I wait till well after dark to leave. The lights are on in my house, set to a timer, and the truck is parked out front, like always. I’ve got a feeling Shayne will be watching the road, but he won’t be looking for the Lexus, a car Ben gifted to Helen on their fiftieth anniversary. And as long as I’m back early tomorrow morning, everything should be alright.
Once I hit the freeway heading south, my grip loosens just a little on the steering wheel. My fingers hurt from clenching it so tight. Part of it is nerves. Another part is the skimpy red dress and black heels I wear. Both I found at the thrift store. Both are too small. The only comfort is the worn Carhartt ranch jacket covering me up.
A little while later the freeway curves sharply to the left, revealing the faint gleam of the Pacific Ocean on my right. It rocks and shimmies under the full moon, but goes black when the clouds pass over.
A green sign flashes for Santa Barbara, which is just another half hour away. I’d considered going there, but it felt too close. If he’s not watching the road, it’d be just my luck to run into Shayne, out trolling for fresh meat. I’m not taking any chances.
I glance over to the piece of paper on the passenger seat, where I’d written down directions to a popular nightclub in Westlake Village, about another hour and a half south.
Please. Please let me meet—
A sudden lurch flings me forward, followed by a loud chime and a red light that begins blinking on the dash. Check engine.
No. No. No!
The car begins to slow and I press the gas pedal, but the car just keeps slowing, and slowing, until it stalls out as I make it onto the shoulder. I try starting it again, but there’s nothing. Not a sound. Nothing but a frantic heartbeat echoing loudly in my ears.
I slump back in the seat, a slow, sick panic building inside me, thinking of all the ways this is going to spiral into disaster.
It’s past eight on a Friday night. All the repair shops are going to be closed. Never mind that I don’t have the money to pay for any repairs. All I have is enough for gas and a cover charge. If I had a cell phone I could call Ben, as much as that would sting. But I don’t. It’s a luxury I never needed, until now. And I’m still at least twenty or so miles from civilization, surrounded by nothing but dark hills and water. Not even a light in sight, except for the occasional freeway lamp.
I think about getting out and opening the hood, but to do what? I might as well open up a computer and stare at circuit boards for all the help that will do.
The headlights of an approaching car flash in the side mirror, then fly by me and continue on. It’s dark again.
I close my eyes and the realization of what this means has a tear sliding down my cheek.
One night.
One night for myself is all I wanted.
One night with someone who isn’t determined to completely destroy me.
But that’s gone now.
A scream tears from my mouth and ricochets inside the car. I pound on the steering wheel as hard as I can, over and over, cursing and crying, until I’m tapped out and able to do nothing but sit there in a daze with my sore hands lying limp in my lap.
I let my head fall back and close my eyes, knowing my chance is gone, but I still need to figure out a way home now.
Okay. Think, Ava.
The image of a rest stop appears in my head. I passed it three or four miles back, I think. I don’t know. Maybe five or six. But there’s probably a phone, and if I can make it there, that’s a start.
I take a deep breath, grab my purse and get out of the car. It’s so cold, and the night so dark. I hug my jacket tight, but it does nothing for my bare legs or sore feet. When I inhale the crisp air, the smell of ocean is strong, but the smell of rain even stronger. I’ve only just walked a few steps, when I feel a drop, then another, and another. And then it starts to rain. It drenches my hair and my face, mingling with the tears that begin to slide down my cheeks, but I force my feet to move, one in front of the other.
I’ve been walking maybe ten minutes when headlights approach, going fast. Really fast. I step as far over onto the shoulder as I can, hunched against the cold and the rain while the lights close in. The car whizzes by me, easily going over a hundred. I feel the spray of water and grime soak my legs, but I’m too numb to care. I start walking again when I hear the screeching of brakes. I turn and see the car fishtailing in the rain. It stops and reverse lights come on, then it’s backing up, fast. I look quickly to the left for any oncoming cars, but the freeway is empty. The car passes me and maneuvers onto the shoulder, stopping right in front of me.
The headlights are so bright I have to lift my arm to shield my eyes. The car just sits there, idling, black and sleek, the tinted windows masking whoever’s inside. It’s one of those new muscle cars, but it looks custom, and mean, and sounds even meaner. Heavy metal music blasts from inside and seeps into the night, mixing with the sound of the rain as it pounds on the car.
I stand frozen, not sure what to do, the fear still in me from the last time I came across a man on the side of the road. The longer the car sits there, rumbling, the more that fear wants to get a hold of me. I think of making a run for it, but then the music cuts and the door opens. A dark figure emerges, but I can’t see anything more than the outline of a body, the rain and lights choking my vision.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” a deep, angry voice shouts.
I shrink back when I hear the tinge of a beast. I’m already moving backwards when he slams the door, his car still idling, and storms towards me.
“I asked what the hell are you doing out here?”
He’s in front of me now, the fear so strong I can’t move, because through the glare of lights I can see he’s a big man, tall, with wide shoulders. Not a man I can likely get away from. I blink when I see what he’s wearing—a tuxedo. I’ve never seen a man in a tuxedo before.
Then I see a whisper of something else. Something that not even the shadows can hide. I see it in the hard line of his jaw, in the glint of his angry eyes. He’s handsome. The kind of handsome that has me staring, like I’m under some kind of spell.
He narrows his gaze, running it up and down my body, like he can’t figure out who or what I am. “What’s the matter, you fucking deaf?”
The spell is broken and I take a step back, but glare at him. “My car broke down.”
“Fuck,” he swears, running a hand through is soaked hair. “You’re supposed to stay in the car. Call a tow truck. Not fucking walk on the side of the freeway, at night, dressed like a—”
He waves his hand at my clothes and I hug myself tighter. My dress is so short, you can barely even see it. Yeah. I know what I look like. That had been the whole point.
“Don’t you have a cell phone?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“You don’t have a—?” His mouth hangs open and he mutters something about his own cell being dead. “Jesus. Tonight of all fucking nights.”
He spins and marches to his car. “Get in!” he snaps over his shoulder.
I do nothing but stand there.
He turns around. “I said get in! I don’t have time for this shit.”
I ball my hands into fists and storm past his stupid fancy car. Through the heavy pounding of rain I hear a loud string of cursing behind me, but I keep moving, more determined than ever. Still, I can’t help the fresh tears that begin to fall.
Then he’s there, striding past me, blocking me.
“Go away!” I choke, my body shaking so hard I think I might fall.
The stranger stands there for a moment, our faces merely shadows in the dark. “Look, I’ve done a lot of bad things in my life, but I’m not about to add leaving a woman stranded in the rain on the side of the freeway, to the list. Now please, I’m asking nicely. Get in the goddamn car.”
Something in the way his voice has softened calms me down. I stare past him at the darkness that waits, then turn back to him, doing my best to size him up when all I can see is his outline. He isn’t happy at having to stop for me, so probably doesn’t have abduction or something worse on his mind. And there’s something in his voice…something I want to trust.
So I turn back. When I get to his car, he’s already opening the door for me. The dome light comes on and I notice the finely stitched, black leather seats. I look down at my wet clothes and hesitate.
“In,” he snaps.
I sink into the leather and he closes the door. Seconds later, he’s sliding into the driver’s seat. It feels intimate, nothing but the lights of the dash illuminating the interior. It smells of new car and expensive cologne. I hear him breathing, as though he’s trying to control it, slow it down. I force back the tears and sit quietly, shaking. He must notice, because he reaches over and turns on the heater.
“Where to?” he asks.
I look down at my hands. “I’m…not sure. I’m not from around here.” My voice is so small I wonder if he heard it, but I know he did, because his hand shoots to his forehead and rubs at his temple.
“The nearest gas station,” I say quickly, the only thing I can think of.
Without a word, he checks the side mirror and pulls on to the road. Moments later we breeze past the Lexus.
“That it?” he asks.
I nod.
We drive in silence while I stare out the window, catching glimpses of a stormy ocean as it blurs by. “I’m sorry,” I say.
“For what?”
I look over at his tux—his drenched tux.
He looks down at his clothes and shrugs.
“And now you’re late,” I say, knowing he probably had somewhere to go, all dressed up like that and as mad as he was at having to stop for me.
“Worse things have happened.”
I turn back to the window, watching the rain streak across the glass.
More silence.
“Where are you from?” he asks.
“A little ways north.”
I catch his gaze drift to my legs, almost obscene beneath the jacket. “Where were you headed?”
The implications of what he asks aren’t hard to miss. Dressed like that, is what he meant to add.
“Doesn’t matter now.”
Thankfully, he doesn’t press. The rest of the drive is quiet. Eventually, lights come into view and he takes an exit, where a rickety looking gas station sits at the end of the off-ramp. There’s nothing else in sight. It’s the very outskirts of Goleta, a northern suburb of Santa Barbara, and still mostly surrounded by open space.
He pulls in, the smooth low rumble of the engine purring as he brings the car to a stop beneath the overhang and out of the rain.
I’m surprised the place is closed, but when I glance to the clock on the dash, I see it’s a little after nine. He glances that way too, and I can tell by the pressing of his lips that he’s indeed late after all.
“There’s a pay phone on the side,” he says.
I nod and reach for my purse, then turn to him. The lights of the station illuminate the car and I can see his face more clearly now. I see a man maybe in his thirties, with sharp green eyes that linger on me quietly. Stubble darkens his jaw—a jaw that clenches tighter and tighter, the longer I look at him. But I keep looking, because I can’t stop. My eyes graze over soft lips and a scar along his left cheekbone and another over his right eyebrow. His hair is black, wet and slicked back, with a few strands hanging over his temple. That’s when I realize, he’s not just handsome, he’s beautiful. And for some reason, he seems familiar, like I’ve seen him before, but I can’t place it.
I watch him study me in return, his eyes lingering on my face, then darkening as they drift down my legs, then back up again. I can only imagine what I look like, with long wet hair plastered to my head and mascara trailing down my face. Even so, there’s a shift in his gaze, a subtle flaring of the nostril. The silence in the car becomes deafening.
“Thank you,” I whisper, unable to bear the quiet.
“You going to be alright?” he asks, his voice deeper than before. “You have someone to call?”
I nod and open the door, the cold wrapping its grip around me once more. After I shut the door and step back, the car lingers for a moment, then slowly pulls away until the tail lights disappear from view with a rev of the engine and a squeal of the tires. I hug my jacket tight and walk into the rain and over to the pay phone. I’m just about to reach for the handle when I see the little, white, slip of paper.
Out of order.