Page 72

As we lock hands, ready to make our way out, Rick lingers by the altar, his light blue stare never leaving us.

“You know,” he begins, voice dropping. “You two look real familiar. I’ve seen your faces before—heard those names before.”

I hesitate, but Preston doesn’t miss a beat. “We actually get that a lot. Must have those kinds of faces,” he chuckles with fake politeness.

Rick nods, kicking his feet as he takes a few steps towards us.

“Or maybe, you two ought to be real careful. Vegas has eyes everywhere, and some of ‘em remember more than they should.”

Preston steps forward, his large frame moving between me and Rick, using himself as a human shield. His smile never wavers through the dangerous glare.

“Thanks for the advice, Reverend. We’ll keep that in mind.”

He grabs my hand, pulling me toward the exit; I can’t help but look back. Rick stands motionless, watching us as we reach the door.

Back in the car, my mind races with possibilities, and none of them are good.

“He knew,” I blurt out, wide eyes snapping to meet Preston’s.

“Maybe. Doesn’t matter, we’re gone.”

“You think he’ll call the police? The FBI?”

“We’re gone,” he repeats, starting the engine with more force than necessary. The sick feeling in my stomach doesn’t ease.

* * *

We’re already in California when the sun dips below the horizon. It’s the most beautiful shade of blue-black I’ve ever seen, but it feels difficult to appreciate fully. What Reverend Rick said plays on repeat in my head.

As we enter another nothing town that barely registers on a map, Preston suddenly pulls off a main road.

“There.” He points to a small bar squatting between a closed gas station and an empty lot. Its neon sign shines bright in the dark, and a single rusted pickup truck sits next to a newer model vehicle in the gravel. Muffled thumps of music seep out of the brick building.

“What are you doing?”

He cuts the engine, turning to me with that lazy grin. “We just got married, darling. If there was ever a time to stop and have a drink, it’s this one.”

Dread still sits, but the way he looks at me, if our circumstances were different—I know it would be only complete joy. It softens my resolve, and I roll my eyes.

“One drink, then we keep moving.”

Inside the bar is exactly what I was expecting: dim lighting, old wood and spilled whiskey thick in the air, along with a handful of locals hunched over pool tables.

We find a small, two-person table in the back corner, as far from the others as possible. Preston saunters to the bar to order our drinks, and I watch him work his charm on the bartender. He’s a grizzled man who looks as if he’s been poured from the same mold as the bar itself. As he waits for our drinks, my husband rolls his sleeves up, exposing the viscous, veined forearms I trace my fingers on in stolen moments. The soft overhead light catches the lines of his jaw perfectly.

He seems to have that presence, one where he demands attention without even asking for it. It makes people lean in closer when they should be running away.

There’s a girl, blonde in an obviously artificial, bottle-born way with tan skin, who’s wearing a tank top that stretches taut over her spilling cleavage. She wears a predatory smug grin that pisses me the fuck off as she strolls over to the bar, just as the bartender hands Preston the plastic cups.

I can’t hear what she says over the music, but I see her touch his arms, fingers lingering as she leans in close. She laughs at something, I presume something she said herself, because Preston is the least funny man I know. He looks back at me, more confused than amused.

My fists clench beneath the table.

Preston, to his credit, takes a step back and gives her a polite nod, but the woman follows his lead and presses on. She slides her hand higher up his arm, her fingers toying with the edge of his rolled sleeve. When she looks up at him, slightly swaying, with big doe eyes and licks her lips, a dark violence unfurls inside of me.

He finally returns to our table with the drinks, but her eyes track him the whole way, hungry and waiting for him to come back to her.

“What was that?” I ask, speaking fast and my manner harsher than intended.