Chapter 23
twenty-three
. . .
Love Is Not a Crisis Management Plan
HALSTON
I make it twelve hours before I run.
Well, that’s technically untrue.
Technically, I make it through the rest of the afternoon and through the emergency evidence sorting at the corner table with Marley and Oliver.
I make it through the day.
I make it through the night.
I make it through the next morning and through my opening shift.
I make it until Dev comes in.
By ten, the rain starts. It’s not a polite drizzle.
Not a cute, romantic mist. Not the kind of weather that makes people say they love the smell of wet pavement.
The rain comes down hard and sideways against the front windows.
It blurs my view of the businesses across the street and makes my whole building feel smaller, as if the world has decided to press its palms against the glass and watch me attempt to breathe.
My phone buzzes again, and I flinch.
It’s another email from the lawyer looking over my lease.
I haven’t called her yet. Calling her would make the lease problem very real in a way I don’t want to deal with at the moment.
Halston, Warren forwarded my contact information and clarified that further communication should come from you directly. I’m available tonight if helpful.
Helpful.
I press my palms to the counter and stare at the email until the words blur.
Marley is in Oliver’s office on the phone with someone from Harbor Vending. When I left them, Oliver had been at the bar cleaning up from last night.
Dev is wiping down tables, trying not to look at me.
Everyone is doing something.
But it’s when I get the last email that I lose it.
“Halston, please prepare for a building assessment next week,” my property manager says. Toward the end, it adds, “Please be aware that there could be potential operational disruptions.”
I look around at the place I built. The place I call mine.
I set my phone down and untie my apron.
Dev sees me. “You okay?”
“I need air.”
His eyes widen. “Like outside? In this?”
“Yes.”
He looks outside before glancing back at me, confused. “That’s concerning.”
I grab my keys from the back.
“Do you want me to get Marley?” he asks quickly.
“No.” The word comes out fast and sharp.
He stops, his face softening so fast that it makes me feel even worse. Dev is ridiculous and dramatic, but he’s not stupid. None of them are.
It can be a terrible thing, being loved by observant people.
“I’m just going to drive around for a minute,” I assure him.
His mouth twists. “Mmm, okay, I guess.”
“I’ll be back.”
I can tell he doesn’t believe me. But neither would I.
I leave before he can say anything else.
The rain hits me the second I step outside, soaking through my cardigan before I even make it to my car.
By the time I slide behind the wheel, my hair is soaked and my sleeves are clinging to my wrists.
The dashboard lights up.
One hundred thirty-two miles to empty.
Fine.
One hundred thirty-two miles may not be as many as I’d like, but it’s one hundred thirty-two miles. That’s math. Science, even. Enough distance for someone absolutely not running away. Just… leaving work aggressively.
In the southern direction.
I start the car, and for a second, I sit and watch the wipers drag across the windshield.
Then I drive.
Not aimlessly, which is probably the issue.
I jump onto I-95 South without a thought. My brain checks out, and my heart takes over.
Baltimore blurs behind me in wet streaks of headlights. The exits change, and the roads widen. Every mile should make me feel more free, but it doesn’t.
Instead, there’s an intense ache in my heart at the fact that I failed at this the first time.
My phone rings before I’m even out of Maryland.
Dev. I let it go to voicemail.
It rings again. Oliver.
I let that go too, because Oliver will ask me what I’m doing in that flat, annoyed voice that will have me turning right back around and coming home if I don’t start sobbing first and get into an accident.
Then Marley calls.
I look at her name on the screen until it disappears.
I hate myself. I hate the rain. I hate that I’m doing this again.
My phone rings, and Marley’s name flashes on the screen again.
I don’t answer.
Instead, I keep driving.
The dashboard says one hundred and eleven miles until empty.
Then ninety-eight.
Then eighty-four.
That’s plenty. Far more than I had last time. I’ll just go a few more miles and pull off at a gas station.
The rain keeps coming harder, and somewhere past the point where turning around would still feel simple, my phone starts losing service in small, irritating patches.
A call from Marley comes through and drops before I can even decide not to answer.
A text from Dev flashes on the screen containing an unidentifiable number of question marks and a single croissant emoji.
OLIVER
This is not air.
For almost two hours, I drive south, chewing my lip and thinking far too deeply about my actions for someone in the process of doing them.
Because two hours feels like a really strange amount of time to run. It’s long enough to become intentional, but not long enough to be brave. Like I decided to do something drastic on a whim and I’m succeeding.
I’m somewhere in Virginia when the car gives its first shudder. It’s not a dramatic one. It could have been written off. Everything is fine!
I glance at the dashboard. Fifty-six miles until empty.
Everything should be fine!
Another shudder.
“No,” I say out loud.
The car does it again.
The road is unfamiliar. Trees press close on both sides of the road, and a green exit sign appears ahead, half-blurred by rain, promising fuel, food, and hotels.
“Do not do this to me,” I whisper as I take the exit.
The dashboard dings.
Fifty-four miles to empty.
The engine coughs.
Liar.
“You lying little traitor.”
The car loses power as I exit the ramp.
For a few seconds, the only things I think about are my hands. My hands on the wheel. My hands gripping it too tightly. My hands correcting the skid when I drive through a deep puddle. My hands guiding the car over to the first turnoff I see while the rain hammers on the roof.
My hazard lights are blinking and I can barely breathe, my heart thudding far too loudly in my chest.
There’s no gas station.
There’s only a two-lane road, a farm stand with a sagging green awning, and the gravel lot I pull into.
PEACHES! TOMATOES! LOCAL HONEY!
BETRAYAL is more like it. They should really update the seasonal offerings.
The car rolls to a stop right in front of the stand, sputtering before the engine cuts out.
For a second, I just sit here, watching the rain pour off the awning in sheets.
The dashboard flashes and turns off.
I stare at it.
And then I start laughing.
Two months ago, I tried to outrun my life and ended up stranded with an empty gas tank. I did it again.
Different storm, different road, but the same woman.
My phone rings from the passenger seat.
Marley.
This time, I answer it with shaking hands.
“Before you yell,” I say, “I’m not dead.”
There’s a breath on the other end, though I’m not sure it’s relief. “That’s a low bar.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Where are you?” She sounds frantic.
I look through the windshield at the farm stand. “Virginia.”
Silence.
Then, dangerously soft, “I’m sorry. Did you say Virginia?”
I nod and realize she can’t see it, so I say, “Yes.” It comes out small and weak.
“Virginia like the state?”
“No, Marley. Virginia as in the concept.”
“Halston,” she snaps.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“I really, really know.”
Her breath shakes. “Are you safe?”
“I’m pulled over.” It’s not exactly a yes.
“Where?”
“I don’t know. A farm stand, I think. There’s peaches.”
“You drove two hours away in a thunderstorm with flash flood warnings?”
I gnaw on my lip. “When you say it like that, it sounds bad.”
“It is bad,” she grits out.
“I know.”
“No. Bad is forgetting to text back. Bad is leaving wet towels in the washer. This is deranged.”
“That’s fair,” I reply quietly.
“I’m going to kill you.”
“Also fair.”
There’s a pause. “After you’re safe, I’m going to kill you.”
My eyes burn.
Despite it all, Marley is still mine. Angry, but mine. My home.
The line crackles.
“Marley?”
“I’m here, I’m here.” Her voice is tight, and I can hear her walking. “Send me your location.”
“My phone is at two percent.”
“Of course it is. Send it to me quickly. It’s not like you’re going anywhere for a while.”
I send it.
“My car says I have fifty-four miles until empty.”
“Well, your car is a lying bitch and I’m not dealing with her moral failings at the moment. Did you send the location?”
I check the phone. “I think it went through.”
“Got it.” Her voice changes, distant for a second, like she’s speaking to someone else. “No, she’s in Virginia. Yes, Virginia. I know. Don’t start.”
My stomach tightens. “Who are you talking to?”
“No one,” she says firmly.
“That sounds like a very specific no one.”
“It’s being handled.”
“Marley.”
“I need you to stay there, okay?” Her voice wobbles on the last word. “Please, Halston. Just stay there.”
Water runs down the windshield in sheets, and I look at the keys in my hand. I probably couldn’t leave even if I wanted to.
Part of me does want to.
“Are you coming?”
A pause.
“Marley?”
“I’m coming,” she says softly.
For half a second, her words make me feel better.
Then I hear voices behind her. Oliver, I think. Maybe Dev. Maybe the muffled chaos of the bakery. Someone says, “No, absolutely not,” and Marley snaps something at someone away from the phone.
“Are you driving?” I ask.
“I said I’m coming.”
“Marley.”
“I need you to promise me you will not move.”
“I’m out of gas. Moving is a little optimistic.”
“Don’t get cute with me right now, Smith.”
I swallow my joke. “I promise,” I say instead.
“Please, Halston. Do not decide this is the moment to become a tragic highway cryptid, okay?”
“I do really love Mothman.”
It’s out before I can stop it.
And despite everything, she lets out a small laugh.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” I tell her.
“I know.”
“I keep doing that.”
“Yeah,” she says, her voice small and flat. “You do.”
The honesty hurts, but I need it.
“I’m trying not to.”
“I know.”
For a minute, neither of us speaks. Rain fills the silence.
Then Marley says, “I love you.”
My eyes burn. “Don’t be nice to me now.”
“I’m mad at you. I love you anyway. You’re human, unfortunately.”
I press my shaking hand to my mouth. “I love you too.”
“I know. That’s why I’m not killing you until after you’re safe.”
“Comforting.”
Thunder cracks overhead. Marley says something, but the line breaks.
“Marley?”
Static, and then nothing. My phone goes dark.
“No, no, no,” I say, desperately trying to turn it back on.
It won’t.
The power button does nothing.
It’s only when the screen flashes on for a split second before turning black that I start sobbing. An ugly, exhausted cry with both hands over my face and my shoulders shaking so intensely they hurt.
I’m tired of needing to be rescued, furious at the idea of not being able to take care of things on my own, and terrified that those two things will always make me impossible to love.
Rain keeps falling. Cars pass on the road. For a long time, the world is only the rain and my breathing.
I don’t know how much time passes. Enough for the windows to fog, obviously. Enough for my hands to stop shaking and my body to start feeling numb.
I start to think about Marley storming out of Bitter Bloom, keys in her hand, when suddenly a vehicle turns in slowly, its lights too bright through the rain for me to see past.
Relief hits first, so hard and fast that it hurts.
I wipe my face with my sleeve and reach for the door handle before the car even parks. I’m already preparing to be yelled at. Maybe to be hugged. Maybe threatened. I’m ready for her fury.
The driver’s door opens, and a figure steps out into the rain.
A figure who is not Marley.
My hand freezes on the door handle.
The rain is too heavy to see through at first. But he’s recognizable.
Broad shoulders and dark hair already soaked and loose around his face.
No umbrella or jacket. Just a soaking-wet shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his hand braced on the open door, the other hanging at his side like he’s forcing himself not to reach for me.
Warren.
For a second, I don’t move. I can’t breathe. Can’t function.
He stands in the rain alone.
I wait a moment more and watch as he shuts the door and leans against the side of the truck.
Soaked through and as still as a man can be while the whole sky comes down around him.
Marley sent him. Or he came because she told him to.
Part of me wants to be mad. Part of me desperately wanted my best friend. But another part of me acknowledges the flutter of my heart.
He doesn’t move. The rain hits him as he stares at me. I sit behind the wheel with my hand on the door handle and my heart breaking all over again.
Warren came for me, and he’s waiting to see if I’ll let him.