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I guess we’ll see, won’t we?

I shivered. I loved the way he taunted me.

I set my phone aside and took a breath to focus before driving. It had taken me months to get behind the wheel when I got out of prison. I’d kept seeing Dakota’s car twisted and mangled, hearing the horrible screech of metal. I’d had a panic attack the first time I tried.

But Riverton wasn’t really a town where you could rely on public transportation. We didn’t have Uber or Lyft. The bus routes were limited. My parents could drive me some places, but they couldn’t be available all the time—and I had parole meetings, Redemption Road meetings, and work that I had to reliably get to.

Finally, with the help of therapy, I’d pushed through the fear and started driving again. But I still refused to allow myself to be distracted by phone calls or texting. I didn’t take any unnecessary risks by driving in poor weather if I could help it. I never wanted to cause an accident again.

Which was why I didn’t see Dakota’s missed call until I got to the parole office. I checked the clock. I still had a few minutes to spare.

I called her back.

“Hey, Joey,” she answered, sounding distracted.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Just wanted to let you know we’ve got nothing for New Horizons this weekend.”

“Okay.”

“We’re looking at another house retrofit, a big one, in a couple of weeks, though. Over in Granville.”

“I’ll let Pauline know. She’s been pretty flexible with my schedule, so I should be able to⁠—”

“Damn it!”

I’d never heard Dakota sound so frustrated. “What’s wrong?”

“My stupid car won’t start.”

“Oh, no.”

“It’s literally the only vehicle I can drive.” She huffed. “I had errands to run, and Kit’s at work⁠—”

“I can take you.”

“No.”

“I’ve got a big enough car. We can put your wheelchair in the back, and if you need help getting in, I can probably lift you.”

“Probably?” she asked in an arch tone.

“Definitely. I can definitely lift you.”

She gave a little laugh. “Uh, no offense, Joey. That’s a very sweet offer. But your driving literally put me in this wheelchair, so…”

“Oh.” My face stung as if it had just been slapped. So stupid of me to suggest Dakota ever get into a car with me. “Right. Of course.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sure you’re a fine driver now. It’s just… I don’t think I could⁠—”

“I get it,” I said quickly. “It was a stupid idea.”

She sighed. “Why do I feel like I’ve just kicked a puppy?”

“I’m not a puppy. I’m fine. How about I come over and see if I can fix the car for you? Or, um, I could call a friend. He works for the auto shop in town, so he could probably help you out.”

“Really? That would be amazing. I don’t think I can stand being stuck in the house for days on end. Bad enough we don’t have a project this weekend, you know?”