Two days on the road and I was free.
Boston had been slowly suffocating me, something I hadn’t realized until five hundred miles separated me from my former life.
Screw daily routines. Screw schedules. Screw structure and convention. I’d been trapped in normalcy and ignorant of the heaviness in my heart. Turning a blind eye to my problems had been easy with the schedule I’d maintained. Every minute of my life had been choreographed. Sitting idle hadn’t held any appeal.
Now that I had time to think about why I’d kept myself so busy, I saw that routines and structure had become a necessary distraction. When I was working, running the house or organizing a function for Thomas’s company, I didn’t have time to think about the last time I’d truly smiled or laughed carefree. When I was spending time at the spa or shopping, I only relaxed enough to recharge my batteries. But the downtime had never been long enough to reflect.
Sitting behind the wheel of my car forced me to take a hard look at the past eight years.
When I’d started working for Thomas, I’d enjoyed the routine, mostly because it had been an anomaly. Knowing what each day would entail had been a new concept for me. Stability had been refreshing.
And I’d been blissfully in love with my husband. I’d fit our lives together—or fit my life to his.
Thomas required structure. He thrived on a schedule. The man knew what he was doing with precision, every single day for the upcoming three months mapped out in detail. Gemma was the same way. Maybe it was a CEO thing, but the two of them had next to no flexibility. No spontaneity.
Gemma, I understood. She was desperate for surety, and after our childhood, it made sense. But Thomas’s motivation wasn’t born from fear of the unknown or a chaotic youth. Thomas had discipline and drive in every aspect of his life because it made him money.
Success and status were Thomas’s true loves.
Why had I tried so hard to fit that mold? Because of love? I’d convinced myself I was happy, but did I even know what happy was?
All questions I’d been asking myself since leaving Boston. Maybe by the time I reached California, I’d have them answered.
In the meantime, I was shunning all structure. I took the road at my own pace, not worrying about the speed limit or keeping up with traffic. The clock on the dash meant nothing because I had nowhere to be.
It was peaceful, simply driving alone. When I’d made my way to Boston—and all the stops in between—it had been by bus. Trips since had been with Thomas, and if we hadn’t been in an airplane, he’d been behind the wheel.
Maybe for the first time, I felt ultimate control.
No wonder Gemma had become a control freak. It was fucking awesome.
I’d plaited my hair in a tight braid, but the wind whipped a few strands free as the sun warmed my face. Occasionally, another vehicle would pass me by and the smell of gasoline would linger for a mile. Unless it was raining, I was driving with the top down.
The day I left Boston, I drove for five hours without even a bathroom break. I wanted to get the hell away from traffic and the city. Cutting through Connecticut and a sliver of New York, I didn’t stop until I hit the middle of Pennsylvania.
I pulled off the interstate and found a midlevel motel. I checked in and slept for fourteen hours. The grueling months of the divorce, when Thomas had fought me hard to reconsider ending our marriage, caught up to me. So I recharged in my motel room, making up for the sleepless nights.
The next morning, I woke up tired, not ready to get on the road. So I didn’t. What was the hurry? This journey had no deadlines.
I added another night to my stay and spent the day in bed with a box of pizza delivery and the television.
Thomas didn’t have time for movies or binge-watching television shows. We’d had one television in the house, a flat screen in the informal dining area where we’d eat breakfast. Thomas turned it on to watch the news each morning over egg whites and turkey bacon.
I hadn’t minded. Before I’d run away at sixteen, I’d spent countless hours in front of the TV. Nickelodeon and MTV had been my babysitters while my parents had been busy with their current drug of choice.
But now, when those memories weren’t as sharp and TV didn’t equate to loneliness, I found the mindless entertainment soothing.
I watched John Wick first, finally understanding the fuss about Keanu Reeves. I cried through Beaches, knowing I was lucky to have a similar friendship with Gemma. And I stayed up until three in the morning, laughing at a rom-com about bridesmaids.
The next morning, I slept in again, leaving before noon checkout. Then, instead of rushing for the road, I drove to a local café. For hours, somewhere in Pennsylvania, I sat at a window table watching traffic, eating lunch and eavesdropping on other conversations. I left long after the smell of the café’s fresh pastries had seeped into my blond hair.
Even after driving for hours, the scent was still in my hair. I picked up a lock of it, bringing it to my nose to inhale the lingering yeast and sugar. I’d always been conscious of smells—mostly my own.
Was I spoiled? Probably. After sleeping in a rusted-out, junkyard Cadillac for two years, did I deserve to be a bit spoiled?
Maybe so.
One thing was for certain, running away was much easier with money, and for that, I was grateful.
I could pay for hotel rooms and café lunches. I would never fear the charge at a gas pump. I could stop for a decent meal in a sit-down restaurant instead of scraping together enough change for a dollar-menu cheeseburger.
The money I’d earned working had been considerable for a woman with a fresh GED and no higher education. A perk of being married to the boss. I’d saved it all, minus what I’d spent on the Cadillac. Everything else—our household budget, clothes, shoes, the spa, vacations—had been paid for by Thomas. I could live off my savings for years. Designer garb wasn’t in my budget these days, but I’d had enough of labels to last a lifetime.
The interstate cut through the countryside and signs flew past every now and then. I reached for my purse, ready to dig for my phone and check a map.
“It’s not there,” I reminded myself. How long would it take to break that habit?
And I didn’t need a map. I was on the East Coast and had to get to the West. How I traveled didn’t need to be charted. I was driving. The road beneath my tires would take me there eventually.
A large truck roared past, its diesel exhaust leaving behind a black cloud. I scrunched up my nose and slowed, but the stink clung to the car. I’d been dealing with the same all afternoon.
“To hell with the interstate.” I flipped my blinker at the next exit, seeing a sign for a gas station. I wanted to go a few miles without passing another car.
I refueled the Cadillac and washed the windshield. Then I went inside and bought a couple bottles of water and a bag of chips.
“Thanks,” I said to the clerk. “I don’t suppose you have a pay phone anywhere?”
“Sure do. Just go out the door and take a right. It’s around the corner.”
“Thanks again.” I collected my things and took them to the car, dropping them in the open seat. Then I fished out some quarters from my purse and found the phone. It was old and the keys dirty. I pressed the black receiver to my ear and propped it against my shoulder as I dialed Gemma’s number.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Gem.” I smiled.
“Lonny?”
“Yes, it’s me. See? I told you I’d call. I figured I’d get your voicemail.”
She laughed. “Perfect timing. I’m in between meetings and alone for once. How’s it going? Where are you?”
“Still in Pennsylvania, according to my receipt from the gas station. And it’s good. I’m taking it slow.”
“I figured you’d be across the Mississippi by now.”
“Soon enough. How are you?”
“Fine.” She blew out a long breath. “I miss you already.”
“Miss you too.” Though I was glad she’d declined my offer to come along. As much as a road trip would have been fun with my best friend, I needed to do this alone. This trip was for me.
“Listen, I need to tell you something. I hate to do it on your first call, but I don’t want you calling Thomas.”
I scoffed. “I hadn’t planned on it.”
“Good. Because he called me yesterday.”
“What?” I tensed. “Why? What did he want?”
“To find you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Well, tough shit.”
“There’s, uh . . . something else.” She paused. “It’s not good. Want me to tell you? Or not?”
Not. Whatever was happening with Thomas wasn’t going to change anything. I wasn’t going back.
He’d stifled me, something I was coming to realize the farther I got from Boston. He didn’t care about my ideas or feelings because he was the business mogul and I was only the poor girl he’d turned into a princess.
He couldn’t fathom I’d leave his riches because of a silly office affair.
No, I didn’t want to know.
Gemma knew I didn’t want anything to do with him. So why even bring up his call? Was Thomas sick or something? Was he hurt? Was he in trouble?
“Tell me.” Damn you, curiosity.
“It’s, um, Secretary.”
I cringed. Neither Gemma nor I would speak the woman’s name. That bitch had sat across from me for months, smiling and pretending to be a friend while secretly fucking my husband. Maybe he had actually fired her.
“She’s pregnant.”
The phone fell from my ear, the black plastic crashing into the wall beneath the booth. The cord swung back and forth like a man hanging from a noose. Kind of like my marriage.
Dead.
“Londyn!” Gemma’s voice yelled into the phone, forcing me to pick it back up.
“I’m here.” I cleared my throat. “That’s what he called to tell you? Why?” Hadn’t he hurt me enough? Why couldn’t he leave me alone in my ignorance?
Gemma sighed. “He wanted you to know in case you decided to come back.”
“I’ll never come back.” Not now.
“I’m sorry,” Gemma whispered. “I shouldn’t have told you.”
“No, I’m glad you told me. I wanted to know. It doesn’t change anything. Did he say anything else?”
“Only that he’s worried about you.”
“Well, he’s got other things to worry about now.” Like dealing with the doctor who’d performed his vasectomy. “I’m going to let you go. I’m sure you’re busy.”
“I shouldn’t have told you,” she muttered. “Will you call me again soon?”
“Sure.” I didn’t mean it as a lie, but it felt like one. I couldn’t imagine not talking to Gemma, but one call and I’d been yanked back into the life I’d just left. Maybe temporarily cutting ties with her for a while would be best. I’d call again, just not as soon as she probably assumed.
“Take care of yourself,” she said.
“Bye.” I set the phone in its silver cradle.
There were two more quarters in my pocket, enough for another call. I stood staring at the keypad on the phone. Should I call Thomas? The urge to scream and yell bubbled up in my chest and my fingers brushed the phone.
Since the divorce, I hadn’t gotten angry. I’d gone numb and stayed quiet. My lawyer had encouraged me to stay that way so he could get me the best settlement possible. Thomas and I might have had a prenup, but Thomas had still ended up paying.
I’d hired a really good lawyer.
Aside from my own savings, I’d taken ten million dollars away from my marriage in our divorce settlement. Every cent was now being used by an organization that supported runaway kids. That money paid for clothes and shelter. It paid for education and long-term housing.
Thomas had escalated my station in life. Now his money was doing the same for other unfortunate kids who needed a helping hand. That donation had eased the sting of the divorce. It had helped me keep my temper.
Until now.
Fuck him. I stepped away from the phone, my fists clenched and my teeth gritted.
Thomas didn’t deserve fifty cents.
I turned away from the phone, practically jogging for the car. I pulled onto the road and drove past the on-ramp for the interstate. Raising my hand, I gave it the finger.
Fuck interstates. Fuck Secretary. Fuck husbands who got a vasectomy at thirty because they hadn’t planned on getting married five years later.
I’d been the exception to Thomas’s meticulously planned-out life. I’d been a spontaneous, lead-with-your-heart decision.
This baby was because he’d led with his dick.
Fuck him.
The yellow lines in the middle of the blacktop blurred as a sheen of tears coated my eyes. I slid on my sunglasses and blinked them away.
Miles and miles streaked past as I drove along the quiet highway. The trees fencing the road were bright and tall under the June sky. Birds flew overhead. Occasionally a stream would appear, kissing the road before disappearing into the lush greenery.
It was picturesque and impossible not to appreciate.
The mental image of Thomas and Secretary holding a baby swaddled in pink was stuck in my head.
It was ironic that Thomas had impregnated the wrong woman. He’d begged and pleaded for me to stay, and if we’d had a baby, I wouldn’t have left him. Betrayal or not, I would not have taken a child away from a life where he or she would have wanted for nothing.
But I didn’t have a baby. I didn’t have a family and probably never would.
The tears threatened again, but I refused to let them fall.
“No more,” I whispered to myself. “He gets no more.”
I had this adventure to give me purpose. I didn’t need family when I had my freedom.
Holding tight to the steering wheel with one hand, I raised the other into the air. The moment my fingertips ascended above the windshield, they chilled. It was getting cooler now as the sun began its descent.
I’d crossed into West Virginia about an hour ago, a large, faded sign welcoming me to the state.
I stretched my hand higher, toward the fading light of the sky. Then I balanced the wheel with my knee, letting my other hand reach above. My arms stretched.
Freedom.
I was free. I was alone. I was lost.
And it was beautiful.
The air streamed through my fingers. As I stretched my arms higher, I filled my lungs, breathing deeper than I had in a long, long time.
I closed my eyes, for just a moment, until a lurch on my right tire sent the Cadillac jarring toward the centerline.
My eyes flew open, my hands snapped to the wheel. “Shit.”
I yanked the wheel to get the car to my side of the road. I overcorrected. The Cadillac, the beast that she was, swayed and lurched again as the tires on the passenger side shook on the rumble strip.
Pop.
The right front corner of the car dropped. The Cadillac jerked to the side and I didn’t have the strength to hold the wheel.
I hit the brake, too hard. Damn it! I was panicking and losing control. The thwap of my flat tire filled the air right before the screech of metal on metal. A guardrail was kind enough to stop me from dropping into a ditch.
The Cadillac came to a grinding stop. Dust billowed until the night breeze blew it away.
“Oh my God,” I breathed. I was alive—if my heart didn’t explode. My hands were fisted on the wheel, frozen, but the rest of my body was shaking. I couldn’t seem to loosen my grip, so I left my hands white knuckled and let my head fall forward.
I closed my eyes, letting the adrenaline settle. When the shaking eased and my head stopped spinning, I let go of the steering wheel and pushed out of the car on unsteady legs.
With one hand on the car for balance, I made my way around the trunk to the other side.
“Shit.” The Cadillac was smashed against the guardrail. There were streaks of red paint from where I’d dragged alongside it.
I hurried around the car again, this time to inspect the front. The tire was flat and the rim rested on the asphalt.
“No.” I ran a hand through my hair. I must have hit a nail. The night was getting darker by the second, and though I could change a tire in the daylight, doing it at night was not a challenge I wanted to take on.
“This is why we have phones.” I slammed my palm into my forehead. I should have bought a flip phone for emergencies. “Damn it.”
And there wasn’t a car in sight. I’d gotten my wish for a deserted road. How long had it been since I’d passed a town? I’d driven through a small town earlier but it had still been bright outside. It was at least an hour’s drive behind me.
“Ahh!” I screamed to the sky. Not even the birds seemed to care. Which meant if I was kidnapped and murdered along this road, no one would be around to hear those screams either. “Fucking hell.”
I stomped to the driver’s seat and got in to put the convertible’s top up. When it was secure, I collected my purse, slammed the door and popped the locks. Then I went to the trunk, digging into my suitcase for a pair of tennis shoes to trade out for my flip-flops.
“I should have stayed in Pennsylvania,” I muttered as I set off down the road. I was hoping that another town or a house would appear if I kept on the path forward. There wasn’t much behind me.
The farther I walked from the car, the further my stomach sank. That car was my safety blanket. Even in Boston, when it had been tucked away in the garage, I’d always known it was there, protected and safe.
Now it was on the highway, alone and vulnerable.
So was I.
I stole glances over my shoulder until it disappeared from my sight and I began counting steps to occupy my mind. When I got to five hundred, I was nervous. When I got to a thousand, I was so freaked out by the impending darkness, I stopped walking.
There was no sign of a town close. If there were homes nearby, they were hidden in the trees.
“This is crazy.” I spun on a heel and ran to my car. I was sweating and out of breath when it came into view.
I ran faster.
When I reached the door, darkness had nearly descended and I could hardly make out the handle. If I had walked another five hundred steps, I wouldn’t have made it back before nightfall.
I collapsed into the driver’s seat, locking myself inside as my heart pounded.
What had I been thinking? Why would I leave this car? I’d sleep here tonight and flag down a passing car tomorrow. Because I wasn’t leaving this car again. The only time we’d part ways was when I handed the keys to Karson in California.
If he was even in California. I’d find out when I got there.
The air was thick and humid outside my window. Sweat ran down my cleavage and soaked the hair around my temples and forehead. I turned on the car, cranking up the AC until I wasn’t dripping. Then I cracked the windows and shut it off, pushing my seat back as far as it would go to stretch out my legs.
Sleeping in the Cadillac was more comfortable in the backseat, something I knew from years of practice, but sleep wouldn’t come easy tonight no matter where I rested. And from here, I could see outside better and hop out quickly if a car approached.
Hours passed. Stars lit up the midnight sky. Thousands of them hovered overhead, and like I’d done as a teenager, I wished on the brightest. Lost in their random pattern, I jumped when a flash of light caught my eye from the rearview mirror.
I sat up, spinning around as blinding headlights raced my way. I flew into action, turning on the Cadillac’s interior light before getting out. I hurried to stand by the hood, inching back until the guardrail brushed my calves. Then I waved my arms in the air like a lunatic as the other vehicle approached.
I squinted at their headlights, using one hand to shield my eyes as the other waved. The car didn’t slow. The hum of its engine seemed to grow louder. Did they not see me? Or were they going to pass me by?
My stomach dropped as the lights got closer and closer with no sign the vehicle was slowing. My arm was still raised in the air but I’d stopped waving.
They were going to keep driving. Asshole.
Given my luck today, that was about par for the course. I was ready to give them the finger too when tires squealed and the engine’s loud downshift filled the air.
“Thank you,” I breathed, dropping my hand.
A truck came to an abrupt stop right beside me, and the window lowered. My eyes were still filled with spots from the headlights, but I squinted hard, trying to make out the driver.
“Need some help?”
It was a woman’s voice. Thank you, stars. One of my wishes was to be rescued. Another was for my rescuer to be female.
I stepped closer to the truck. “I have a flat and am squished into the guardrail. It’s dark and I didn’t want to try and change it myself. And . . .” I sighed. “I don’t have a phone.”
“Damn.” She stretched the word across two syllables. Day-um. “Well, Summers is about ten miles up the road. Want a lift?”
Ten miles? I was glad I’d turned around. “Is there a tow truck in Summers? I’d rather not leave my car out here.”
“Cohen’s got a tow. Want me to call him?”
“Yes, please. Thank you so much.” My eyes were finally adjusting to the dark. As she took out her phone, the screen illuminated the cab briefly, and I was able to see her face.
The woman was likely in her late fifties, but with the dim light, it was hard to tell. The wrinkles around her eyes and mouth were slight. Her hair was either a light blond or gray. She pressed the phone to her ear and faced me, giving me a kind smile.
Of all the people in the world who might have stopped, I’d hit the jackpot. I stepped closer until I was standing right outside the open passenger window. The scent of lemon bars wafted from the truck and filled my nose.
My stomach rumbled. The chips I’d inhaled hours ago had long since burned away.
“Hey, Brooks.” She didn’t introduce herself to the person on the other end of the phone. “I’ve got a gal here who needs a tow. About ten miles north of town, a mile or so before you hit my place.”
Her place? So if I’d gone the other direction, I’d have landed myself at her house? Damn it. From now on, I was paying better attention to my surroundings as I drove. This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t been trying to work myself out of a funk.
“Sure thing.” She hung up, setting her phone in the console. “He’s on his way.”
“Thank you.” Would it be weird to give her a hug?
“Want me to wait with you, sweetheart?”
My heart warmed. “No, you go ahead. Thank you.”
“It’s late. I’m on my way to the motel to deliver some lemon bars to my sister, Meggie. I bake when I can’t sleep and she works the evening and night shifts. You come on over after Brooks gets you and that car to town. Stay the night in Summers.”
“I think I’ll do that. Thank you.”
“Good. My name’s Sally. And you are?”
“Londyn McCormack.”
“Fine meeting you, Londyn.” She lifted a hand. “See you soon.”
I waved, stepping away from her truck as she put it in drive. As quickly as she’d come to a stop, she was off, racing down the highway and leaving me in the dark.
I got back in my car, swatting at the bugs that had latched on to my skin and hitchhiked their way into the car. Then I waited, watching the clock as ten minutes ticked by. Then fifteen. At twenty, I was starting to wish I’d hitched a ride with Sally after all, but then two headlights came around a bend.
I got out and waited in my same spot by the hood, only this time, my own headlights were shining too.
The tow truck came to a slow stop, the engine running as the driver opened the door and stepped onto the road. His dark, tall figure was shadowed as he walked through the streaming light.
“Ma’am.” His hand lifted as he stepped close and his features came into view. “Heard you needed a tow.”
I swallowed hard. Was I asleep? I had to be asleep. Sally was a dream and so was he. I had no experience with tow truck drivers but surely this wasn’t what they all looked like. Otherwise the women of the world would be constantly popping their tires.
He shifted, blocking out more of the light with his broad shoulders. The move gave me a clearer view of his face and highlighted the line of his straight nose. Stubble dusted his strong jaw. His arms were roped with muscles so defined I wouldn’t be surprised if he picked up my car with his bare hands to set it on the tow’s flatbed.
“Ma’am?”
“Yes.” I blinked, forcing my gaze away from his soft lips to return his handshake. “Sorry. I, uh . . . have a flat and can’t change it.”
“Hmm.” He walked to the car, peering down the side pressed against the guardrail. “Looks like you got more than a flat.”
My eyes drifted to the man’s ass. Day-um. As he turned, I forced my eyes to his face. The last thing I needed was for him to leave me on the side of this road. “I scraped against the guardrail as I skidded to a stop. I don’t even want to think about what the side of my car looks like.”
“Probably not pretty. But we’ll get it to the garage and take a closer look.”
“Thanks.” I smiled. “I appreciate you coming out here so late to help me.”
He chuckled. “When Sally calls, it’s best you answer, ma’am.”
I cringed at the third ma’am. “It’s Londyn. Spelled with a y.”
“Londyn. Pleasure.” Oh lord, that voice, so rich and smooth. I hoped his name was something plain like George or Frank. Something to combat the perfection. “I’m Brooks Cohen.”
Not George. This was definitely a dream.