Chapter 19
JADE
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I WANT TO run.
I want to scream.
I want to chase down the RV.
But instead, I’m frozen in place, stuck here with him. And this blasted song is ringing in my ears, dredging up everything good we ever had, as if it still means something. But I know they don’t.
There’s no need to panic. My sisters are going to stop and turn around to pick me up.
Laughing.
Teasing.
Joking.
All in good humor.
They have to. Right?
“Buy this for me, would ya? I’ll meet you on the bus.” Hart tosses a big bag of chips at me.
I snag it mid-air and hurl it right back at him. “Buy your own chips.”
“If I have to drive you all the way to the rodeo, the least you can do is buy my chips.” He tosses them back at me. “I need something to munch on.”
Imma ‘bout ready to lose all the manners my Mama instilled in me.
“Big bag of chips to be ‘munchin’ on, and we are not driving together.”
“It would appear as though we are.”
Because my sisters abandoned me. Left me behind in this hellhole with the man who broke me in ways I’m still not whole from.
“Over my dead body.” I keep my chin high.
“Well, how the tables have turned.” There’s that cocky grin I want to slap off his face. “From sharp-tongued confidence to sharp-edged defense.”
I throw the bag back at him.
It hits his chest, and the pressure splits it wide open. Chips explode from the torn seam. They rain down and scatter over the floor. The sweet, smoky scent of hickory barbecue clings to the air.
His head drops, eyes flicking down to the broken pieces around his boots. He takes a small, deliberate step back, distancing himself from the mess.
His amused brown eyes find mine. “You’re paying for those now.”
I bite the inside of my mouth until I taste blood.
“They’re coming back to pick me up,” I say.
He shrugs. “I suppose if they don’t, you can always walk or hitchhike.”
He takes one large step over the pile of chips and stalks past me, his shoulder brushing roughly against mine.
My fingers twitch, itching to throw the nearest thing at him. Maybe something a little harder than chips, like this bottle of water, or a can of corn.
He heads for the counter, grabbing a new bag of chips, swiping a pack of gum, and picking up a soda, along with anything else that catches his eye.
I juggle my stuff into one arm and reach my free hand into the back pocket of my shorts for my cell phone.
All I find is a map.
I try the next pocket. Empty.
Noooo.
The word is so close to tearing out of my chest, right here, in the middle of this crappy little convenience store that reeks of an overpowering air freshener trying to cover up burnt coffee and the stench from the bathroom.
Fuuuuck.
I left my phone in the RV.
I shove the stuff I’ve collected on a shelf and wedge myself beside a smug Wilde and a metal rack of chocolate bars. He doesn’t even give me an inch of space. And I don’t know why he’s being so smug. Four hours trapped with me will drive us both insane or to murder.
I know that.
He knows that.
We both know that.
Elbows planted on the countertop, I try to mask the growing frustration in my chest and do my best to stay composed as I address the employee.
“I need to borrow your phone.”
The teenager behind the counter gives me a bored glance.
“Her Mama taught her manners; she’s just choosy about who she uses them with.” Hart tosses a few bills on the counter.
My eyes struggle to look at him. “Just, shut up.”
“See? Choosy.”
“Can you not?” The thought of slapping him again flickers through my mind.
He collects his purchases. “Keep the change. Oh, and she’s paying for the chips she dumped on the floor.” He leans over the counter, closer to the teen. “I’d make her clean it up, too. I reckon she has some time to kill before her ride realizes they forgot her.”
“They didn’t forget me.”
He frowns, but it’s playful. “Let me guess. You were just as charming with them on the way here?”
I mentally strangle him. Twice.
“I figured.” He nods and stalks off.
Dickhead.
“Phone?” I ask the teen who takes his sweet time punching in Hart’s payment.
The register pops open. He stuffs the cash in, takes out the change, and drops it into his tip jar. Then he looks at me.
“Boss doesn’t like it when people use the phone.” The kid points behind me. “There’s one right out there.”
I follow his gaze outside to an old phone booth. If you could call it that. The sun-bleached thing looks more like a relic of the past than anything that’d actually function today.
“Does it work?”
He shrugs. “It takes quarters.”
I sigh.
“Right. Quarters.” I turn and take two steps.
“The chips will be seven dollars and forty-nine cents.”
I pivot to him. “For chips?”
He shrugs. “Costs more for delivery out here, and—”
I drop a bill on the counter and storm outside. The sun hits me, and I pull my shades over my eyes.
“Did you pay for those chips?” Hart leans against the bus, one leg raised, arms folded, wearing his sunglasses so I can’t see his eyes.
Not that I want to. They’re probably being as smug as the way he’s standing.
I lift my middle finger, my boots hitting the ground with purpose.
The phone booth is covered in years of grime, and the glass is cracked in a few spots.
I dig out the change in my pocket and find a couple of dimes, a nickel, and no quarters.
This day just keeps getting better and better.
I head back toward the door.
“I’ll just be here while you’re wasting daylight.” Hart’s voice echoes across the empty lot.
I’d like to duct tape his mouth shut.
Inside, the teenager isn’t standing behind the counter. I hear broom bristles sweeping the floor, and glance down the aisle where the bag exploded, which was all Hart’s fault. He started the snack war. The ass should’ve paid for them.
The teen hunches over, brushing broken chips into a dustpan.
“I need to get some quarters.”
He straightens, the broom dangling from his hand, gives a nod, and starts walking back to the front. Nice and slow, just like the traffic coming and going from this place.
He wipes his hand on his apron, steps back behind the counter, and stares at me.
I set a bill on the counter. “Quarters, please.”
“I can’t open it for change. You have to buy something.”
I’m starting to think I dislike this kid more than Hart.
“I did buy a bag of overpriced chips, and you kept my change.”
His gaze slides to the tip jar. “You want to take your tip back?”
I press my lips into a fine line. “No. I want to exchange this two-dollar bill for quarters.”
“Gotta buy something now.”
I don’t move, other than my arm to grab a meat stick and drop it beside my bill.
He rings it up. “You’ll need more money.”
I put more bills and collect the quarters he drops.
He barely glances up. “You’re gonna need ‘em. That thing’s a rip-off.”
I give him a flat look. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
I storm back outside. Hart hasn’t moved an inch.
“Tick-tock, sweetheart.” He taps a fake watch on his wrist, and I’d like to tap the side of my hand into his throat. Hard.
I fumble a coin into the rusted slot. The quarter drops in with a clink, and a dial tone meets me.
“Alright. It’s working.” And I’ve added talking to myself to the list of crazy today.
I instinctively reach for my phone. My finger touches a silver, chipped button, and my mind goes blank. I don’t know my sister’s numbers. Without my phone, there’s no contacts, no recent calls list.
Just me.
I grip the receiver tight and close my eyes until the number floats up, fragile but clear.
“I think it’s uh... five-five-five... three-two-nine-one,” I say slowly, my finger lightly tapping the buttons. “Or is it three-two-nine-two? I think that’s right.”
I open my eyes and dial. The phone rings three times before the voicemail clicks on.
I groan, mashing the phone to my ear and locking my fingers on the headset. “Hey, it’s me, pick up—”
The phone clicks, and my sister’s voice cracks through. “Hey, Jade?”
Relief washes over me for a second.
“Natalie, this isn’t funny. You guys need to turn around—”
Her voice dips, hesitant, and distant. “Jade?” She says it like she can’t hear me, but is this just another game?
“Come back and get me.”
“Jade?” A pause. The crackle in the line grows louder. “I can’t hear you.”
“Yes, you can.”
“I think there’s a bad reception.”
“Don’t you dare—”
Click.
The phone goes dead.
I squeeze my eyes shut and count to five in my head.
Stay calm.
You got this.
I have a handful of quarters to hit a break in the reception, because they aren’t ignoring me on purpose. All the calls go to voicemail, and this machine eats every last quarter.
“Couldn’t get a hold of them?” Hart shouts as I stride back inside the store.
Does he have a mute button?
I slap a bigger bill on the counter and another beef jerky beside it. “Change in quarters, please?”
“Monster, isn’t it?” The buttons on the cash register beep as he clicks them.
“Maybe consider getting it fixed.”
I stride back outside.
“Don’t worry, they’ll pick up this time.”
I want to punch him in the dick so fucking hard.
“They will pick up!”
Yeah, I shout it.
“So, you don’t need me? You got this handled?”
“Of course, I have it handled. Fuck off.”
After phone calls that don’t go through, and the stupid machine eating my quarters, I’m forced to face reality. I’m stuck driving with him. My enemy. The last person I would ever want to drive with.
At this point, I’d like to crawl into a ditch and cry. Instead, I square my shoulders and march straight to him. Only, he’s not standing there anymore, and the bus is idling.
Wait.
No, it’s pulling away.
He wouldn’t.
I plant my hands on my hips and wait for him to stop or pull around—whatever the hell he’s doing.
He wouldn’t leave me here without a phone or my purse. I had a pocket of some loose change, but my cards are on my family’s RV.
Hart’s bus is gaining speed, the rear lights blinking. He’s already merging out of the gravel lot.
My breath catches in my throat, then adrenaline kicks in.
“No, no, NO!” I shout “Hart!”