Chapter One
Mae
I lay across the sun-bleached seat of my old Chevy pickup and close my eyes. I’m not sure why I drove out here in this thing. Sheila is about as ancient as they come, and she loves breaking down at the most inopportune times. That said, she’s a member of the family. Hell, she’s probably the only member that understands me.
The cracked, vinyl seat clings to the sweat on my back as the scent of baked dust and warm motor oil settles into my nose.
Come on, Sheila. Haven’t I endured enough this week? I mean, just yesterday my wedding was canceled. I figured that would buy me some karma for at least a month or two.
A breeze sneaks in through the cracked window, bringing with it the scent of juniper and moss from the nearby lake. You’d think a lake would be a high traffic area, but it’s hidden deep on one of those seasonal roads no one really knows about. Heck, I wouldn’t know about it if I hadn’t gotten lost the first time I drove up to Rugged Mountain. At first, it was scary being back here with no people or cell service. Then, it was kind of nice to be alone with my thoughts and I’d make the trip up here from Miami to seek the solitude.
The drive became a ritual, a mecca I’d set out on every few months. Windows down, playlist humming, the city disappearing behind me as concrete highways turned to one laneroads. Thoughts and noise from everyday life disappeared on those drives, and by the time I was tangled with the pines, I had clarity about whatever was going on in my life.
I lean my head back against the seat, close my eyes, and let the silence stretch over me. I may be stranded in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a bottle of water and a granola bar, but it’s still better than yesterday.
Yesterday was a complete nightmare, though I think I did save face pretty convincingly.
Thank God. I can’t imagine my emotions spilling out in front of all those people.
I’m lost in flashing memories of the white dress that took too long to choose and the vanilla cake with raspberry filling that went home with wedding guests, when I hear a low rumbling sound threading its way through the trees. At first, I figure it’s my imagination trying to shake the horrific day out of my mind. Then, the noise becomes louder, more tangible.
I sit up and squint through the dusty windshield as a shape emerges from the tree line. It’s some guy on his motorcycle. Leather jacket, broad shoulders, T-shirt flying back in the wind, tattoos streaking down both arms.
I’ve never been happier to see a stranger.
I jump out of the truck and stand on the opposite side of the narrow dirt road, signaling like traffic control in a town of one. The man slows his bike, stirring a cloud of dust around him.
Even in the dust, I can see the man is huge. I’m not talking huge as in large. I’m talking huge, as in not from this species.
Suddenly, every bit of advice my mother ever gave me about stranger danger echoes through my head.‘Not everyone who smiles at you is your friend, Mae.’She liked that one best. I’m sure it’s because I made friends with everyone and everything that smiled at me.
Thankfully, this guy isn’t smiling.
“You lost?” he groans under his breath, as though he’s annoyed at the fact that I’ve stopped him.
“I’m broken down, and there’s no cell service out here.” I try to keep my energy light but it’s a little annoying that he can’t manage a friendly tone. I’m the one who got left at the altar yesterday. Doubt his day was as bad.
He leans his head back slowly, dragging his gaze over me as though he’s sizing me up.
This makes the most sense. Of course, I’m going to be murdered. I mean, what else would’ve capped off this week?
I fold my arms across my chest and straighten my back, looking as wide and tall as possible in the hopes it will scare him away. I don’t need a ride this badly. One water bottle or not, I’ll survive on rainwater and berries.
Unfortunately, my attempt at outsizing him doesn’t work.
He exhales through his nose, kicks down the stand on his bike, and swings his long leg over the seat, barely looking at me as he steps one heavy boot after the other toward my truck.
“What’s wrong with it?” He still sounds miserable, like his dog and his grandma ran off together to start a punk band. It’s that or his best friend married his ex and invited him to the wedding via group text.
“It’s the alternator.” I clear my throat. “It’s always the alternator.”
He stares toward me for a long moment as though he’s surprised I know the wordalternator, strokes his massive hand down over his beard, then pops the hood without asking.
How rude!
I pinch my lips together and stand beside him, climbing up onto the front bumper to see into the engine block.
He skims an eye toward me. His voice is so deep I swear it shakesmychest as he says, “What are you doing?”
