CHAPTER ONE
Sam
Gravel sprays under my ancient sedan as I tap my brakes gently and beg the car to slow before any more damage is done.
Of course I have a flat.
I’m three miles from my destination after what feels like a lifetime of travel and of course it’s all falling apart now.
After months of dreaming. Two full days of travel. Over a year of carefully extricating myself from my old life.
The car wobbles to a stop and the engine sputters when I pull my foot from the clutch too soon.Whoops.But the automatic would’ve cost more when I bought it years ago, so here we are. I know how to drive this old girl, but I might be a touch frazzled.
A loud yowl comes from the back seat. I turn to see Mr. Bingley hunched as far back in his carrier as he can, giving me a look that says he’d like to complain about the service.
“I know, buddy. A little longer and then you’ll be able to stretch your legs.” Granted, he’s not loving the hotel-hopping life, so I’ll have to move him at least once more, but after that?
Maybe we can stay put and just… be happy.
Or at least find some version of life that doesn’t feel so damn bleak. That’s the bar, at this point. The whole goal, really.
For now, I fold away those wild hopes and get to work. “Okay, baby. Let’s do this.”
I haven’t changed a tire in a minute. Maybe a few years. Possibly a decade. But I can do this.
Everything I’ve been through? Yeah.Tire trouble, you shall not derail my path to a new life if an abusive ex-husband and leaving my entire life behind hasn’t yet.Toss in a touch of childhood poverty, a life stuck barely making ends meet until the crappy ex entered the scene, and voila!
Hence my mantra: I can do this.
I just have to get out of the car.
Which I can totally do. Not a problem.
I may be on a strip of road at twilight in a place I’ve never been with low battery on my phone and no one to call for help, but I will be fiiiine.
The fact that I’m still in the driver’s seat white-knuckling the steering wheel merely indicates I’m giving my overactive nervous system a moment to gird her loins and godo this thing. And doesn’t she deserve that? Yes. Yes, she?—
A knock on my window startles me down to my very bones. I’m fairly certain I see my skeleton outside the car, sprinting from the threat that looms.
“Ma’am, you all right?”
I peer through the glass to find a man eying me from a few feet away. He must’ve seen my femur bonesup ahead and realized he startled me good and plenty. Despite the raging adrenaline causing the gelatinous leftovers of me to shake, this person appears to be some kind of law enforcement.
With a steadying breath, I remind myself what’s true.
Not all police officers are bad. Not all men are bad. He’s probably trying to help. I wasn’t speeding so I’m not in trouble. I didn’t do anything wrong.
I roll down the window with a crank, crank of the little arm until a cool breeze filters in through three open inches. Thanks to the primal responses taking place throughout my body, I don’t feel the usual twinge of heat in my cheeks from demonstrating that yes, my windows on this ancient vehicle are also manual.
“Ma’am, can I ask why you’re pulled over on this stretch of road? Did you see the signs posted warning it’s a no-stopping zone?”
I sit up straight and clear my throat like I’m about to make a speech, but what comes out is something far less impressive: “Flat tire.”
“You have a flat tire?” He leans back, eying the car until it settles on the back left tire. “I’d be happy to help you change?—”
“No.” My hands are flapping in front of me like a deranged bird. “No. I’ve got it.”
His gaze narrows. He’s got a real cowboy sheriff vibe going with the ten-gallon hat and the greenish pants and khaki shirt. In another life, I might’ve even enjoyed the view. But right now, I need him gone. My tunnel vision is on my destination and the bone-crushing weariness weighing down my entire system. And stopping Mr. Bingley from howling like the undead.
