by Vivien Vale
But there aren’t any others on the road. Not tonight. And I have to leave. I need to go as far away as possible, so I can finally try to remember what it’s like to feel safe again.
Safe from my father and his political manipulations. Safe from the man who was supposed to be my husband. God, I can’t even think of him like that anymore. I won’t let myself.
Yesterday, everything was normal. Our wedding was set in stone. Our honeymoon was arranged. My paperwork to change my last name was filled out and sitting on the vanity of my luxurious bridal suite, ready to be signed and dated.
A January wedding. Mommy loved that. Her little princess bride, all decked out in holiday red and ice blue with a backdrop of snow just as pure as I am.
But all of that’s changed. It’s out the freaking window and I’m never letting it back in as a thought, let alone an option.
The Avery that was supposed to marry Adam is gone. The Avery that was interested in Daddy’s career over her own happiness has died.
Maybe I’ll dye my hair brown. That would really throw both of them for a loop. It would make it so much harder for them to find me, and I never want to be found. Green contacts could be good too. A trench coat. I’ll get a trench coat—something from Burberry. I’ll start wearing sunglasses. I’ll buy a hat!
I’ll start over. Become someone new. How I’m supposed to achieve all of this without Daddy’s money, I don’t know, but I’ll think of something.
I need a new phone number too. In fact, I’ll need a new phone.
God, that phone. I thought it was cute when Adam bought us matching cells. Picking up Adam’s by accident just before the ceremony ruined everything. Now, nothing will be the same again.
But do I really want it to be? I consider it for a second. Like, really freaking think about it. It’s the world’s most tortuous “Would You Rather?”.
Would I rather live in the dark, married to a man who nearly just raped me? Making a home for him and filling it with children without ever realizing what goes on behind closed doors?
Or would I rather have the truth, and all the fear and uncertainty that comes with it?
I push the pedal to the floor.
The truth. I always want the truth.
There’s no point in living if the life you’re living is a lie.
Doubling down on the gas makes me feel powerful, but the car doesn’t like it one bit. I can feel it starting to fishtail. The last thing I need is to crash this freaking car right now. But now that I’ve hit this speed, I know slamming on the breaks is the worst possible option.
I have to maintain my speed, easing off it little by little.
Driving on ice is a hard thing for even a professional driver to do.
And like I said. I’m not a great driver on a good day, and this is a bad one.
As I try to focus and try not to panic, I feel it coming. The water works. I can’t help it. When your entire world turns upside down on you, you just want to break down and cry.
I won’t accept judgement from anyone for that. It’s perfectly healthy to have real feelings. It’s okay to not know what to do. I’m going to figure this out.
But I don’t even know where I’m going, even if I don’t die on this mountain tonight. Driving aimlessly isn’t smart. It’s uncalculated, it’s underprepared. It’s a grown-up version of a childish impulse to escape from whatever it is you don’t like.
But how do you expect me to react? I always have my parents’ support on major life decisions. My life was good, and I never really needed to get out of my comfort zone much. I thought it’d always be sunshine and rainbows in my perfect little life.
Mommy and I spent an entire year preparing for this wedding. Now, I’ve got to put together an entire new life in one freaking night.
Maybe if I wasn’t such a perfect girl my entire upbringing, I’d have some skill at rebellion. But nah, let’s just stay obedient and wait until your wedding day to give it a go, Avery!
All my life, things have been moving in one direction on a path that was already laid out for me. Now, I’m veering off that path and taking the scenic route. Plan B: no plan at all.
I’m going to drive and drive until I can’t see signs, billboards, or brochures at my stops for that resort wedding location.
That is, if I don’t die first. With roads this slick and the state my driving is in, there’s a very real possibility that I’ll die first.
Maybe Mommy can reorganize the wedding reception caterers to make all that fillet mignon for my funeral.
My thoughts return to Adam. And, I guess, to Daddy as well. I haven’t fully stitched together what I read in their correspondence with each other, but I got the freaking gist.
Sweet little Avery’s virginity for a great deal on machine guns.
Machine guns that, judging by what I saw in Adam’s emails, might not even work.
How am I supposed to trust anyone at all after this? My sense of good judgement is shattered and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to let someone in like that again.
I grip the steering wheel tighter and push down on the gas again.
Which is stupid. It’s freaking dumb. It’s probably the second worst decision I’ve made in my life.
At first, my car listens to me and glides along the road evenly.
Which is good. I’m starting to feel like I might not be all that bad of a driver after all.
But of course, as I marvel at my own driving skills, my car fishtails hard over some black ice on the road. I turn my wheel with it, trying to recover control.
It doesn’t work.
I jerk the steering wheel in the other direction in a panic, and—knee-jerk reaction—I slam on my brakes.
The next thing I know, my car is flying off the side of the road, over the guardrail and onto the bare mountain.
I scream and let go of the wheel. Not like I can correct this now. Instead, I reach my arms over my head and protect my skull, bracing for impact. In my mind, I’m torn between figuring out how to move forward from this, and just praying that I make it out of this car alive at all.
The car starts to tumble down the mountainside. I cry and scream, kicking and jerking every direction as I plead and beg to survive. The car rolls for what seems like an eternity to me.
Luckily, I thunk my head against the steering wheel, blaring my now-broken horn. My body goes ragdoll at the sensation, and then everything is a blur.
But suddenly, I’m stopped. I’m alive. The car is upright, stuck halfway down the mountain. My headlights are even still intact, reflecting blindingly against the snowy terrain.
I lower my arms back down to my side and wince every second as they fall and rest against the back of my seat. I’m panting hard, my head is pounding, and my throat is scratched from all of my screaming.
I can’t believe I’m even still breathing at all. There are some people that don’t get to walk away from an accident.
As I attempt to count my blessings on what I have here, I hear a big CRACK. Subsequently, smaller, frequent, spreading cracking noises follow, and before I can even look around to see what’s going on, a large oak tree comes crashing down to the roof of my car.
The impact hits the passenger side of my car, leaving the damage just millimeters away from my head.
My heart should be racing right now, but instead it’s steady and slow. My vision is blurring out. Blackness creeps around the edges, moving in.
This is it. I’m going to die here.
I start to make my peace with the world and everyone in it, except my father and Adam.
I smell smoke. The engine must be catching fire.
Those bastards can burn.
Chapter 3
Jack
I’ve lived in the wilderness for more than a decade now. That means I’ve done my share of heavy lifting.
Hauling a goddamn log to the edge of a river, standing it on end and shoving it over to the other bank to form a makeshift bridge? I’ve done it a thousand
times. Moving freshly fallen trees to my chopping stump to turn into firewood? Daily fucking occurrence.
Picking a tree—and I’m talking an entire fucking tree—off a burning, twisted car? No, this is a first.
But that doesn’t mean it’ll be any trouble.
I can still see that pretty little number in the front seat, knocked out cold. I thought maybe I’d get used to her beauty after I got over all that love at first sight bullshit, but every time I lay eyes on her it still takes the wind out of my chest.
I’m doing this for her. And if it’s for her, this will be no trouble for me at all.
I stomp my big, heavy boots down into the snow, planting them firmly. Sounds stupid, but once I’ve got my stance set, I open my mouth and let out a yell that echoes down the whole fucking mountain, fists beating against my chest.
Sounds stupid, but it gets your blood pumping. And right now, my blood is pumping just right. My cock is rock-hard, my muscles are rippling in anticipation of a challenge, and I’m ready. I’m going to tear this massive-ass tree off this little lady’s car and get her somewhere safe.
My meaty fingers curl around the old oaken bark. The smell of fresh splintered wood fills my nostrils. This is a hearty, healthy tree—or at least, it was until this hot little piece’s car came crashing into it.
I squat down under its trunk and push up high. I can smell the fucking pheromones pouring off me in my sweat. The scent only charges me further. I lift that sucker up and toss it straight to the side. It feels like it shakes the very ground I stand on when it hits.
I take a step back and clap my hands against each other to dust off the bark. Piece of cake. My muscles are aching with the exertion, but it’s a good kind of ache. The best kind.
Now for the car.
Thick black smoke is pouring up from beneath the hood. It mars the freshness of the winter air with its oily, cloying scent. Black smoke doesn’t bode well for this runaway bride’s future—or mine, if I don’t get us both out of here and away in time.
I climb on top of the hood of the car and squat down, leaning myself in through the freshly busted windshield. It’s all bent out to hell from that fucking tree.
I spit on my hands and rub them together. If I was a smarter man, I’d have my gloves on me, but time is of the essence—and she’s worth the risk of picking a little glass out of my palms later. I find a couple spots where the glass is completely knocked out and I pry the rest of the windshield open, enough to grab her by the arms.
I pull her out slowly, careful not to jostle her head too much. Even as I do it, I feel the hood of the car go hot with flames beneath me. I’m being torn between my need to make sure I don’t hurt her more than she’s already been hurt and the reality of the situation: if I don’t hurry the fuck up, we’re both going to end up dead.
I pull her against me, cradling her body to my chest to keep her away from the ragged bits of metal and shattered pieces of glass.
Unconscious still. Not a good sign. Beautiful as ever—I have to keep myself from staring at that lovely face just to keep myself in the right state of mind—and barefoot. Barefoot in this weather, with no fucking coat.
Her wedding dress is ripped down the front, and it doesn’t look like any car crash did that. No sir—that tear looks man-made. Makes my blood fucking boil at the thought of some man putting his grimy hands on this beautiful little angel and ripping her ridiculous little dress.
But this isn’t the time to get all pissed off at whatever hypothetical aggressor she might have been fleeing from. This is a time for action.
Don’t think. Act.
I take my coat off my own back and wrap it around her, sliding us both off the smoking car.
As I bundle her up in my arms, I hear something crackle nastily, then the smell of burning oil fills my nose.
That’s the point at which I just fucking run.
This little angel is covered in oil and gasoline, plus enough hairspray in that pretty blonde hair of hers that she’s not much more than a lovely little matchstick in my arms.
When this fucker blows, I need to have her as far away from it as possible.
We take flight back up the mountain, my big boots finding purchase on even the smallest of footholds. Seconds into our trek, the car erupts in flames. I turn back and see the bright yellow and orange embers escaping the sides and the big black cloud of smoke at the top.
That hot air traveling up with us feels good. It has me sweating harder and is making my smell stronger. I take in a big breath of it, easing my shoulders back with the satisfaction of a mission successfully completed... then, we really take off.
As fast as she tumbled down this mountain, my feet fly us back up the side. I traipse us through thorns and brambles that rip at the shins of my coveralls to do it. They could tear clear through and slice up my skin and I wouldn’t care.
The snow has started to fall down around us in tiny little ice crystals. They gather on her long, dark eyelashes and flutter down into her pale hair.
Up this way, once the snow starts falling, it doesn’t fucking stop. My brain is dead set on getting us back to my cabin as fast as possible, before the pretty little princess bride in my arms catches cold or before we find ourselves stranded in a fucking blizzard for the next five days.
The girl’s weight adds virtually nothing to me. I’ve carried deer heavier than this back up to my cabin. Suddenly I’m reminded of my fish I left cooking—the smell of it is still in my beard, although the snow has probably smothered out the fire and started to bury it by now.
It fuels me even harder to get back home. Once this fallen angel is somewhere safe and warm…dammit, I’m going back to get that fucking thing. A man does not waste a fish, especially not one caught with his bare hands.
It’s not long before my cabin is in sight. Not too far off the main road, but tucked away down a side path lined by evergreens that most people easily miss. First thing I hear is my dog, Buck, barking happily at my return.
Dumb mutt has been sitting right there on the porch where I left him this whole time, pouting. Would have taken him with me, but the big bastard would’ve eaten every damn fish that I caught and then some.
Buck is big, black and just as shaggy as I am. Scares some people, which is fine by me. I found him as a stray when I first came up here—skinny, dirty, half-starved, chasing squirrels for his supper, but too hungry to have the energy to catch them.
Now, Buck eats what I do. If I’m being honest, he’s turned into a bit of a porker, but that doesn’t bother me none. I figure he’s earned it, after the life he’s had. Sheriff in town thinks he might be part wolf—wouldn’t surprise me a bit if he was.
As I clomp up the porch steps, Buck perks up and pants excitedly. Silly mutt is usually pretty excited to see me, seeing as I usually have the courtesy to bring him back a consolation fish. But when he sees the woman in my arms, I watch his ears stiffen and his nose twitch with curiosity.
Don’t I know it, boy. We don’t often get visitors up here, least of all, beautiful unconscious brides-to-be.
Buck sniffs at the foot of the angel with his big wet doggy nose and I cluck at him with my tongue.
“Down, boy,” I say. “This ain’t no fish.”
Tentatively, Buck licks at her toes anyway. Can’t even say I blame him. If I was a dog, I’d want to lick this beauty too.
Even as a man, it’s a tempting prospect.
But I need to shove those thoughts out of my head and get this poor girl warmed up and cared for. She’s been through a lot tonight. Last thing she needs right now is some grizzly old bachelor nosing between her legs.
I lay her down on the couch and am pleased to discover she’s still breathing. Well, that’s something, at least. Buck curls up on the floor in front of her, occasionally casting glances up at her beautiful face.
“Behave,” I tell him, not that I need to. Buck is a good dog. A nosy old mutt, but a good dog. And I can tell he’s already just as protective of t
his girl as I am.
Blankets. She’ll need blankets, enough to lose herself in. When she comes to—if she does—we’ll sort out what to do with her next then.
I cast a tentative glance to the window, watching the snow pour down harder than I’ve ever seen it.
I just hope her plans don’t involve going anywhere—because this shit won’t be letting up any time soon.
Chapter 4
Avery
I feel the weight of the world on me. No, maybe it’s the weight of the universe.
Whatever it is, it’s threatening to crush me.
If I could, I would run away, but my legs won’t obey me. Neither does anything else.
All my attempts at moving fall on deaf limbs. My arms won’t lift, and my legs feel like they’re filled with lead.
And then there’s the pain, slicing through me like a cold knife.
Every inch of me hurts, from the top of my head to my big toe’s toenail. If I’d been run over by a speeding train, I’m sure I’d be feeling less pain than I do right now.
And not only is it difficult to breathe, it’s difficult to just be. I can’t make sense of where I am, what’s weighing me down, or how I got to this unknown place.
Have I died?
Possibly.
Don’t people who have come close to death talk about having an out of body experience? Maybe that’s what this is. I’m having an out of body experience.
It feels like it, anyhow, although I have always imagined that it would feel more floaty than this. More detached. Painless.
Well, right now, the pain is very, very real.
For some reason, my eyes refuse to cooperate and stay open for any length of time. When they do open, I catch a glimpse of flickering flames. Bright yellow fingers with orange tips that reach upwards, like they’re trying to grab something, something just out of reach.
There’s something I’m trying to grab, but it’s out of my reach, too.
My thoughts are in disarray, like slippery, tangled spaghetti noodles in my head.
The flames are oddly reassuring. I guess if I’m dead, at least I died warm.