Chapter 2
TWO
Daisy
I’m so screwed.
That was my thought when my car started to smoke, then sputtered and died here in the middle of nowhere. But now things are worse because I’m stranded with this lunatic.
“Excuse me?” I ask, still tugging at my hand.
“I, uh…” He trails off.
I try to sound confident. “Listen, I need to fix my car, then I’ll be out of your hair, okay?”
The truth is that I have no idea how to fix a car. I don’t even know what’s wrong with it, but if I had to guess, the fact that it’s twenty years old may have something to do with it.
I can’t afford to buy a new one, not with me ghosting my job and being on the run and all.
I scan the road I just drove down, looking for signs of anyone following me, but it’s quiet.
Wait, does this guy work with Joe?
My eyes fly to the man in a panic, and he seems alarmed when he sees how scared I am. I try to back up a step, but he closes the distance between us.
“Whoa, easy. It’s going to be all right. I’ll fix your car, okay? Well, I’ll try to. It will be okay,” he promises.
I sniffle once, and the next thing I know, I’m plastered to the guy’s chest with his arms around me.
“Don’t cry. Please don’t cry,” he begs. “It’s okay, little one. I’ve got you.”
That seems to break the dam inside me. One second, I’m sniffling, and then I’m full-on sobbing in this stranger’s arms.
The stress of being on the run for the last few days has worn me out. I’m embarrassed to be crying in front of this guy, but I can’t seem to stop the tears. All the pressure has built up inside me, and there’s no containing it anymore.
“Oh, little one. Nothing is going to hurt you. I won’t let it.”
The panic in his voice almost makes me smile.
This giant seems so worried about me. I should be fighting him off, but it feels too good being in his arms, to have someone assure me that everything will be okay.
The scary thing is that I believe him. I believe that he’ll take care of me.
This guy doesn’t know anything about me, or he wouldn’t be making promises like that.
How did my life end up like this? I was happy… well, not happy, but I was doing okay. I wasn’t in the group home anymore. I had a job and an apartment, and I was making a few friends. I was okay. Safe.
And now, I’m on the run from the police.
I take a few deep breaths, trying to get myself under control. I need to calm down and come up with a new plan to get away. I need to put more distance between Joe and I.
“I’m not cut out to be a fugitive,” I mumble against the guy’s chest.
He tenses around me. “What do you mean?”
I wish I hadn’t said that out loud. How do I explain all this? What will he do? Will he turn me in to the police?
“Where did you come from?” I ask, pushing away from him in case I need to run. Not that it will make a difference. This guy is huge, at least a foot taller than my 5’4” stature. I also haven’t run since high school, and I suspect he works out daily because the dude is seriously ripped.
“I was out for a walk,” he says, frowning down at me.
“It’s the middle of the night,” I point out dryly.
He shrugs easily as he moves close again and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “What about you? Why are you out here?”
“Well, my car broke down.”
He shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant. Why drive down this road in the first place? It’s a backwoods road. No map would tell you to use it. The highway and major roads are faster and safer.”
I shift on my feet, trying to decide what to do. Can I trust this guy with the truth? Or should I come up with a lie?
I don’t know why, but I decide to go with the truth.
The man has been nothing but nice to me so far.
Plus, something about him makes me instinctively trust him.
I feel… comfortable around him, which is weird because that’s never happened to me before.
Usually, I’m anxious and on edge with the opposite sex.
“I—” My throat closes.
He waits patiently for me to find the words, his hand smoothing circles on my back. “I was framed for a crime by the police, and now I’m on the run. I can’t go to jail.”
“Whoa, what?”
I take a deep breath and start at the beginning. “I grew up in foster care, and when I aged out last year, I moved to Denver. My apartment was down the block from Joe’s. He was my only friend. I didn’t have much in common with the people at work. It’s hard for me to make friends.”
He finds my hand with his and squeezes in encouragement.
I gather my courage and tell him the rest. “I thought Joe and I were just friends. Then one day, I went over to his house to see if he wanted to grab dinner, and that’s when I saw it. He had pictures of me. A bunch. He wasn’t my friend at all.”
“He’s a stalker,” the guy finishes, looking pissed.
I nod. “Uh, Joe is a cop. He asked me out, and I said no. I told him I didn’t want to see him again, and he didn’t take it well.
A few days later, some cops came up to me at work and brought me in for questioning.
They said I robbed this mansion in town.
Said they had evidence. Except I’ve never been near that part of town.
I didn’t do it, but they wouldn’t believe me. ”
“So, you ran.”
“They let me out while they gathered more evidence, or fabricated it, and I knew I couldn’t stay. I wouldn’t get a fair trial.”
I tense, wondering if he’s about to turn me in.
He surprises me again by squeezing my hand again. “That’s fucked up.”
I bark a laugh. “Tell me about it.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll get it sorted out. We should be able to refute their timeline and evidence. I mean, you were at work or out somewhere. We should be able to prove that they’re wrong.”
“Except Joe was stalking me. He knows my routine. He knows when I’m home or at work or getting groceries. I didn’t have anyone else there, no one to corroborate my story. Nothing.”
“We’ll figure it out,” he says simply.
I want to ask him why he’s helping me, but I’m so tired—too tired to get into it tonight.
I have no idea why he keeps saying we or why he’s being so nice, but I’m not going to complain. I could use a friend right now.
“Sure,” I say. “Except now, I don’t know what to do or where to go.”
“Let me look at your car, and we’ll go from there.”
He tugs me around the car to the hood, which has now stopped smoking, so that’s something.
He bends over the hood, frowning at my engine.
“What’s your name?”
He blinks, turning to look at me. “Knox.”
“I’m Daisy.”
He smiles. “Daisy.”
I shiver at the sound of my name on his lips.
“What do you think?” I ask. “About the car?”
“Let’s see.” He returns his attention to the engine.
As I watch him, I can’t help but wonder what his motive is for helping me. And why did he say mine when he first saw me?
Maybe he’s just a friendly guy.
I bite my lip, hating that everything with Joe has made me so distrustful of people. I used to trust my gut, but now I don’t know who or what to believe.
Yet something tells me I can trust Knox.
I only hope I’m not wrong.