Dakota
“Get the fuck outta my way!”
Apparently, everybody has somewhere to be at two fuckin’ thirty on the second Saturday in December.
The ride to the mountain house has never seemed so long. Everyone seemed to be out for a joy ride, none of them with the same urgency I’m feeling to get the fuck out of Creek’s Edge.
Cassie and Jace. Fucking.
I never saw the signs. There were no indicators.
How could there have been, ? We were always with Jace and Jolene. It was easy for them to hide it because neither Lena nor I would have batted an eye about them talking.
Traffic finally thinned out enough that I could flirt a little harder with the other side of the speed limit.
God, if you’re feelin’ any sympathy for ya boy today, please don’t let there be one of those God’s Special People on top of that hill.
I guess He decided to throw me a bone because when I topped the hill at 85mph and there wasn’t a Georgia State Patrol in sight.
Grabbing my phone, I dialed Lena’s number. A moment later, her southern accent came on the line, pleasantly reminding me to leave a voicemail or text her because she hates to talk on the phone.
She cut her damn phone off.
As I sat mine back on the center console, it started to vibrate. A quick glance confirmed what I already knew before I looked down. It was Cassie for the umpteenth time, her contact photo from the day I proposed glaring up at me.
“Don’t give a fuck about anything you have to say, Cassie,” I spoke out loud to no one but myself.
The phone came to a silent rest, only to start dancing for me again a second later.
Let’s take a page out of Lena’s book.
I held the wheel with one hand and held down the button on the side of my phone with the other.
There you go, Cass. Now, you can explain to my voicemail why you deemed it necessary to fuck my best friend.
Traffic continued to thin out as I came up on the exit I needed to take to get to Belleview. Only five more miles and I’d be at the mountain house, drowning every memory of this day in a bottle of whiskey.
I’m definitely gonna need to stop at the liquor store before I get there because it’s going to take more than a bottle to cure the pain in my knuckles and more persistently, my fuckin’ chest.