The smoke poured from the hood of the car and I shut my eyes. Probably not the smartest move while driving fifteen miles an hour over the speed limit. Not that I was worried about causing an accident or getting pulled over. The road was totally desolate. And, in fact, if a cop was hiding somewhere, I needed him to pull me over so I could get help with my piece of shit called a car.

I hated the car.

But you know what? It was my car. I worked for it. I paid it off. I took care of it. And whether I liked it or not, I was on the run. Meaning I needed my car.

I wasn’t on the run from murder, although that would have been smart at the time. The truth was that I had no idea where I was going. I was just going. Getting away. Putting distance between myself and everything else that was supposed to make up my life.

I faked sick when I called into the diner. Emilio hated illness so he was easy to work over for a day or two. The keyword was puke. All you had to do was mention that and he’d cough into the phone with some weak dry heave and you suddenly had the day or night off.

Hell, for all I knew, I was never going back either. I took everything I wanted from the apartment. I got some bags, packed my clothes, took what I thought was valuable to me, and then left. I’d have to figure out the lease situation or maybe just not pay any more rent and say fuck it. What were they going to do me? Take my assets?

I patted the dashboard of my smoking car and forced a laugh. “Come get it. This is my only asset.”

I slowly pulled the car to the side of the road. The car loved to overheat. It was actually better at doing that than it was at running. So I needed to just sit, wait, pour some water in some part of the engine, and keep cruising. A guy named Swank taught me what to do when the cover overheated. He was a big tough guy who worked in the kitchen and had a thing for me. Maybe I should have stayed back in town and let him fuck me and have Parker find us together.

The funny thing was, my car overheated at some pretty interesting times. Like right then, when I needed a second to breathe and collect myself. It was like the car was telling me to just chill the hell out. That things would work themselves out. Which I already knew. I just didn’t want to be in town to have it happen. Things were too fresh. I still saw them together when I shut my eyes. I could still hear her groans. I could still see his bony white ass pulling back and pumping forward.

So I stopped and started to think. I didn’t want to think, though. I wanted to keep on the move. Be on the run. Find the thrill of not knowing where I was going or how long I’d be there for. I had this wild vision of maybe choosing a town, finding another job, and just hanging out. After all, I had nothing to lose here. I was free, even though I felt completely captive by what had happened to me.

I turned the car off and got out. I popped the trunk where I always kept a gallon of water from an old container of iced tea. Some kind of mango-infused flavor that really wasn’t that good at all, not that the flavor mattered. Water was water. And water would get the car running again.

I grabbed the gallon and it flew right up into the air. Which meant either I had gotten some muscle or the gallon was empty.

The gallon was empty.

“Fuck,” I muttered as I shook it as though water was going to appear.

That’s when I saw there was a small hole in the bottom.

Which meant it had spilled…

All over my trunk.

I put my hand flat into the trunk and felt the cloth squish a little.

“Just great,” I said.

I threw the empty gallon back into the trunk, slammed it shut, and got back into the car. I turned the key and the engine made a puttering sound. Puffs of smoke rose up, like being under the bleachers back in high school when it was oh-so-cool to smoke cigarettes. I tried to start the car a few more times but it was a no go. She needed some water and I needed a damn miracle.

With my hands gripping the steering wheel tight, my eyes went wide. I looked to the road and started to pretend I was driving. Far away. Off to a private beach. No. A beach town. That’s what I needed. Somewhere small and quiet, where everyone knew each other and everyone was chilled out and just enjoyed the simple pleasures in life. A place where I could hide, fit in, and forget about everything.

It meant nothing, Bella. Okay? Seriously. It’s not even that big of a deal, right? You were shutting down on me. Always working. Always… distant. I mean, she and I talked about you a lot. So it’s like you were… involved. Like, we both felt so bad for you that…

“You just decided to fuck each other,” I whispered, recalling the bullshit slew of words I had to deal with over and over until I finally packed up my shit and left.

I punched the horn. It gave out a quick blip. Everyone always picked on me for having such a weak-sounding horn. Screw them. Screw everyone.

So I was officially stranded. But it wasn’t like in the movies. It wasn’t like I didn’t have my phone. Or that my phone wasn’t charged. And even if it was dead, I had a car charger like any other normal person. And I wasn't in some random dead spot somewhere in the middle of the country where I couldn’t get a cell signal. I had a full battery and had full bars. I could call for help. I could call anyone I wanted. The thing was, I had no desire to call anyone. I didn’t want to go back there. Hell, there were only two people in the world I trusted - well, used to trust - and if I called them it was merely admitting a pathetic defeat in my escape from reality.

I just wanted fantasy. Fun, hot, fast. Bring it the hell on.

I bit my lip and an idea came to me. I hurried to find an old pack of cigarettes. I technically kicked the habit a while ago but still enjoyed a smoke here and there. Probably more than I should. In some ways, I had been lying to Parker myself. I lied about smoking. He lied about fucking my best friend. I guess in his eyes that made us both even.

Right.

I got my smokes and got out. I sat on the hood of my piece of shit car and lit up a cigarette. It tasted horrible and I wanted more. I leaned back a little and started to think. The one thing I really didn’t want to do. But I was stuck there to doing it.

I took a few deep breaths and a few deeper drags of the smoke. I felt myself trying to calm, trying to ignore that I had a problem. Actually, I had a lot of problems. I just wasn’t ready to deal with those problems yet. I was good. Right there, on the hood of the car, counting the clouds. I figured eventually someone would drive by. If not, then I’d have to use my phone to call for help. But I would ask for help in a different direction. No way I was going back.

“No fucking way,” I whispered.

I sucked in a breath and wiped a stray tear from the corner of my eye.

I took another drag.

That’s when I heard a sound in the distance. I looked over my shoulder and saw a headlight way off. It was a single headlight, too.

After a few seconds I realized it was someone on a motorcycle.

“Nice,” I whispered.

I was stranded. And there was a bad boy on a motorcycle coming my way.

Hey, what could go wrong here?