Chapter 18
RUE
The roads are desolate and flat, and no matter how many times I’ve made this drive, both east and west, I still can’t shake the nerves that roll through me in this stretch.
But I’m not traveling alone. And that makes me feel slightly better.
Some shitty country song plays on the radio now, and honestly, I miss my fucking phone. I need to know what the hell is going on with the search. I need to know whether we’re in the clear to keep moving as we are, or if we need to adjust.
I start flipping through the stations until I come to a news report. Some guy drones on and on about some sort of Alien spotting festival, then the weather, and when he makes it to the national news, he never mentions Noah.
Maybe it’s dying down. There’s nothing new to report.
Still, I listen through the whole thing, immersing myself in the report, because to do otherwise at this point? I don’t even know where my head would go. There’s a sense of unease every time I glance back at Noah.
And I don’t understand it. But I do trust it.
Maybe he’s hiding something from me? Or maybe he’s just angry still.
I chew the inside of my cheek until the taste of copper follows, which I promptly swallow.
I glance in the rearview mirror, catching sight of Noah watching me, his blue eyes appearing dark in the moonless night.
Sweat beads across my forehead; this strange, charged silence between the two of us is suffocating.
“You’re thinking really loud right now,” Noah’s voice comes out flat.
“Well, I guess I’m trying to decide at what point we become more than just two people who fucked in the woods,” I blurt out, the anxiety straining my voice.
He raises a brow. “We do have a history. That’s never going to change.”
I shake my head at that, an ache building in my chest. “I’m basically committing my life to being on the run with you, and I’m just getting labeled as someone you have history with?”
“Well, if you recall, I didn’t invite you,” Noah shoots back, his tone cold. “All I wanted was your car, and you could’ve just continued on your merry way, living in the fucking delusion you have in your head that you’re a good person.”
My jaw drops. I hate this version of Noah. I hate it.
I grit my teeth and try to focus on the road, shoving down the urge to argue with him and defend my feelings for him. I mean, yeah, I did what I did. Or something like that. But I had no idea that Noah was being framed.
And I was so young… I had no idea what I was doing.
Those are just excuses. I rake my fingers through my tangled hair, wincing as it tears from my scalp. I glance back again at Noah, but he’s not watching me anymore; his eyes are pointed out the window.
I don’t have to make it up to you, Noah. Does that not show that I’m trying to be a good person? That I’m trying to do the right thing? I don’t want to be the shitty, na?ve girl who let her dad frame an innocent person for something she did.
I want to fix it and make it right. My head spins.
I could just come clean. I could turn myself in. I could drop Noah off at the border, then find the nearest police station and tell them the truth. I’m sure there’s some sort of evidence they could find, if they actually took me seriously.
A shudder runs through my body, and I reach for Bullet, who’s sleeping in the passenger seat, completely unaware and unbothered by the current circumstances. He has no fucking clue what’s going on.
And he is so lucky.
I blink away the moisture pooling in my eyes and then use my forearm to wipe it away. I do my best to focus on the road, but for the first time since we left Moccasin Cove, I feel more than just anxiety.
Maybe it’s just pure freaking dread.
Lights glint off my side mirror, and I squint into it long enough to recognize a big rig coming up on us. I double-check that I’m cruising three miles over the speed limit and stay in the right lane, knowing a speeding semi is going to blow past us.
Totally fine. Let him.
“You okay?” Noah asks the question as I let out a heavy sigh.
“Yeah, I just hate semis.” I don’t want to give him a shred of information about me right now—not after what he said to me.
But I can’t help it. Call it love. Call it attachment. Call it a debt.
He asks, I answer.
He peers over the backseat, catching sight of the big rig gaining on us. “Why do you hate semis?”
“I don’t know,” I mumble, my grip tightening on the steering wheel. The lights illuminate the entire cab as the truck finally reaches us.
But they don’t move over to pass.
I swallow hard. It’s fine. It’s totally fine.
My eyes jump from the road in front to the rearview, as the truck closes in on the back end of my car. I press my foot into the pedal, pushing the car from three over to seven over.
“Just let him pass,” Noah says.
“I would, if he would just get over and go around me.”
But he—or I guess could be she—doesn’t. They stay right on my ass, blinding me entirely. I keep pushing the SUV faster, now twelve over.
“Rue,” Noah’s voice comes out as a warning. “Just let him go around.”
My heart thumps against my ribcage like a caged animal. “He’s not going to go around! Do you not see that?”
“I’m not fucking blind,” Noah spats back. “But you just keep speeding up. He’s probably toying with you now.”
Irritation burns in my chest. “Would you rather drive?”
“I don’t have a license anymore,” he mutters. “Otherwise, I definitely would be. Just let the idiot go around you. If you go slow enough, he will.”
Why are you such an asshole? I want to yell at him, but I keep my lips pressed tightly together. And let off the gas.
The trucker blows his horn, and I jerk violently in the front seat, knocking my elbow into the console. Noah breaks into a chuckle.
And I try to ignore the humiliation suddenly blooming in my chest.
The truck veers into the left lane, then blows past us in a loud, rattling blur. My eyes follow the side of the empty cattle trailer, and then let out a breath of relief, as the truck dissipates into nothing but taillights.
Thank God.
But before my gaze even pulls from the rig, Bullet’s high-pitched bark and Noah’s voice shock me all over again.
“Rue! Watch out!”
Shit! I jerk the wheel, as a cottontail rabbit—and something much larger—darts across the interstate. I slam the brakes, but it’s too late. The front end of the car collides with whatever the big tan blur was.
And the sound of screaming metal is deafening.