by Carrie Elks
“Class A. I need it more than oxygen.”
“I could have made you a cup this morning.” She didn’t tell him she only had the cheapest instant granules. The half-empty jar had been languishing in her kitchen cupboard for months. “You must have found it hard to get out of bed.”
“Yup. It was pretty hard to pull myself away from you.” He spun the wheel, maneuvering the car around the last corner before Mayville.
The Mayville Diner wasn’t pretty. There was no faux-1950s vibe, no chrome cladding or neon lights. The painted wooden walls were peeling and beaten, faded to a grey-blue by the heat of the sun. It was half-deserted, only a couple of cars peppering the lot, and Rachel wondered if it had even opened after the storm. Then she started to worry about what they’d do if it wasn’t. Murphy’s need for coffee and food was making her edgy. She wasn’t sure he could survive much longer without a caffeine injection.
As soon as they opened the door and felt the warm air waft against their faces, her fears evaporated. The smell of coffee drifted from the kitchen. The aroma put a big smile on Murphy’s face.
They were taken to a booth next to the window. The red, faux-leather benches were tattered and torn, yellow stuffing oozing from holes in the covering.
“Coffee?” The waitress stood over them with a pot. Murphy nodded his head a little too vigorously, while Rachel smiled and held out her mug, agreeing silently to a cup. She took their orders—a large breakfast for Murphy, a plate of pancakes for Rachel—and left them to it, the silence welcomed for a moment by them both.
Murphy was the first to break it. “I need to go back to Boston.” He took a sip of his coffee to wash down the words. “I’m not taking you with me.”
Panic gripped her stomach like a fist. It was like his words had come out from nowhere. “What?”
“I’ve got commitments there.”
She was finding it hard to breathe. She thought she’d have at least a few more hours before she really needed to think about her next steps. Enough times to feel comfortable about leaving Hillbrook, and all that she’d become used to. “You’re going without me?” Another tortured breath. “I can’t do this.”
His fingers curled around hers beneath the Formica table. “Yes, you can. I can’t take you to Boston. I won’t have you anywhere near him.”
“I’ve got nowhere else to go.” Tears pricked at her eyes like a sharp fork, blurring her vision. She swallowed them down with a sip of her coffee, the bitter liquid burning her tongue. So this was it—the brush off, the “Dear John.” We had a good time, but I’m not looking for commitment…
“You’re stronger than you think.” Another squeeze of her hand. Murphy angled his head to the side. “You stood up to me.”
Rachel shook her head, denying his words. “I can’t do this again. Not again.” Even as she said it, she knew she had no choice. What was she going to do, go back to the bar and wait for David to arrive?
“I’ll give you my number. If you get into trouble, you call me from a payphone.”
So that was it. She could feel the loneliness descending already. She didn’t need to be in a bar in the backwoods of West Virginia to feel isolated from the world. All it took was rejection. When their breakfast arrived, she could barely eat anything. Her earlier bragging about her huge appetite was forgotten, buried deep beneath her apprehension. Murphy seemed unaffected, scooping the food onto his fork, shoveling it in like he hadn’t eaten for weeks. He might even have let out a little moan.
“I need the bathroom.” She stood up suddenly, pulling her body away from the table. Her shoes slid as she made her way awkwardly across the tiled floor, heading for the door marked “Dames.”
She wasn’t going to cry. She was going to splash her face with cold water, then look herself in the eye and think about where she could go. The country was her oyster; she could head for California and some winter sun, or maybe south to Arizona and enjoy some desert time. She guessed it depended upon what truck drivers she could sweet talk and any job she could find. She dried her face with a paper towel, staring at herself in the mirror, wondering how she’d ended up back at square one, yet again.
By the time she walked back to the table, she’d calmed down. Her face was dry and determined, her shoulders square and strong. Being pieced-together, at least on the outside, lent her a certain level of bravery, one she’d need if she was going to do this alone.
“I need my bag. I’m going to head off.” Rachel barely looked at Murphy as she spoke. She didn’t think she could sit next to him any longer. False hope was only going to hurt her more.
“Let me drop you off somewhere. I can give you money for a bus ticket.”
She shook her head fast. “I’ll take my chances.” Spinning on her heels, she started to walk to the door, glancing back to check he was following.
Murphy stood up, reaching in his pocket and throwing some bills on the table, then hurried to catch up with her. “I’m not leaving you with no money, Rachel.” He grabbed her hand and stuffed some notes into her palm. “Just take it.”
Her fingers curled around the paper; she needed to be sensible here. Trying to get across the country with only five dollars to her name was the height of foolishness. “I’ll pay you back.”
Murphy shrugged. “Whatever you want. Let me drop you off on the highway at least.”
Rachel shook her head. “A truck’s sure to pass here sooner or later.”
“It’s fucking freezing out here, Rachel.” He sounded angry. “I’m not leaving you here.”
Now she was riled, too. “But you are. You’re fucking leaving me somewhere, and I didn’t get a say about that. So I’m taking control and telling you I’m waiting here.” Her cheeks pinked with fury. “Give me my bag, and we can say goodbye.”
A car pulled into the lot, an old couple staring at them through the windshield as they continued to argue.
“If you catch hypothermia …” His warning trailed off.
“You’ll what? Kill me? Don’t make me laugh.” She walked around his SUV to get her case. Opening the hatch, she pulled her bag out and placed it on the gritted concrete. “You seem to forget that I’ve done this before.”
Despite his height, Murphy seemed smaller somehow, like her words had brought him down. He sighed hard, running a hand through his hair, leaving it a mess. “At least take my number.” He walked around to the side, pulling out a pad from the pocket of his front door and scribbled digits on the paper. Folding it up, he slid it into her jean pocket. His fingers warmed her skin through the denim.
“I need you to go now.” She swallowed hard. This was more difficult than she’d imagined. “Nobody’s going to offer me a lift with you around.” She tried to laugh like it was a joke. She failed miserably, her heart clenching with agony.
He sighed again. “Call me when you get somewhere. Let it ring three times, then hang up. Let me know you’re safe.”
She nodded, unsure if she’d actually do it. She wasn’t sure he deserved her consideration. Not when he was being an asshole.
The awkwardness descended, the goddess of embarrassing goodbyes showering them with discomfort. Rachel wiggled her fingers for something to do.
“I guess I’ll be off.” Murphy pulled open the door. “Just call me, okay?” He turned to stare at her a final time, his eyes narrowed as he tried to work her out. She looked back, emotionless, not willing to break down in front of him.
“Okay.” Her reply was soft. She bit her lip to stop herself from saying anymore. He climbed in and pulled the door closed behind him, and the engine started up with a load roar and an expulsion of fumes.
The vapors made her cough.
She turned away, unwilling to watch him leave, picking up her bag and walking around to the other side of the building. There was a bench there, and she sat down. The cold, wet wood was freezing against her ass.
Ten minutes. She’d give herself ten minutes to think things through and succumb to the fear. Then she’d brush h
erself off, stand up and walk toward the rest of her life.
She’d done this before, and she could do this again.
Couldn’t she?
The hum of the engine faded to nothing as he drove away, and she let her head fall into her hands, no longer able to hold back the emotions. Her throat was holding her breath captive, burning the skin inside and making her lungs ache for more.
Her eyes stung with unshed tears, pooling at the bottom rims. Then a single, salty drop tipped over the edge and the trickle of tears turned into a flood, transforming her soft sobs into loud wails.
She was alone—again—with nothing but a few clothes and a wad of bills in her pocket. It was more than she had last time, but it was still a pitiful excuse for a life.
Another car pulled into the lot, full of chatting patrons who walked in a large circle around her, not wanting to look at the girl crying into her hands. Rachel buried her face deeper, palms as wet as her cheeks with tears, her chest wracked as she tried to breathe in. She’d really thought this time was different. There’d be a connection there, no matter how tenuous.
She’d felt safe when Murphy was around.
A rumbling engine made her head shoot up. A delivery truck parked in the bay reserved for freight, and a middle-aged trucker climbed down from the cab. He loped toward the diner, barely noticing Rachel sitting there with red eyes and a desperate stare. She watched his back as he walked inside. She rubbed her eyes, wiping the wetness from her cheeks. She guessed she had about half an hour before he came back out again, but was it enough time for her eyes to de-puff and her tears to dry? A blurred glance at the side of his truck told her he came from Kentucky, and the thought of travelling southwest made her feel uneasy somehow, even though it was the opposite direction to Boston. That thought was enough to make her sob again. She covered her mouth, trying to stifle the noise, not wanting anybody to notice.
Her thoughts were buzzing like flies in her brain—incomprehensible, flying around too fast to catch and pin down. She curled into a ball, feet propped on the bench, head buried in her knees. Maybe that’s why she didn’t notice the rumble of another engine; she didn’t even look up when the door slammed. She was too consumed with misery to notice anybody else, too alone to care about how she looked. She carried on sobbing, body tensed into a crouch, soles pushing on the seat of the bench.
She heard the footsteps, but they were muffled by the rubber on the soles, enough for Rachel to think she was alone, just her and the self-pity that wanted to eat her alive.
Then she heard a voice…his voice as he started talking.
“I nearly made it to the highway.” Murphy cleared his throat. “But it was too quiet—made me feel nervous.”
Just like him to make a joke of it. Despite her tears, she felt her lips tugging into a smile.
“You should have turned on the radio.” Her voice was thick, muffled by her knees.
“I tried that. It’s just full of crap.”
Her smile got bigger. “There’s a little knob in the middle. You can twist it and find different stations.” She raised her head a little, enough to see his legs. She wasn’t sure she could look him in the eye yet. She still needed to get her breathing under control. “All sorts of music out there if you know where to look.”
“I’m shit at that sort of thing. Thought I might pick up a hitchhiker who could help.”
This time she glanced farther up, raising her red, swollen eyes until she could see his face. “Hasn’t anybody told you how dangerous it is to pick up strangers?”
He tilted his head to the side, voice soft as he spoke. “I figure I’ll take my chances.”
And there it was. A little explosion of hope in her heart. She let it burn, warming her body, while sweet anticipation ran through her veins. He reached down and curled his fingers around the handle of her bag, lifting it with ease before he turned and starting walking to his SUV. He was nearly there before he turned back to call to her.
“You coming?”
Was she? It was a little exciting and a lot scary, not knowing where she was going or where he’d take her. Yet the feeling of joy suffusing her body was too good to ignore. The need to be with him outweighed any rational concerns she might have felt if she’d thought things through. She pushed herself off the bench, smiling at him as she walked. “Of course I’m coming. I’d hate to leave you alone with your thoughts.”
When she reached the car, he curled his fingers around her neck, drawing her body against his chest, his arms wrapping around her shoulders like he didn’t want to let her go. He felt warm and strong, his embrace reassuring and calm. Rachel melted into him, breathing out a long, ragged breath. It felt so good. She wanted to bury herself in him and never come out.
As he kissed her, she thought maybe she could.
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COMING SOON FROM CARRIE ELKS
Halfway Hidden Volume 2 (Exposed)
Unexpected Volume 1 (a New Adult Romance)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Carrie Elks lives near London, England and loves to write sexy stories with a dash of intrigue. At the age of twenty-one she left college with a political science degree, a healthy overdraft and a soon-to-be husband. She loves to travel and meet new people, and has lived in the USA and Switzerland as well as the UK.
Nowadays, she spends her days sorting out people’s problems at work and her evenings glued to a computer keyboard. An avid social networker, she tries to limit her Facebook and Twitter time to stolen moments between writing chapters.
When she isn't reading or writing, she can usually be found baking, drinking wine or working out how to combine the two.
carrieelks.com/
www.facebook.com/CarrieElksAuthor
www.twitter.com/carrieelks
Acknowledgements
I’d like to thank my publishers, L.J. Anderson and Evelyn Baldwin at Mayhem Publishing, After Dark, for holding my hand through the whole scary process. Many thanks also to Marti Lynch for her hard work proofing the story.
Love to my girls—Kate, Deb and Shelli who kept me sane and pre-read the story for me, making fantastic suggestions and reassuring me it was all going to be okay. To all the bloggers who have supported this story, I give my unbound gratitude.
A big shout out to my husband and family for putting up with me during the whole writing process. Thank you for being there, even when my mind is elsewhere.
Finally, to the readers. You, dear person, who picked up the story and made it through with me to the end. Thank you so much for taking the time—I hope you enjoyed the story. I hope even more, that if you can spare the time, you will drop a review onto Amazon or Goodreads. I would truly appreciate your support.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
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