1
SIX YEARS LATER
S omeone once said life begins with a bang and ends with a whimper.
But I think it starts with fire.
Burn everything down to build it back up.
My jeep jostles along the country road, bouncing over a snow-filled pothole, rattling my teeth. Somewhere along the way, I took a wrong turn and now, a sleet-snow rain is coming down in sheets. I’m in the middle of nowhere and cell reception is non-existent.
Desperation fills me as I grip the steering wheel with my good hand, scanning the road for a sign to tell me where I am. After two days in the car, thousands of miles across the country, it’s too late to turn back now.
It would be so easy to pull over onto the shoulder of the road and wait for Aiden to find me and bring me back home. But sense hasn’t caught up with me yet.
My stomach grumbles. Oh god. How long has it been since I ate?
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
I don’t know who I’m talking to. Myself. My stomach. Tears blur my vision and trail down my cheeks until I’m a salty, sooty, sobbing mess.
I should be in my kitchen right now. It’s seven a.m. in DC. The morning rush. I’d be up, hands covered in dough, getting the fast-paced masses to slow down with a simple honeybun.
I glance at the full moon, still burning bright despite the hazy snow-flurried sky.
Rope the moon.
My mother’s words blaze a trail to my heart. She never explained what it meant, but I’ve always interpreted it as go after what you want . Make it yours through grit, grace, or gumption.
And I did. For a long time, until I met Aiden, I roped the moon. I moved the infinity out of my life.
Last night, I took it back.
I can do this. Somehow, I can do it.
My jeep smells like smoke, and I feel a flicker of shame, hear Aiden’s panicked scream in my ears. Help me. Help me!
But I didn’t.
Maybe I shouldn’t have run, but I saw my chance, and I took it.
But was it worth it? I gave up my beautiful bakery to be free.
With a sigh, I wipe the fatigue and the soot from my face.
Maybe it’s another bad decision in a river of bad decisions.
If only it was that easy to leave the past in my rearview mirror. I catch my reflection, wincing at my busted lip, the faded bruise around my left eye. My long dark hair’s sweaty and mussed. I’m still wearing my apron from this morning.
Whether the fire bought me any time is hard to know. It’ll take the police a few days to shift through the wreckage of the bakery and for Aiden to come up with a story. And when that’s done…
Is that when Aiden will track me down?
My hand tightens on the wheel as the tires go into a skid. On a shaky breath, I steady the Jeep. The rain’s coming down in sheets, and I can barely see the road in front of me.
It’s too easy, I’m too free. It won’t last. Nothing good ever does.
Aiden warned me about what would happen if I ever left.
I want you to remember this moment the next time you think about leaving me. I will fuck with you, Dakota. I will fuck with your family, and I will fuck with your life. And when I find you, I will carve out your fucking heart and feed it to the wolves.
An icy shiver rolls through me. I shake my head, clearing the memory.
My eyes flick to the rear-view mirror. My pulse quickens, like Aiden’s behind me on his motorcycle, already anticipating my next move.
Bad idea, Koty, this is a bad idea. Your bakery didn’t just catch on fire, so did your life.
And all for what?
To escape?
To go home?
I can’t ignore the irony. After spending so many years aching to break free from my small hometown, taking off in a blaze of glory for culinary school, I’m running straight back to Resurrection as my main life hack.
Just yesterday I had my bakery. Milk & Honey.
My blood, sweat, tears. And now…
Gone. All gone.
My mind replays the fire like a fever dream.
Our fight. The hard backhand to my face.
Aiden screaming. How terribly fast that pan went up in flames.
I stared at it, holding my cheek. Mesmerized, hypnotized.
The flames licking up the back of the stove to snap at the ceiling.
My fingers digging into my purse for my keys like my legs already knew where I was going.
Aiden’s hand clawing at me, to drag me back, when in the end he stayed to fight the fire. For his money. For his investment .
Because Aiden King doesn’t lose things.
And he won’t lose me.
That bone-deep knowledge terrifies me.
The rage in Aiden’s eyes as I ran for my Jeep, hopped in and never looked back.
Because he knew I had my chance.
I gasp when I see the smoke unfurling eerily slow in my backseat. The snap of flame. A monster cloud of mayhem.
No.
I shake my fried brain out if its fatigued daze.
It’s not real. I’m imagining it.
My stomach cramps, and I exhale a long breath.
I glance down at my left arm in its dull yellow cast.
How does that feel, Aiden? Someone taking away what you love.
Eyes narrowed, I steer through the sleet. The snow-covered road stretches out in front of me like a never-ending landing strip.
Up ahead, a neon vacancy sign illuminates a motel strip.
A sliver of hope fills me. My weary body screams for a bed, for food, even if it is a bag of chips, a coin of Rolos from a vending machine.
I allowed myself a short pit stop back in Minnesota, where I napped for twenty minutes at a gas station.
Except for that, I haven’t stopped driving.
Everything in me aches. I ache for what I’ve given up, for what comes next.
What I’ll tell my father, my town.
Golden girl. Magna cum laude. Homecoming queen. Daydreamer. Chef.
My entire life I have been everything to everyone. Tonight, I may as well add liar to the mix.
The turn comes up so fast I almost miss it.
I slam the brakes and jerk the wheel, but overcompensate, turning weakly one-handed. Gravel flies as the old Jeep spins. My stomach sours, acrid bile hitting my throat. The Jeep slides a few inches forward into the ditch, and then it sighs to a stop.
No.
I grab the keys, turning hard, willing for it to start. But the Jeep stays horrifically motionless.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I whisper hoarsely.
There are not enough miles between me and Aiden. Sooner or later, he’ll catch up with me.
My palms dampen on the steering wheel. The cab of the jeep fills with the sound of my labored breathing.
I can’t let him win. He already took my arm and my bakery, he’s not taking anything else from me.
I want to be safe.
I want to live.
I want to be free.
Help. I need help.
Before I left home, my father had pulled me aside under the awning of his old cabin and pressed a hundred-dollar bill in my hand. He kissed my cheek and told me, “Don’t be too proud to come back home, you hear?”
Another voice rings in my ears.
Rugged. Deep.
A voice I’ve clung to the last six years, but foolishly ignored.
“Pull it together,” I tell myself, running a shaky palm over my stomach. Reaching over, I grab the dog tag from the broken lock box on the passenger seat and slip the chain around my neck.
I unbuckle my seatbelt, grab my cell phone, and hurry out of the car.
Gritting my teeth, I heft my duffel bag over my shoulder. All my meager belongings, my entire savings that I packed in a frantic haste to get away from Aiden.
I gasp as icy sheets of rain hit me, a chill so fierce I’m shivering even in my thick winter jacket.
Over the deafening sound of my heart, I run up the shoulder of the road. The neon sign of the LIGHTS OUT MOTEL is my beautiful beacon.
I cross the gravel parking lot and stop under the motel eave.
My body goes limp with relief when I see I have cell service.
Then I tense.
I have one missed call from Aiden.
“Fuck,” I whisper, wrapping my numb fingers around the dog tag.
I stare at it for one heartbeat. Then two. Then I swipe the notification away and dial a number I’ve known my entire life.
“Dakota?”
The minute I hear my father’s whiskey-weathered voice, relief floods my entire body. I choke on a sob, feeling a little less alone, wondering why I didn’t ask for help two years ago.
“Daddy,” I choke out.
“Wasn’t expecting to hear from you today, daydreamer.”
I hate the surprise that stains his voice. I shake off the sting. I can’t blame him. I’m well aware I’ve barely called him over the last year.
“Daddy,” I say again. My voice sounds so small, so frightened, that I wince. “Something bad happened.”
Instantly, he’s on alert. That roughrider who rode bulls and busted broncs and would always do anything to help me. “You need help, Koty?”
“Yes,” I whisper, feeling like I’ve died and gone to hell. I fight down the sob that tries to escape. “I’m in trouble. My car broke down. I’m—I’m—” I search the road for a sign. “I’m in Sioux Falls.”
“You hurt, baby girl?”
I look down at my arm, knowing nothing can prepare my father for this. “I am.”
“You tell me where you are and I’ll make it right.”
My father sounds out of breath, huffing. I can hear the frantic jingle of keys, and I flash back to my senior year and the kegger thrown at Lionel Wolfington’s house. I called him to come get me because my entire class was drunk off their asses and I wanted to go home.
My father erupts in a series of hacking coughs that have me wincing.
Something’s wrong. Something’s wrong at home.
“I’m at the Lights Out Motel. I need to come home.” I jump clear out of my skin when a stranger sweeps past me. I flinch, hating the way I’m as skittish as a whipped horse. “Fast, Daddy.”
“I’m sending Davis.”
“No,” I blurt. Even though the minute my father says Davis , my mind automatically says safe .
“Dakota—”
“Please.” I move closer to the bright light of the soda machine. “I don’t want Davis.”
The worst lie I’ve ever told.
“I can’t make the drive, baby girl. For a lot of reasons. I reckon you’ll soon know.”
Tears spring to my eyes. Panic, sharp and searing snakes in my belly. There’s no way I can go back to Resurrection like I planned—calm and collected, pretending I have my life together.
Because Davis Montgomery has always seen right through me.
He’ll see all the lies. All my little secrets. All the bravado, all the bullshit. That I’m not strong. Maybe I never was.
Still, hope sings out in my soul.
Desperate, aching, desolate hope.
Nothing can erase the memory of those deep brown eyes and rugged grin. The broad-shouldered Marine I keep telling myself I’ve forgotten even if all I’ve done for the last six years is think of him.
Gripping the dog tag around my neck, I exhale. Aiden will come after me. I know it in my bones. He will never let me go.
I need Davis. In the worst possible way.
That man, that unforgettable man who still haunts my dreams.
“Okay,” I say with a shudder, feeling like I’m staring down the barrel of a crossroads. “Send Davis.”
Because I need a do-over.
Glancing down, I cup the small bud of my belly.
A really, really big fucking do-over.