Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 118(@200wpm)___ 94(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 118(@200wpm)___ 94(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
When we finally pull apart, I’m breathless, my heart pounding so hard I’m sure he can hear it. He rests his forehead against mine, his thumb brushing softly against my cheek.
“Been wantin’ to do that since the moment I saw you,” he murmurs.
I don’t know what to say. Words feel too small for everything I’m feeling right now. So instead, I lean into him, letting the warmth of his embrace comfort me. I want him so badly that I might combust, and I both hope he doesn’t notice how my body is responding to his, while also hoping he does. I’m not brave enough to make the first move, but I want him to touch me everywhere.
“Easy, princess.” Garrett’s hands run soothing paths up and down my back as I press against him. “Gotta take it slow with you, don’t I?”
“No.”
He laughs again and untangles me from him until we’re sitting, watching the last bits of the sunset once more. “Yes. But it will be worth it. Now watch. I don’t want you to miss the grand finale.”
He doesn’t kiss me again or touch me or anything. Garrett Hayes is a perfect gentleman, even when I want him to be the opposite.
Not long after, we pull into the parking lot of a fast food restaurant painted in garish red and gold. “Let’s get some dinner, princess.”
I’m still shaken from the kiss, and it makes me question everything that’s happened over the past few days. What in the world am I doing, running from an engagement just to fall into Garrett’s arms? My parents probably think I’m dead or abducted when I’m really making out with a trucker in the desert. The thought makes my stomach hurt, and the last thing I want is greasy food.
“I’m actually not feeling too hot,” I tell him. “I’m going to stay in here if that’s okay.”
He looks concerned, but nods once. “Okay, princess. I’ll bring you something back.”
Sliding onto the quilt in the sleeper cab, I reach for my phone. It’s been a dead weight in my purse for days, untouched and buried at the bottom. Garrett’s words about it being a tracking device were enough to scare me into leaving it alone, but now I’m plagued by conflicting thoughts. The kiss, and then the guilt of what my parents must be thinking, warring with each other.
My parents, my old life—it’s all so far away it’s like it isn’t real anymore. Mother and Father weren’t perfect parents, but I never doubted they loved me. If I can just tell them I’m okay, maybe this raging guilt will settle.
I flick the phone on, leaving it in airplane mode, and connect to the restaurant’s Wi-Fi. A flood of notifications crashes through the screen—texts, missed calls, voicemails, emails. I stare at the sheer number, my pulse starting to race. It’s overwhelming.
They must really think I’m dead, I think bitterly, scrolling through the sea of messages. Most of them are from my mother and father, alternating between desperation and anger. A handful are from friends, their tone a mix of confusion and concern. And then there’s Charles.
I ignore his messages, focusing on the ones from my mother. Her words tug at my heart.
Mom: Where are you? Please let us know you’re okay. We’re so worried.
Tears sting my eyes, and my fingers tremble as I start to type.
Me: I’m fine. I just needed to get away. Please don’t worry about me. I’ll reach out again soon.
I hit send before I can second-guess myself. My hand hovers over the Wi-Fi toggle, ready to shut out my old world again, but then I notice another text notification pop up on the top of the screen in real-time.
Charles: Got you.
Fear hits me, shockingly cold. The air leaves my lungs as I open the message. The text is brief, but the screenshot attached chills me to the bone. It’s a pinpoint location—my location—outside this very restaurant. I drop the phone like it’s burned me, my mind racing.
How? Can they track me through the Wi-Fi?
My heart slams against my ribs as panic takes over. I scramble to turn the phone off completely, my fingers fumbling in haste. My chest tightens more and more, and it’s a battle just to breathe. I feel just like I did the night I fled, there in the bathroom of my family home.
Charles knows where I am.
“They won’t let someone like you go easily,” Garrett said. I was thinking of my family at the time, but Garret was right and Charles is the one unwilling to let go.
The truck door creaks open, and I nearly scream. But it’s just Garrett, balancing a tray of food in one hand. His eyes go straight to my face, his easygoing expression shifting instantly to concern.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, setting the food down and climbing into the cab.