Chapter 22
I’m lost.
Truly, hopelessly lost.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. There’s no plan, no safety net. No credit card. No ID. And no way to contact Sam. In our cocoon of love and fire and whispered promises, we never thought to exchange numbers. It hadn’t mattered. We had each other.
But now?
Now I have nothing.
Staying in town until he gets back isn’t an option. I have no way to pay for a room, no idea when he’ll return, and no certainty that he even wants me to stay once he hears what Phern tells him.
A thought strikes me, cold and sharp. The bed-and-breakfast. Crap.
I took off in a literal flood and never even stepped foot into my room.
Desperate, I head down the street, boots crunching softly over thawing gravel.
I don’t know what I expect, but I cling to the fragile hope that maybe she’ll take pity on me.
The same woman from before is nestled in her recliner behind the counter. She’s got a knitting project in her lap and a game show blaring on the TV, which she mutes as I step inside.
“Well look who the cat dragged in,” she says. “Was wonderin’ if you died out there.”
“I almost did,” I murmur, and my voice cracks on the words.
She squints at me. “You have a friendly visit with Phern?”
My eyes fill, vision blurring. “Yeah.”
She tsks like she knows I’m lying. “Phern said you might come by. Damn shame you lost all your belongings.”
“I don’t suppose there’s any way I can stay here for a few nights?” I ask quietly. “Just until I can say goodbye to Sam?”
Her brow rises slowly. “And how exactly are you gonna pay for that, sugar?”
“Sam will take care of it,” I say, instantly hating how small it sounds.
She snorts. “Honey, that’s not how things work, even in a town this small. You want something, you pay for it. Otherwise, you’re just someone else lookin’ to be someone else’s problem.”
I nod slowly, forcing my mouth into a smile that feels more like a wound.
“Understood.”
“Need anything else?” she asks, already reaching for the remote.
“I just wanted to tell you I lost the key.”
She waves a hand like she couldn’t care less. “Plenty more where that came from.”
The TV volume returns, loud and tinny, and I’m dismissed.
I step outside into the blinding light of morning, and the cold hits me like a slap. The air smells like pine and melting snow. Sam was right, it really is different up here.
But it’s not mine.
Not anymore.
I blink fast, refusing to let the tears fall. Not here. Not now.
I don’t cry.
I don’t.
I head down the street toward Knot and Spur, dragging my feet even though I know what’s waiting.
A black truck idles in front. The window rolls down.
“You must be Charlie.”
The sound of the name Sam gave me hits me like a gut punch.
“I am.”
“Phern said you needed a ride into Sheridan,” the man says, his voice easy but not unkind. “You ready?”
No.
But I nod anyway. “Yeah.”
I climb into the truck, staring straight ahead, swallowing the lump in my throat.
“I’m Will,” he offers. “Sam’s friend.”
I force a smile. “You’re the one he tried to lock in the henhouse, right?”
Will laughs. “He’s never gonna let me live that down.”
The sound is warm, genuine but my smile feels hollow.
“Sounds like y’all had a lot of fun growing up.”
“We did.” He glances sideways. “You sure you want to leave?”
No.
“Yeah,” I lie. “I’m needed back to L.A.”
Will whistles low. “Didn’t figure Sam for the type to fall for someone from out there. ”
“We’re just friends,” I say quickly.
It tastes like ash.
Because when Sam finds out I’m gone, when Phern tells him why I left…
He’s going to hate me. Even if it is a lie.
The ride is quiet. Will’s kind enough to let me drown in the noise of my mind without interruption. When the city limits of Sheridan come into view, my chest tightens.
He finally asks, “Where you headed from here?”
I laugh, low and bitter. “Not sure. I lost everything in the flood.”
“Phern said you might need a bus ticket.” He pauses, glancing over at me. “That right?”
“Yeah.”
“We’ll get you squared away.”
Fifteen minutes later, I’m standing on cracked linoleum, holding a bus ticket like it’s the only thing tethering me to the earth.
Will walks me to the door, hands in his jacket pockets. “Nice to meet you, Charlie.”
I stop him with one last hope.
“Wait—do you have Sam’s number?”
His brow furrows. “You don’t?”
I shake my head. “We never needed it.”
He exhales. “I’m sorry, but if Sam didn’t give it to you, I don’t feel right doing it behind his back.”
I nod, heart sinking. “I understand.”
I don’t. But I pretend.
Ticket in hand, I walk toward the waiting bus. Just before I step up, I turn back and look at Sheridan. At everything I’m leaving behind. Then I climb aboard. And try not to fall apart .
The bus ride is, without exaggeration, the worst thing I’ve ever endured.
Forty-six hours.
Five transfers.
No sleep. No food. No space. Just recycled air, too many strangers, and heartbreak that sits in my chest like a second spine that’s sharp, unrelenting, and impossible to ignore.
Every jolt of the road feels like it’s shaking something loose inside me.
The farther we get from Sheridan, the more it hurts.
Wyoming fades behind me, and so does he.
And with every mile, I wonder if Sam’s found my empty side of the bed.
If he’s reading my silence like a goodbye. If he hates me now.
That thought hurts most of all.
I have no money for food, not even a pack of gum. My stomach cramps from emptiness, but that’s nothing compared to the ache in my chest. That gnawing, hollowed-out feeling that says I ruined the only thing that ever felt real.
By the time the bus pulls into the downtown L.A. terminal, I feel like I’ve been skinned alive. I step off on shaky legs, too numb to cry, too raw to breathe right. The world around me is a blur of neon signs and exhaust fumes, people yelling and rushing past like I’m invisible.
My hands tremble as I ask the lady if there’s a phone I can use to call a ride. She looks irritated but sets it on the counter for me. My fingers fumble with the buttons until I finally dial the one number that feels like a lifeline. It rings twice.
“Hello?” Tish sounds groggy. Slightly annoyed.
“Tish?” My voice cracks on the second syllable. “It’s… it’s Charlotte. ”
A beat of silence. “Charlotte? Oh my God. Where are you?”
“I’m at the bus station downtown,” I whisper. “Can you come get me?”
My voice breaks on the last word, and I have to press my hand to my mouth to stop the sob building in my throat.
“Charlotte?” Her tone flips in an instant, the sleep gone, replaced by urgency. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head even though she can’t see me. “No.”
“I’ll be there as fast as I can, I swear. Just hang on. Don’t move.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, barely holding it together.
I hang up and slump against the wall, curling my arms around myself like a shield, trying not to come undone in the middle of a bus station full of strangers.
Tish arrives forty minutes later, skidding to a stop in front of the station like she broke every traffic law to get here. I don’t wait. I run straight into her arms, and she catches me like she knew I was falling.
We hug like it’s been years instead of two weeks. My face presses into her shoulder, and I breathe in the familiar scent of her perfume. It almost breaks me again.
“Come on, babe,” she murmurs, her voice gentle, solid. “Let’s get you home.”
She doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t press. She just drives.
The city rolls past us in blurs of gray and neon, but I barely register any of it. I sit in the passenger seat like a ghost of myself, clutching my bus ticket like it might explain everything I can’t.
When we get to my apartment, I realize I don’t even have keys. I beg the apartment manager to let me in, my voice cracking, eyes burning. It takes a few minutes and a promise to pay the lock change fee, but finally the door opens, and I step inside.
Only then do I exhale.
The air feels still, untouched, like it’s been waiting for me. Tish steps in behind me.
“You want to talk about it,” she asks softly, “or do you want to sleep?”
“Sleep,” I whisper.
“Okay, babe.”
She doesn’t push.
Instead, she gently takes my arm and leads me to my bedroom. The bedding’s still the same from the day I left. She pulls it back without a word, her movements careful, like I might shatter.
“I’ll be here when you wake up,” she says, brushing a hand down my arm.
I nod, throat thick with everything I can’t say.
Then I climb into bed, curling onto my side, and as soon as the door closes?—
The first sob tears out of me.
It’s ugly.
Loud.
Shaking.
And it doesn’t stop.
Because now that I’m alone, it all catches up to me—the loss, the shame, the sound of Sam’s voice saying he loved me, the way it felt to be wrapped in him and belong somewhere.
And now I don’t.
Now I’m just gone.