Chapter 2
JUDE
Z ennika Wallace is even more beautiful than I remember, and that's a problem.
I steal glances at her as I navigate Old Blue out of the airport parking lot.
She sits ramrod straight, pressed against the passenger door like she's afraid I might bite.
Her dark hair falls in waves past her shoulders, longer than when I last saw her.
The champagne stain on her fancy blouse does nothing to diminish how put-together she looks with her city polish and sharp edges.
The woman beside me is a far cry from the fiery teenager who once told me I was "lower than pond scum" for breaking up with her best friend.
"So," I break the silence as we hit the main road. "Emergency landing, huh?"
"Mechanical issues." She doesn't look at me, keeps her eyes fixed on the Kansas plains rolling past her window. "Thought I was going to die somewhere over America's cornfield."
"Kansas grows wheat, not corn. That's mostly Iowa and Nebraska."
She turns, arching one perfect eyebrow. "Forgive me for not being up to date on my crop geography while plummeting from the sky."
I bite back a smile. Still sharp as a tack, this one.
"We need to stop for gas," I say, glancing at the gauge hovering dangerously close to empty. "There's a station about ten miles ahead."
"Great." She shifts in her seat, wincing as the torn leather catches on her skirt. "Does this truck actually make it to Georgia, or should I mentally prepare for us to be stranded somewhere in Kentucky?"
"Old Blue's gotten me through blizzards, flash floods, and a tornado warning. She'll get us to Georgia."
"If you say so." Her tone makes it clear she remains unconvinced.
We lapse into silence again. I flip on the radio to fill the void, but all I get is static interspersed with fragments of country music. After a few futile attempts to find a station, I switch it off.
"So," I try again. "How's life in Seattle?"
"Fine."
"Jason mentioned you're in marketing?"
"Yes."
"Must be interesting."
"It is."
I drum my fingers against the steering wheel. This is going to be a long drive if every conversation is like pulling teeth.
"Look," I say finally. "I know you'd rather be anywhere but stuck in this truck with me. But we've got about twenty hours of driving ahead of us. Maybe we could try for civil conversation?"
She lets out a long sigh, then turns to face me fully for the first time.
"You're right. I'm sorry. That was rude.
" She pushes her hair back from her face.
"Yes, I work in marketing. Digital strategy for tech companies mostly. I just landed a major account last week that requires me to move to Georgia, which is why I splurged on the first-class ticket that nearly killed me. I figured I’d treat myself for once.
I even booked a few extra days after the wedding to look around and explore Georgia. "
"Congratulations on the account," I say, genuinely impressed. Jason's mentioned before that his little sister is something of a rising star in her field. "And I'm glad the plane didn't actually kill you."
The corner of her mouth twitches, almost a smile. "Thanks. So, what were you doing in Kansas? Jason mentioned something about a horse?"
"Looking at a mare for my breeding program. Quarter Horse with champion bloodlines."
"Did you buy her?"
I nod, feeling a swell of pride. "Moonlight Miracle. Three-time barrel racing champion with a temperament sweet as sugar. Worth every penny."
"How's she getting back to Washington?"
"Professional transport. She'll be at the ranch week after next."
Zennika falls quiet, seeming to process this information. "Jason mentioned you had a ranch, but I didn't realize you were into horse breeding."
"I started small and built it up over the last five years. Now I've got one of the top Quarter Horse breeding operations in the Pacific Northwest."
"That's... impressive."
I can't tell if she means it or if she's just being polite, but I'll take what I can get.
The gas station appears ahead, a weathered building with two ancient pumps standing like sentinels beneath a faded canopy. I pull up beside one, the truck rattling to a stop.
"I'm going to grab some supplies," I tell her as I turn off the ignition. "We should stock up while we can. The next stretch gets pretty desolate."
"I'll come in. I need to use the restroom anyway."
The small convenience store is like a thousand others scattered across rural America with dusty shelves stocked with beef jerky, chips, and candy, a coffee machine that looks like it's seen better days, and a bored attendant behind bulletproof glass.
While Zennika disappears into the bathroom, I grab bottled water, protein bars, trail mix, and a couple of sandwiches wrapped in plastic. Road trip essentials. I add a package of those chocolate cookies she used to love in high school, then immediately question why I even remember that detail.
When she emerges, she's splashed water on her face and twisted her hair into a neat bun. The champagne stain on her blouse seems less noticeable now, like she's somehow worked magic on it in the dingy gas station bathroom.
"I got some food," I say, nodding to my haul at the register. "Anything specific you want to add?"
She scans the shelves, then grabs a bag of sour cream and onion chips and a diet soda. "Just these."
I pay for everything, waving away her attempt to hand me cash. "I've got it."
"I can pay for my own chips, Jude."
"Consider it part of the rescue package." I gather the bags and head for the door. "Along with my chauffeur services and sparkling conversation."
That gets me a reluctant smile, the first real one since I picked her up. Small victory.
Back in the truck, I fill the tank while she sorts through our provisions, arranging everything in the small cooler I keep behind the seat. It's such a domestic gesture that for a moment, I'm caught off guard by the strange intimacy of it all.
I shake the thought away. This is Zennika Wallace. Jason's little sister. The woman who has actively avoided me for over a decade. The last person on earth I should be having domestic thoughts about.
"All set," I say, sliding back into the driver's seat. "Next stop is a motel just across the Missouri border. We should make it there by nightfall if we push through."
Her head snaps up. "Motel? As in, stopping for the night?"
"Unless you want me to drive through the night and wrap us around a telephone pole somewhere in the Ozarks, yeah. We're stopping."
"I just thought..." She trails off, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "I didn't realize we'd be staying overnight. Together."
Understanding dawns. "We'll get separate rooms, Zennika. I'm not expecting us to bunk together."
A flush creeps up her neck. "Of course. I knew that." She busies herself with her seatbelt. "And everyone calls me Zen now. Not Zennika."
"Zen," I try it out. It suits her somehow, short, sharp, to the point. "Got it."
I put the truck in gear and pull back onto the highway, settling in for the long stretch ahead. The late afternoon sun casts golden light across the endless fields, the kind of view that never gets old no matter how many times I drive through it.
"So, Abby's getting married," I say after a few miles of silence. "Anyone I know?"
She stiffens slightly. "Dylan Morrison, but he goes by Brick. He's a woodcrafter. They met while she…on vacation in Georgia."
"Good for her." I mean it sincerely. "She deserved someone special."
Zennika—Zen—turns to look at me, her expression suddenly sharp. "Yes, she did. Always did."
And there it is. The elephant in the truck. I grip the steering wheel tighter, debating whether to address it or let it lie. Twelve years is a long time to hold a grudge, but from the ice in her voice, Zen's been keeping hers in pristine condition.
"I was an ass in high school," I say finally. "Breaking up with Abby the way I did... it wasn't my finest moment."
She says nothing, just watches me with those penetrating eyes.
"For what it's worth, I apologized to Abby years ago. We're actually on good terms now."
"I know," she says softly. "She told me."
This surprises me. "She did?"
"Abby doesn't hold grudges. Unlike some of us."
The admission hangs between us, unexpectedly honest.
"So why hold onto it?" I ask, genuinely curious. "If Abby forgave me, why couldn't you?"
She turns back to the window. "Because I'm the one who had to piece her back together after you broke her. Because I'm the one who promised her that guys like you weren't worth her tears. Because I'm the one who had to watch her question her worth for months afterward."
The words hit hard. I knew I'd hurt Abby, but hearing the aftermath from Zen's perspective is something else entirely.
"I was eighteen," I say quietly. "Stupid and selfish. I didn't understand the damage I was causing."
"Well, I did." Her voice is barely audible over the engine's rumble. "I understood exactly."
The confession carries weight I can't quite decipher. Before I can press further, she pulls out her phone.
"I should let Abby know what's happening. That I'm on my way, just... taking the scenic route."
And just like that, the moment is gone. She taps out a message, effectively shutting down the conversation. I take the hint and focus on the road ahead, letting the miles swallow the tension between us.
The sun is painting the horizon in streaks of crimson and gold by the time we reach the eastern Kansas border. My body is stiff from hours behind the wheel, and Zen looks equally uncomfortable, shifting in her seat every few minutes.
"Ten more miles to the motel," I announce, rolling my shoulders to ease the tension.
She nods, stifling a yawn behind her hand.
The last hour has passed in companionable silence, the initial awkwardness between us softening somewhat as the day wore on.
She even laughed at one of my bad jokes about an hour back, a genuine laugh that lit up her whole face and made my chest tighten in response.