Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 94903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Relationships, in all their forms, are great … for some people. I even understand the draw. But I also understand the drawbacks, and quite frankly, I’m not interested in failing another human being in my life.
“You know what?” I ask, redirecting the conversation away from me. “You need to let Alyssa go. Just forget she exists.”
“Why?”
“Because you can.”
The line goes quiet while he ponders my suggestion.
The rain eases as I approach the bridge over Peachwood Creek. Through the drizzle, I spot a car on the other side of the waterway. It’s barely pulled off to the side of the road.
What’s going on here?
“What do you mean because you can?” Luke asks.
“You were fine with her leaving at the start of this conversation,” I say, leaning forward and squinting to get a better look at the car. “If you can let her leave, you need to let her leave. Make sense?”
“Not really.”
I squeeze the back of my neck in frustration.
I don’t have time for this—any of it.
Luke rattles on, weighing the pros and cons of monogamy. On the other hand, I peer down at the white car sitting askew with its lights off. This is not unusual; many locals know this area is ripe for hunting and fishing. But locals typically drive vehicles with four-wheel drive if they’re going to hit the backroads.
I slow down, hoping to see some dipshit climbing out of the ditch with a fishing pole. If that's the case, I can go home and get these wet clothes off. But something tells me that won’t be the case.
As I roll by, I can’t help but notice the glow of a cell phone in the driver’s seat.
Shit.
I ease my foot off the accelerator and assess my options.
Do I go on? No one is asking for my help, after all. Or do I stop? Because someone might be in trouble.
I want to keep going.
“Are you still here?” Luke asks.
Groaning, I hit the brake. I have to stop, or else it’ll bother me all night.
“Yeah, I’m here,” I say, ignoring the sudden weight on my shoulders.
I throw the truck in reverse and roll backward until my passenger’s side window lines up with their driver’s side door. “Luke, I gotta go. There’s a car parked half-assed on the side of the road by Peachwood Creek.”
“That’s weird.”
“I know.”
“Well, enjoy,” he says.
“Yeah. Bye.”
“Later.”
I shift the truck into park and rest my head against the seat. My eyes fall closed. Please have stopped to make a call and don’t need real help.
Water splashes around my boots as they hit the ground. I tug the hood of my sweatshirt over my head and approach the front of the vehicle. A cool breeze—the same one I’ve battled all day—washes over me, reminding me that a hot shower, sausage, and mushroom pizza are just down the road.
The windows are foggy, but someone moves as I get closer. I don’t know what I expect—someone to roll down the window? Crack the door? Step outside the car? Regardless, none of those things happen. Nothing happens.
What the fuck?
I rap against the glass with the back of my knuckle. “What’s going on?”
My hands go into my pockets, and I wait.
Nothing.
Frustrated, I clench my jaw. “Do you need help?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice muffled. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”
Okay? “Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Out of gas?” I ask.
“I don’t think so.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Are you confused?”
“No, I’m not confused,” she says as if offended by the question.
I roll my eyes. “Look, if you don’t need help, I’m gonna go.”
“My car was … steaming, and I pulled over,” she says, her voice shaky. “I’m afraid to start it again.”
“You mean steam was coming from under your hood?”
“Yeah. I pulled over and turned the car off. But I’m panicking because cornfields surround me… and now there’s a man at my window. This is how every horror movie begins, you know.”
I glance around. Tall cornstalks sway on both sides of the road—just like every rural road in southern Indiana this time of year.
“I take it that you’re not from around here,” I say.
“Not sure how that information is pertinent.”
The fuck? “Excuse me?”
“It just feels like a very personal question coming from a man I don’t know,” she says.
“Well, this man you don’t know is only trying to help.”
“I didn’t ask you to stop, sir.”
My eyes go wide, and I half laugh. Fuck this. “No. No, you didn’t. Good luck to ya.”
I turn to leave when a knock comes on the glass. “Wait.”
Looking over my shoulder, I’m surprised to see the door swing open. I’m even more surprised to see someone climb out of the car. But none of that matches my amazement at the woman who steps around the corner of the door.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Chapter Two
Megan
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
A set of extraordinary green eyes capture my gaze. They’re so intense that I stutter.