Broken Wings (A Romantic Suspense)(34)

She lets out a long sigh and says, “It’s not your fault. There was nothing you could do.”

“I can’t accept that. You’re right to question me. I did what he told me at every turn.”

“You should have gotten a girlfriend, Jack. Lived your life, not sat around dreaming about me. I’m lost.”

“No, you’re not,” I snarl, “goddamn it, Ellie. I won’t let you do this. What do I have to do?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”

I let out an exasperated noise.

“Keep driving. Through until morning.”

She looks at her map.

“Let’s stop in, uh, Missouri.”





Ellie





The next time I wake up, the sun is up and I have no idea where I am, except we’re still on the highway and I’m all cramped up from sitting in the seat. I stretch in place, arching my back. Jack looks haggard, but for some reason I want to reach over and rub his stubble with my fingers. I stop myself before I do, turn sideways, and look at him.

“Where are we?”

He glances at my phone, propped up against the radio on the console. “Missouri. Earth. I have no idea.”

It’s very flat. Sitting up to look around makes me yawn. My stomach quivers.

“Hungry?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s early enough for breakfast. Egg McMuffin?”

“Yeah, sure.”

We need gas anyway. Jack pumps it while I step out and pace beside the car, trying to work the blood back into my legs. My shoulder aches from sitting in the car too long. I wiggle my toes inside my sneakers and get back in.

Sighing, I take my shoes off, fumbling with the laces.

Jack spots me.

Without a word, he walks around the car and starts unlacing my shoe for me.

“I’m not broken.”

He looks up at me.

“I know, but I’m not going to let you suffer. Just let me do it, it’ll be faster.”

I sigh and sit back while he slips my shoes off. I start to turn to swing my legs under the dash, but Jack grabs my foot…and tickles.

“Goddamn it!” I giggle, fighting the laughter. “How did you remember that?”

“I remember all your weak spots. Like right here.”

Before I can react he shoves his hands up my arms and starts tickling me. My thick sweatshirt helps but his dancing fingers over my ribs send gales of laughter rippling out of me as I flail around in my seat.

Jack’s fingers slow and his palms rest against my sides. When I manage to open my eye he’s staring at me with a funny look on his face.

“What?”

“I forgot what your laughter sounded like. I mean real laughter, not I’m pissed at Jack laughter.”

I sigh. “Just get in the car.”

He sets my shoes between my feet and closes my door for me. He yawns loudly when he gets in, and I fight not to let it take me, too. I sort of swallow the yawn and shift in my seat then put on my belt.

“Tired?”

“I’m getting a little tired of being in the car, yeah. We should keep going. Food.”

“Food,” he agrees. “I’m going to need to crash out soon.”

I look at him, wide-eyed.

“Um, poor choice of words?”

“I know,” I say. “You know, this is the longest I’ve been in a car since then.”

“Yeah. I’m kinda surprised you let me drive.”

I have to turn awkwardly to actually look at him; I can’t see past my own nose unless I turn I my head all the way around.

God, he’s annoying. Just like I remember. He looks over at me and it feels like there’s a big chunk of chocolate melting in my chest.

We barely make it in time for breakfast. Jack orders and I hide inside my hood. I don’t want to see the look on the person’s face when I pull up to the drive-through window. He gets us Egg McMuffins and coffee, but it’s too hot and burns my lip. I take the lid off and let it cool while I eat.

“I will now demonstrate my manliness,” Jack says, and gulps down some of the hot coffee. He coughs and sputters just like I did. “Jesus, what is this, molten lava?”

After we finish eating we split a little bottle of milk and pour a bit into our coffee. I hold both cups in a cardboard tray on my lap while he drives. Apparently they didn’t believe in cup holders in 1969.

“It’s hard,” I say.

“What is?”

I take a sip of coffee. It’s still too hot. “It’s hard to believe you aren’t disgusted by my face.”

“Why?”

“It disgusts me.”

I try to hold it back but I just blurt it out.

“I hate it. I get up every morning and look in the mirror and it’s not me anymore. This isn’t my face. Sometimes,” I suck in a breath, “sometimes I forget and I don’t remember until I see myself in the bathroom. I used to cry when that happened. Now I’m used to it. Just this again.”

I take another sip. Jack takes his and takes a long pull on it.

“The worst part is that it feels good when I forget. It’s not pounding in the back of my mind anymore. No little voice whispering, freak, freak, freak.”