Chapter 3
Three
Of course, Ryan is filling in for Jenna today. Why would I expect anything less? Fucking…Tuesday. Ugh!
Marching across the parking lot, I quickly reach my car.
Fumbling with the key fob, I let it slip from my fingers and land on the ground.
Fuck me, I mutter, taking a deep breath.
I bend to snatch it up and open the door.
Climbing into the driver’s seat, I toss my bag onto the passenger side and rest my head on the steering wheel.
I’ve been to the clinic countless times and not once have I seen Ryan. I don’t avoid him, but I wasn’t seeking him out either. Apparently, my luck has run out. It’s stupid—I know he would never judge me for going to therapy. Fuck, I’m surprised he hasn’t referred me himself.
I hate that he saw me crying. I work hard at being “okay,” and I don’t want him of all people to see behind the mask.
Being the happy, fun friend is something I pride myself on.
And most of the time, it’s not an act. Maybe that’s why I poke at him so much—if he’s distracted and annoyed, then he won’t focus too hard on me. He’s a perceptive son of a bitch.
Ryan is hot as hell. He may be forty, but he’s aging like fine wine. Tall, with dark hair that is always expertly styled. And he has amazing grey-blue eyes that a woman could get lost in. And his slutty, black-rimmed glasses only add to his allure.
I don’t normally go for guys like him. I prefer a little darker, a lot more dangerous, and way less pretty. Definitely more tattoos. But there’s something about him.
Driving back to my trailer with the wind rushing through the open window, I vaguely hear clunking over the loud music pouring from my speakers.
I turn up the volume. This car is a piece of shit, but at least it has a decent stereo system.
The noise becomes increasingly louder the longer I drive, and then I smell the distinct odour of smoke.
I already had to deal with it not wanting to start over the weekend.
What’s wrong with it now? Fuck, this can’t be good.
Carefully pulling onto the shoulder, I turn off the engine. Now what do I do?
Grabbing my cell phone from the centre console, I peel my body from the worn leather seat and get out.
Shutting the door, I turn to lean against the fender, then think better of it.
Quickly taking several large steps away, I pivot to glare at the stupid car.
It’s still smoking, so maybe I can get lucky and it will catch on fire. I’m sure my insurance would cover it.
Tapping my fingers on my lips, I consider who I should call to come pick me up. Carson is the closest; his farm is only a few kilometres away, and he’s the least likely to give me grief about the car breaking down.
As I pace back and forth along the gravel road, the phone rings four times before it goes to voicemail. Shit.
Mentally, I go through the list of people who could pick me up.
I will not be asking Ryan for help again after that little crying episode in his office.
Aunt Maggie is out with a friend for an early dinner.
Hannah left Sam in charge of her art gallery so that she could spend some time with Logan.
Claire cancelled her classes at the rec centre today because her five-year-old son, Ben, is coming down with a cold.
Riot will be busy at his construction site.
That leaves Megan. She works part-time at the bookstore, but I don’t know her hours. She might be available.
The phone rings twice before complete silence. Pulling it away from my ear, I look down at the screen and find that the call didn’t accidentally disconnect—my battery is dead. Are you fucking kidding me right now?
Resigned to the fact that I am going to have to walk the rest of the way home, I quickly grab my bag from the passenger seat and mentally prepare myself for the trip. I really wish I had remembered my water bottle today, but at least I have decent shoes on.
I don’t get very far before I hear the rumble of thunder in the distance and see ominous dark clouds on the horizon. No, absolutely not, there is no fucking way it’s going to…rain. The thought barely enters my mind before I feel large drops land on my head.
Tilting my head up to the sky, I scream, what the actual fuck?
In a matter of seconds, I’m soaked from head to toe.
I have two options—get back in my car and pray someone finds me before the car explodes or continue walking.
I don’t have a death wish, and I’m already wet, so walking it is.
It will get me home and dry sooner than later.
If I hurry, I can beat the worst of the storm.