Changing Lanes

by Vining, Season

  Table of Contents

  Changing Lanes

  Also by Season Vining

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  About the Author

  Also by Season Vining

  Beautiful Addictions

  Held Against You

  Perfect Betrayal

  Chaos & Control

  Fearless & Falling

  King Me

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  CHANGING LANES. Copyright © 2020 by Season Vining. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the publisher at info@seasonvining.com.

  Visit our website at www.seasonvining.com

  Cover design by Season Vining

  Formatting by CP smith

  ASIN:

  Dedication

  This book is for my dear friend Katie, who’s always been there

  for a good laugh, good cry, or good drink. Sometimes all three at once.

  Acknowledgments

  As with any book, there are many people who contribute to make it happen. Yes, I get the words on the page, but then what? Well, there’s my local writers group who put up with hearing stories one chapter at a time, every two weeks. They are my friends, critique partners, and my favorite writers. There’s the author tribe I am lucky enough to be a member of. Helena, Shannon, Casey, Lindsey: thanks for answering endless questions, spitballing ideas, and looking at countless cover designs. Not all heroes wear capes.

  Thank you to all pre-readers, betas, proofreaders and general givers of the feedback, especially Becca, Denise, Chanpreet, Misty, and Katie. You guys always keep it real and are so important to my whole process. Thanks for letting me know that I am actually funny. If you guys were lying, you’re really going to regret it now.

  And the biggest thanks goes to my family and friends who continue to support this endeavor and put up with my artistic weirdness. Love you to bits.

  1

  I SIGH WITH relief as I pass an old wooden sign reading WELCOME TO GRACE. Yawning, I give a little grin, hoping that this new start will be exactly what I need to find my grace. Being betrayed by the two people I trusted more than anything almost destroyed me. To cope, I buried myself in my only respite—books. Some days I would live in those fictional worlds, replacing the love interest with myself and imagining that in some alternate universe women still get swept off their feet by Mr. Perfect (who happens to be a billionaire and has an enormous penis). Other days I felt like I’d never survive the crushing sadness and hurt. But I did survive, and here I am, arriving in Grace.

  Selling the home that I shared with my piece of shit husband for twenty years felt like the last thing tethering me to the town that’s always been home—Savannah, Georgia. It’s been six months since the divorce and I needed a new start—a place where no one knew me or my messy former life. I wanted to reinvent myself, take chances, be a bolder version of Stella Locke. And apparently, I wanted to do that in upstate New York.

  I follow the directions on my phone and turn left onto Main Street. Yes, this tiny little town actually has a Main Street. It looks exactly like something out of a ‘50s sitcom. It’s late, so all the stores are closed, but I spot the post office, a pharmacy, and an indie bookstore. I make a mental note to check that out soon, because I’m not sure if Amazon Prime delivery is an option for a place like this.

  A few more turns and I pull into my new driveway. My headlights slide over someone standing on the sidewalk. He throws his hands up to block the light from his face before turning away. I glance at the time and wonder what anyone is doing out at almost midnight on a Thursday. The guy places earbuds in his ears and takes off down the sidewalk at a brisk run. I yawn again and shake my head. Weirdo.

  Seeing my new home for the first time in person brings a smile to my tired face. It’s a cute two-story house built in the early 1920s. I fell in love with the photos of the hardwood floors, decorative trim and all the charm these old houses possess. I put a lot of trust in a local real estate agent and by the looks of things, she didn’t steer me wrong. To me, the best selling point is that it sits on a lake.

  I pick up my phone and dial the only person I know who is still awake at this hour.

  “Hey, sis,” Brea answers. “Made it to your new place yet?”

  “Yep. Just pulled in. Brea, it’s so adorable. I can’t wait to get inside.”

  “Well, I still don’t understand why you had to move so far away, but if you’re happy, I’m happy. Lane’s already cornered me at the grocery store asking about you.”

  I groan and let my head sink back against the seat. “What did you tell him?”

  “Nothing. I rammed his shins with my cart until he left me alone. Asshole.”

  “Good. I’m so glad to be far away from that bastard.”

  “I already miss you though,” she whines.

  “I’ve been gone three days, you codependent pest,” I say, stifling another yawn.

  “Don’t judge me,” Brea says. I can hear her moving around, doors opening and closing. “I’m pregnant and hormonal and you’ve left me here with Momzilla. Now that you’re gone, she’s just going to dote on me. She’s already been over every day since you left.”

  I laugh. “She’s not that bad, Brea. She just wants to make sure we’re happy and taken care of.”

  “Well, are you? Happy?” she asks.

  I stare up at the old house in front of me. “Not yet, but I’m working on it.”

  “Good. Now get in there and get some rest. I’m sure you’re exhausted after that long trip.”

  I nod even though she can’t see me. “Yeah. Made longer by a shitty Flex Fuel V6 engine with rear wheel drive. Should be getting at least 340 horsepower from this thing, but I swear I thought it was going to crap out on every hill. And there are LOTS of hills up here.”

  “You know I can’t hang when you start speaking in motor-tongue.”

  I finish off the last of my water bottle and toss it on the seat beside me. “Just because you didn’t spend any time with Daddy in the garage doesn’t mean I have to dumb down my conversations.”

  She grunts. “Fine. Just get your ass inside, take lots of pics and send them to me tomorrow. And remember to call mom in the morning so she doesn’t come over here with a million questions.”

  “Will do. Goodnight, Brea. Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  Ending the call, I slide my phone in my pocket and survey the mess around me. Three days in a moving truck and cheap hotels has left me exhausted and just wanting my own bed. I frown and reach for my travel bag, remembering that I don’t have a bed. I left it behind for Asshole and Voldewhore. It wasn’t mine anymore anyway. They ruined it with betrayal and skank juice.

  I hop down out of the truck and stretch my hands high above my head. The ache in my muscles reminds me just how long I’ve been sitting. Pulling the fresh air into my lungs, I grin at how crisp and different it is than the air back home. It feels refreshing, not heavy and suffocating.
Of course, that could have everything to do with the pain associated with that place and not so much the humidity of the South.

  Climbing the house’s creaky wooden steps, I hear footsteps approaching. I turn and from the darkness of my front porch, I watch Mr. Midnight Jogger make a lap past my house again. There’s not enough light to get a good look at him, but the curve of his shoulders and muscled arms is unmistakable. But jogging after midnight? Who does that? Serial killers? Vampires? Narcissistic people who don’t want to jiggle in the daylight?

  I’m not in terrible shape, but let’s just say I’d rather eat a pint of Ben & Jerry’s while curled up with my favorite novel than partake in any kind of physical activity. Yes, even sex. I turn the key and push the front door open wondering if that’s more of a reflection of me or my lazy, two-pump-chump, “It’s your turn to get on top” ex-husband. Considering I did all the housework, washed the laundry, cooked all the meals, worked full-time, and waited on him hand and foot, I’d say that counts as at least one yoga and two Jazzercise classes on the exchange scale.

  The smell inside is stale air, nothing that can’t be fixed with a few open windows. I drop my purse near the door, search for a light switch and flip it on. The room is cast in an amber glow from the vintage light fixture and I smile at the small rainbow dots of light across the ceiling. Mine, I think. This is all mine. I move from room to room, taking in every space with an appreciation that I’ve never felt before. Finally, I haul myself upstairs and check out the two bedrooms and bathroom there. There’s a balcony that runs the entire width of the house upstairs. I slide open the door from my bedroom and step outside, looking out over the lake. I think I’m going to like it here.

  The antique clawfoot tub calls to me, but I’m too tired to even consider it. Instead, I wash my face in the sink and pat it dry with the bottom of my shirt. I can’t stand the thought of sleeping in my road clothes, so I strip down and decide to sleep naked. I roll out my sleeping bag in my bedroom right under the large bay window that looks out at the lake. The small bit of light from the moon reflects off the water making it look like a mirror of the night sky. I lay on the soft blankets and let the cool air wash over my skin while imagining where my new furniture will go and how I’ll decorate the space.

  A barking dog grabs my attention and after a few seconds, my curiosity gets the best of me. I crawl over to the window facing my neighbor’s house to see him returning from his jog. He enters the front door, and a few seconds later, light floods his back yard. He steps onto his porch and I get to my feet for a better view. I can only see him from the waist down, but it doesn’t look like anything on him would jiggle.

  He whistles and an adorable tan corgi runs into the yard. The dog jumps around, chasing something I can’t see and without even thinking, I’m grinning.

  “Come on, Chap. It’s late,” the man says. In the quiet of night, his voice carries up to my window so clearly, I can hear the slight northeastern accent to his words.

  Chap sniffs around, does his business, and takes off running for the porch. I giggle watching his little legs work so hard. But then he trips on something and goes ass over head, tumbling until he comes to a stop at the bottom of the steps. I let out a laugh, thinking how he looks like a fluffy little eggroll.

  It’s then I notice my new neighbor looking in my direction. I guess my voice carries too. He’s ducked down so he can see up into my window and in the shadow of his back porch, I can’t see his eyes, but I feel them. A chill descends my spine and it’s then I remember I’m naked. He’s getting an eyeful of the girls.

  I yelp and drop to the floor, hiding my face in my hands. I hear his door close and watch the light go off in his backyard. Not wanting to chance another flashing, I crawl over to my makeshift bed and tuck myself in, still stewing in mortification.

  “Well, Stella Locke,” I say to myself. “Welcome to the neighborhood. You’ve been here less than an hour and have already flashed the poor man twice with your headlights.”

  2

  I HAVEN’T on the floor since tent camping in the Girl Scouts. I didn’t like it then, and thirty years later, I surely don’t appreciate it now. Blinking my eyes open, I find the room flooded with morning light from all the bare windows. From the empty walls to the hardwood floors, everything seems to glow. It truly feels like a new beginning—a rebirth. I groan and stretch my back.

  After a trip to the bathroom, I check the time to find it’s only 7 a.m. Like an immediate reaction to how little sleep I got, a yawn escapes. I unpack my toiletry case, lining up the bottles in a neat row beside the sink. It’s my first claim to my new home and feels ridiculously good. To have something of my own, something that is solely mine stirs a latent emotion inside.

  Getting married right out of high school, I went from my parent’s house to my husband’s. I never felt that anything belonged to me. I never felt possession and pride in the house I kept and the car I drove—not until now. A simple gathering of moisturizer, toothpaste, soap, and a toothbrush somehow represent much more than personal hygiene.

  I turn the shower on and grab a clean towel from my bag as the bathroom fills with steam. The shrill ringtone from my phone cuts through the empty room, seeming to echo off of every surface.

  “Good morning, Mom.”

  “Stella,” she says in her I’ve been up for a while, already had three cups of coffee and held out as long as I could before calling you voice. “Where are you, dear?”

  “In the new house,” I tell her, studying my reflection in the foggy bathroom mirror. “Made it in around midnight.” This is where normal people would realize how early it is and apologize for calling, but not my mom. I turn sideways and check out my profile, noticing that I’ve lost some weight in the past few months. A failed marriage and friendly betrayal can do that to a girl. No wonder I’m always tugging at my jeans these days.

  “Good to hear. Well, how is it way up there? What’s it like? Do they talk funny?”

  I laugh. “I’ve literally only seen the inside of my house. I don’t know what it’s like here yet, Mom. Let me settle in, do some exploring and I’ll get back with you. And up here, I’m willing to bet they think we talk funny.”

  “They can think that ‘til the cows come home, don’t make it true.” I grin at her slow southern drawl and how ironic it is that she thinks other people sound strange. “I want to hear all about the place once you’ve settled in. I was thinking of maybe coming for a visit for Thanksgiving. You reckon that’d be okay?”

  I press a hand to my forehead, not really knowing how I feel about it. “Sounds great.”

  “Good. Well, I’ll let you get to unpacking, sweetheart. Check in soon, you hear?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Love you.”

  “And I love you.”

  I press the button to end the call and stand there staring at the phone screen. The background photo is of my mom, sister, and niece all dressed in red, white, and blue for the Fourth of July party thrown downtown every year. It stirs a bit of guilt if I’m being honest with myself. I love them and know I’ll miss them. But I just had to leave. I swipe a thumb over their faces. I hope they will learn to understand that.

  After a hot shower and brushing my teeth twice, I am a brand new woman. I slide into my last pair of clean jeans and a light sweater, knowing I have a ton of work ahead of me today. Checking the time, I realize my real estate agent, Marley, should be here soon.

  She’s already arranged for some hired help to unload the truck, but I’ll still need to direct them and start unpacking. Marley has been incredibly supportive in this whole process and I don’t know what I would have done without her. When I asked her why she was being so nice, she just replied with “I need a new project and you are it,” in her lovely British accent.

  There aren't a ton of things to unload from the truck. I brought along the few pieces of furniture I inherited from my grandmother, my clothes—though now that I’m looking at my outfit, I maybe should have left those behind too�
��and some personal items. After the truck is unloaded, my number one priority will be finding a bed. Another night on those cold, hard floors sounds like a nightmare.

  In the early morning light, I can really see my new home more clearly. I snap photos of each room and the view of the lake from my bedroom and send them to Brea.

  I find myself in my kitchen, running my fingers over the countertops with an appreciation I’ve never had for formica. My hands move to the wood cabinets with bronze pulls and I can’t help the smile that grows across my face. This is my kitchen. This is my kitchen. I can leave dishes in the sink if I want to. I can store the coffee cups anywhere I please. I can fill an entire cupboard with red wine and cookies.

  Throwing my hands in the air, I shake my ass back and forth. “It’s all miiiiine,” I sing. I spin around a few times, continuing my dance and moving to a rhythm that is only in my head. “All miiiiiine.” Pressing my back to the fridge, I do a little shimmy down to the floor. “This is miiiine.”

  I’m rolling around on the floor when the growling from my stomach interrupts the celebration. I search through my purse, dig out a granola bar and just about inhale it. Just as I’m wiping the crumbs from my tits, my phone rings. I dig it out of my back pocket and see Marley’s name displayed.

  “Well, if it isn’t my favorite friend in Grace,” I answer.

  “I’m your only friend in Grace, and technically I live outside of the town limits,” she answers with a laugh.

  “Well, I’m off to a great start. No friends, no bed, and being obscene toward my neighbor.”

  “You did what?” Marley asks before yelling at someone who cut her off on the road.

  “It’s not safe to use your phone while driving. Also, you sound like a raving lunatic,” I tease.

  “That’s because I am a raving lunatic, love.” Her British accent is heavier when doling out the pet name. “Besides, I’m hands free.”

  I lean against my kitchen sink and watch an old lady walk her dog down the sidewalk. “Studies show that it is the conversation, not the actual phone that is distracting.” I see a sleek black car whip into my driveway next to the truck.