My whole life seems to be filled with regret. It follows me everywhere, from every dumb decision I made as a teenager to the latest with Mitch. Six months ago, the night I walked out on my previous life, I knew it was all too much. And even though so much time has passed, my heart still aches, missing what we had. Even if it was all a façade, I still loved him.

Now, the open road has become my only friend. I’ve traveled all over the United States, looking for somewhere I belong, somewhere that feels right. So far, each stop has been just a stepping-stone to what I hope will be my final destination.

Nowhere that I’d gone had felt like home, so last week, home was where I had gone. I’d thought it would be where I could ultimately settle down, mend my broken relationship with my father, and spend time in the place my mother loved. Boy, was I wrong. It was the complete opposite.

My dad has moved on with a woman my mother despised. Genie Davenport, the owner of a local bar and the reason for many of my parents’ fights, is the woman. She’s the polar opposite of my mother, and when I saw her in their home, I couldn’t help but imagine how angry my mom would have been if she had been alive. Staying even a second longer felt like betraying my mom.

It was my shortest stay of all.

One good thing did come from the trip, though, my mother’s laptop. My father said he had no use for it, so I took it. Now, as I sit in my hotel room in the middle of desolate Utah, combing through her search history, I think I have my next destination.

Saved to my mother’s favorites are multiple bookmarks about a small town in California’s wine country called St. Helena. My mother was always an avid wine drinker, and we’d planned on taking a trip together for her birthday last year. We’d squish grapes between our toes and relax without a worry in the world, but that trip never came. She passed away, and the rest . . . well, you know the rest.

I click through the different pages and can see why my mother wanted to visit it. St. Helena is so much more than a bunch of fields and grapes. Its old-world charm and local businesses like Cork’d and Dipped, a Wine and Chocolate bar, is everything I pictured when I closed my eyes and thought about where my mom and I wanted to visit.

I’ve gotta try it out.

I close the lid on the computer, set it on the nightstand, and flip onto my back, letting my eyelids drift shut and losing a deep breath. For the first time in months, I feel at ease with where I’m heading to next.

* * *

Morning comes far too quickly. I’m exhausted and slept like a worn-out child. My back is still sore from the messed up position I fell asleep in, but now that I have a destination, I’m too anxious to get on the road to let a little back pain stop me.

Hours later, I’m driving over the California state line. I’ve made good time, but I know I have so much farther to go.

With the sprawling open road in front of me and my mind at ease, I drive—sunglasses on and the music humming in my ears.

My gas light pops on, and I take the next exit to stop and fill up. After my tank is full and I have a fresh bag of potato chips and soda pop to keep me going, I hop back in and hit the road.

It isn’t long until the sign up ahead says, “St. Helena—5 Miles.”

I’m close, and I feel a knot of tension start to loosen in my stomach and morph into butterflies of excitement. But even with a stomach full of butterflies, I can’t help wondering what the future will hold. Will I ever settle down—anywhere? Or will I always be traveling like this? Will I ever date again? Those thoughts all take me back to the night I caught Mitch cheating on me with my best friend . . . 

After I’d finished the biggest article of my journalism career, I had been so excited to go home and celebrate. Far too often, I’d been crashing on the couch in my office, or simply slouching back in my chair to catch a few hours of sleep. I knew I had been giving so much to my career and not enough to Mitch.

He had texted me earlier saying how bad he missed me and, damn it, I missed him, too. Finally, I was done with my project, which was a relief because I wanted nothing more than to enjoy the success with the man I loved.

With the email all typed up, my article attached and ready for press first thing in the morning, I clicked send and then left.

On the drive home, I called Mitch, but he didn’t answer. I figured he was sleeping—he is a hard sleeper—and I had all kinds of creative ways to wake him.

But when I entered our home, the noises coming from our bedroom told me he was awake. It was kind of like a car wreck, I didn’t want to look but couldn’t stop myself. My feet moved on their own even though my brain was screaming at me not to go.

Maybe I was hearing things, but that had not been the case.

Mitch was kneeling behind Larissa—my only friend in Portland, who was on her knees. He had been fucking her from behind, and the things he had been saying to her were dirty. So damn filthy that I could tell it wasn’t the first time they were doing this . . . 

There is a loud pop, and my steering wheel pulls sharply to the right, causing me to swerve before I can get it under control. I grip onto it the best that I can, looking in all of my mirrors as I pull to the shoulder and slam on the brakes, coming to an abrupt stop. Dust settles around me as my heart slams wildly against my ribs.

Cursing quietly under my breath, I try to force my pulse to calm down before I get out to check my car.

My front passenger’s side tire is shredded.

Shit!

I can’t believe this happened and so close to St. Helena. I’m methodical with checking the air in my tires when I get gas, I have to be, if this happens, I have no one to call. But I guess I was so excited to get here when I last stopped that it completely slipped my mind. Though, by the way the tire is actually hanging in pieces, I doubted checking the air would have helped.

Getting back into my car, I do a YouTube search on the cheap ass track phone I bought for how to change a tire.

You can do this, Hope.

I try to pump myself up, but as I watch the video, I’m not feeling very confident.

A knock on my passenger window startles me. I look over to see a guy leaning down. He smiles, flashing a dimple on his right cheek that’s so deep I want to reach out and touch it.

Something tells me to crack the window and tell him I don’t need his help, but God knows I do. Then he lifts his sunglasses, revealing the clearest blue eyes I’ve ever seen, and I think I could faint.

Going against my better judgment, I roll the window down . . . all the way down.