10. Chapter Ten
Maddison
“ E very minute we’re open is an opportunity to increase revenue,” I mimic Irene under my breath. With her back turned to me across the parking lot, I raise my middle finger to flip off the devil herself. A blast of frigid wind slams into me, stealing my breath as I yank my car door open. Doing my best to ignore the white flakes drifting from the sky, I drop into the driver’s seat and quickly turn the heat on.
The first winter storm of the season is moving in, and the roads are already becoming slushy. Because the cities and counties in this part of Virginia are shit at treating the roads, many of the local businesses elected to shut down early and send their employees home.
But not Irene Johnson. She made us stay until closing time, despite the lack of business.
Taking a deep breath, I try not to think about the reason why I no longer feel comfortable driving in winter weather. As I slowly pull my car out onto the deserted road with a white-knuckled grip, I think about Jax instead. Heat warms my blood as I remember him caging me between the wall and the hard planes of his body. I recall the way his hips ground against me, his hard cock rubbing against my leggings.
But a little bit of shame and regret fill me too because I would have let him fuck me right there against the wall if he wanted to. Something about the completely unapologetic way he admitted to what he was doing, his gravelly voice, and domineering attitude had me wet in seconds. Honestly, it felt like I was burning up for him.
I didn’t even try to remind him what was at stake, didn’t try to be the voice of reason.
My cell phone pings, momentarily pulling me out of my internal ramblings. I swallow, not really wanting to take my eyes off the road right now. But I allow them to quickly flick over to the screen.
Jax: Where are you?
Jax: Bad weather coming in.
Jax: Tell me where you are. I’m coming to get you.
My heart pounds a little harder with each message that comes through, but I refuse to take either of my hands off the steering wheel to answer. A week has passed since the incident in the laundry room, and we’re back to avoiding each other. And when we are in the same room, he gets this look on his face like it physically pains him to be around me. The roads must be getting bad for him to send me those messages now. Another ping chimes from my phone, but I ignore it.
Part of me wants to be a coward and let him come get me. Another part of me wants to remind myself that I’m now only twenty minutes away from the house, and I’m an independent woman who isn’t going to let the past control me.
At that exact moment, a pick-up truck that’s been tailgating me decides to lay on his horn. The driver flips on his turn signal and quickly changes lanes. He speeds up, flinging up a trail of slushy ice as he speeds past me. My palms begin sweating on the wheel as fear crawls up my throat. Pretty soon, my eyes are darting around the road, and I’m thinking about the similarities to that awful day.
“Anybody in the mood for some Christmas music?” my mom asks from the front seat.
“No Christmas music in November,” Dad playfully grouses. I giggle, leaning forward from the backseat to fiddle with the old radio. Mom gives me a cheeky grin.
“You’re outvoted two to one,” I tell him. He side-eyes me, giving me a dirty look that I know is in full jest. I can see the way his lips twitch as he tries to suppress a smile. The sounds of “Feliz Navidad” fill the small space, and I lean back in my seat. Warmth fills my chest as I watch the way my dad reaches across the console to grip Mom’s hand. She gazes out the window, her smile slipping as she watches the winter storm roll in.
“I thought the forecast wasn’t calling for snow until later this evening,” she murmurs. Dad doesn’t respond, but I notice the way the car begins to slow down as the roads gradually become more and more white. The wiper blades begin to work a little faster, trying to keep up with the quickly falling snowflakes.
We come to a four-way stop. Dad looks around the intersection, checks that it’s completely clear, and begins to cross. A sudden, loud horn makes me jump, and my head jerks towards the ominous sound. My heart drops into my stomach, a small shriek tumbling from my throat as a semi-truck barrels towards us.
“Dad! Watch out!”
The sound of squealing tires fills my head as my body is thrown forward. And then we are careening along the road, and everything is spinning. My body is yanked against the seat belt as my view is flipped upside down then right side-up again. I cry out as my head smacks against the window. A sharp pain lances through my arm, then my skull.
And then everything goes black.
My cell phone trills with the sound of an incoming call, and it effectively pulls me out of past memories. Although the sound grates on my nerves, I studiously ignore it. I stop at a red light, and my blood runs cold when I notice an idling semi-truck sitting at the light across from me. My fingers tremble over the wheel, and my pulse hammers in my neck.
That’s not the same truck that ran a stop sign and killed my parents. Logically, I know that. But staring at it right now, it’s hard to convince my brain otherwise. Part of me is terrified that when the light turns green, it’s going to careen into my lane.
“I’m safe,” I whisper. “I’m okay.”
The light turns green, and I hold my breath as the semi-truck passes by me without incident. With every mile I drive down the road, the condition of the roads continues to deteriorate. The muscles in my shoulders remain rigid as the road becomes covered in a thin layer of white. I keep my tires within the tracks of those who have traveled before me, but I can still feel the way they struggle to maintain traction along the slick surface.
But I’m so close. Only a few more minutes, and—
The backend of the car fishtails as it slides over a patch of ice, and my heartrate skyrockets. A rush of adrenaline seizes my brain as panic consumes me, and I jerk the wheel. When I overcorrect, my car begins sliding toward the side of the road. I squeak out a startled cry as my feet pump the brakes, a novice move, but my brain is practically bleating at me.
My car skids into the ditch, the front end hitting the embankment with a thud . I’m jerked forward, but my seat belt stops me from hitting the steering wheel.
Fuck.
“I’m safe,” I whisper. “Safe.”
But the terror seizing my brain won’t let up. My breaths begin to saw in and out of my lungs as I wrap shaking arms around myself. A lump forms in my throat, my eyelids blinking furiously to keep the tears at bay. But even through blurry vision, all I can see is white.
White—just like that day.
And I see the oozing, dripping red that isn’t really there.
It was everywhere, warm and sticky on my skin. It was on their skin too, matted in their hair and soaking into their seats.
Slamming my eyes shut, I try to block out the images. But the icy, cold fear squeezing my chest is unrelenting. I force myself to chant the words that were once whispered in my ears. I vaguely remember gentle hands pulling me out of the wreckage of the car and whispering soothing words to me as I went in and out of consciousness. I never saw their face, but I remember the hand gripping mine and the feeling of safety as the stranger whispered in my ear.
“You’re going to live today—fight to live. You have so much life ahead of you. Don’t you dare give up.”
“I’m going to live today.” The words come out as nothing more than strangled gasps said over frantic wheezing. But I repeat the words, hoping that I’ll start to believe them.