Chapter Five
Mya
No one came out and yelled at me. How unexpected. It was a Thursday night in this sweet small city. Some of the porch lights came on, and I heard a few screen doors open and shut with a creek and a snap, but that was it.
No police sirens.
No raised fists waving in the air.
There was none of that.
I sat on the curb nearest my car and waited for it to stop hissing and essentially dying in front of my eyes. Half of the car was still in the street, and the other half was a bit on the lawn but mostly in the driveway.
I turned to see the house I’d just marred with my accident.
It was right out of a painting. Yellow siding.
White trim. Decorative shutters and windowsills.
Ferns hanging from the front porch. A swing that moved in the night air, begging for someone to give it some company.
I would bet there was a lovely family inside.
A few kids. A husband with a dad bod. A mom they all loved and cherished.
I wished I was her.
When I met Jacob, he claimed to love me. Said he wanted to have a family and that he saw me as the mother of his children. I found it all so endearing. I fell for all of his bullshit, hook, line, and sinker.
I rested my head on my knees. The hissing was like a call sign to the masses. Hey, this girl is broke, her car is dying, and she has nowhere to go. Look how silly she is.
Good grief. I was anthropomorphizing my broken car.
I looked back at the house again. The sun was nearly over the horizon, and my fear amped up, not because of someone clearly about to come out of the house and get upset at me but because of my situation.
Then again, no one said starting over would be easy or nice.
I cringed at hearing the front screen door open behind me. Bracing for some kind of argument, I stood and waited.
But when the person emerged, I gasped and stumbled a few steps until my back hit my car.
This was no husband with a dad bod. Goddess help me, my eyes darted directly to his left hand and I noticed there was no ring. Didn’t mean anything. Some people took their rings off for one reason or another.
Not that I was looking. I’d just escaped a hellhole.
He bounced down the few steps onto the lawn. Low-slung gray pants hung down, revealing a V-cut. He was lean and strong at the same time, and I hesitated to look at his face, thinking he would be angry. Red face. Pursed lips. Lines deepening along his forehead. Furrowed brow.
But I took the chance and was totally wrong.
He wasn’t mad; he was…concerned?
He walked over and looked at the car briefly but then back to me. Then he started to say something. The car was still making noise.
“What?” I said, thinking he was asking about the mailbox or his driveway. Maybe I’d hit some of his flowers or something.
Closer, he put his hands on his hips. “What happened?”
“I hit your mailbox.”
“Yes. I can see that. But you…are you fine? Hurt? Bleeding? You look pretty bruised up. Should I call an ambulance?”
Maybe. Those abs right in front of me were about to make me pass out. “Oh. I’m not bleeding or hurting.” Actually, I was hurting but not from the car breakdown.
“That’s good.”
He raised his nose in the air and maybe it was the sugar overdose—maybe the caffeine—maybe my tiredness—but I swore his nostrils flared and for a fraction of a second, his eyes changed to gold. Gold.
Oh yeah, I needed sleep.
“I think you need to sit down. You look very pale.”
Following his directions, I stumbled back onto the lawn and almost tripped over air. I plopped down onto the grassy area and let myself breathe while the tall glass of water perused my car and moved the mailbox post a little and then shrugged like it was no big deal.
Shrugged.