.
“Where are you heading?” The driver was young, maybe just a few years older than me. He looked fairly harmless, but I should have known better than to assume.
“As far west as I can go,” I told him.
“Works for me. You don’t like to talk a lot or sing to every song on the radio, do you?” I wanted to laugh as I climbed into the truck. I didn’t think I looked like the type to talk a lot or sing, but he had nothing to worry about.
“I’m quiet and wouldn’t sing in front of my worst enemy.”
I closed the heavy door and pulled the shoulder belt across my chest. I doubt people get hurt in an accident if in one of these trucks, but I’d rather not tempt my fate of going through the windshield after seeing the damage broken glass caused Adam.
“Tucker,” the guy said. “I’m heading to Sacramento.”
“Journey,” I replied. “Me too.” I didn’t have initial intentions of traveling to Sacramento, but maybe that’s where I was meant to end up.
“Journey? An ironic name, huh?”
“We’ll go with that.” It was the last we spoke for a few hours. I was thankful for lack of a need to speak, probably just as much as he was. I was curious about his plans for overnight; if he planned to keep driving or sleep somewhere—if somewhere was in the truck. Though I was exhausted, I kept my eyes open, fighting a much-needed nap. I didn’t know Tucker well enough yet.
It was nearly midnight when Tucker pulled off at a rest stop. “You hungry?”
“I could eat,” I told him, trying not to sound needy.
“Journey, tell me one thing … what are you running away from?”
I stared at the guy, noticing the bald patches in his beard, wondering if he had a nervous habit of scratching his face. He had a piercing through his eyebrow. I liked it. I was staring at it to avoid his question, wondering how much it hurt when he got it pierced.
Tucker waved a hand at me, trying to get my attention. “Journey?”
I refocused my attention on the bigger details of his face, thinking of a response—a response that wasn’t coming easily. “Would you think I’m crazy if I tell you I’m running away from myself?”
“Why would you run away?” Brody asks.
“I thought it would solve my problems. So, I drove halfway across the country and hitched a ride for the second half.”
Brody raises a concerned brow. “You hitched a ride with a random person?”
“Yup, and I lived to talk about it. Crazy, huh?”
“I’d say stupid, but we can call it crazy. Did you solve your problems?”
His question is innocent and one I’d ask if someone said all this to me. “I was the problem, so no.”
Brody’s forehead creases, and his eyebrows knit together. “Why are you so hard on yourself?”
“I don’t deserve my life.” It’s the most honest I’ve been with anyone in a long time. “I know what you’re thinking now. You are worried about having a tween daughter and scaring me off, but the punchline is … I just scared you off, right?”
Brody shakes his head with a subtle movement. He pinches my chin between his fingers, still studying me as if there’s more he needs to understand. “No,” he says, kissing me gently. “I want to prove you wrong.” He kisses me again, inhaling through his nose before pulling away. “I don’t know what it is, Journey, but I feel addicted to you, and we’ve hardly spent any time together. I’m fighting the urge to call you all the time and to video chat with you, or just show up at your apartment. I feel like a crazed lunatic, but I know too much too fast is never a good thing, so I’m trying to play my cards right, but I need you to know you won’t scare me off easily. I see some of my past in your present, and it’s a lonely place to be.”
His words are piercing, and the sensation of warmth behind my eyes warns me to look away from the sincerity written all over his face. Hannah is walking back to our table, and I put some space between Brody and myself and stare up to the ice-covered sky to fight off tears.
“What did you see over there, kiddo?” Brody asks Hannah.
“Your ugly butt,” she replies.
Brody cocks his head to the side. “Hannah, we talked about this. Can you try to keep the potty talk to a minimum tonight?”
