Page 123 of Heart & Hope

“I will be emailing your boss, Olive, in the morning. Good night, Ruby Robbins. Reed.” She turns back, disappearing through the doors.

“Rub—” Reed reaches for me. I back away, stalking for the front doors.

I need air.

Like, now.

Crisp, cold air rushes my face and fills my lungs as the sliding doors snap closed behind me.

“Vehicle, Mrs. Robbins?” the valet asks.

“Yes, please.” I steel myself against the will to let every last horrible thought and emotion out. And when the rumble of Reed’s truck rolls around the corner and stops in front of me, I thank the young guy and slide into the driver’s seat. Hands gripping the wheel with white knuckles, I drop my forehead onto it.

The passenger door opens, and Reed climbs in. “Where we off to, baby?”

“I don’t know. Anywhere but here.”

“You wanna go home? I can go and grab our bags.”

I shove the stick in drive and roll into the street. Reed was right, the rumble is comforting.

“I can drive, Rubes,” Reed offers.

“No,” I breathe.

I let the truck idle at the last set of lights of Great Falls, and when that round glass goes green, I sink my foot onto the accelerator. Tears roll down my face as we pick up speed, busting through the small-town limits until we’re flanked by snow-covered fields.

Northbound and no clue where this leads, I choke through each sob. Reed grips the door handle with one hand, the other a fist on the seat beside him. I have ruined everything with stupid, stupid lies. The holiday ranch could be affected by my thoughtlessness. A fucking fake marriage? Who is idiotic enough to think that would have panned out?

This isallmy fault.

“Beautiful, slow down.” Reed’s face is stone, eyes on me.

Reed reaches over, turning the headlights on.

Fuck, I can’t even remember the basics.

“Rubes, it will blow over, baby. Please slow down.”

“No, it won’t Reed. I’ve screwed everything up. I?—”

“Deer!”

“Fuck!”

I slam a foot on the brake as the deer ambles onto the road, dazed by the headlights bouncing off the snowy road. My heel slips from my foot with the pressure. The deer stops in the path of the truck. I wrench the wheel to the right.

“No! Don’t swer—” Reed lunges for the wheel.

The animal slams into the front corner of the truck, the headlight burying into its side. Its limp body disappears underneath the truck as the vehicle spins to the right, clipping the culvert railing. The snowy road too slick, the truck leaves the ground, careening into the air, rolling.

Weightlessness grips me as we are tossed in our seats.

I can’t breathe.

Reed’s eyes burn, frozen, panicked. He reaches for me. The tips of our fingers brush.

White bursts from the dash, engulfing the cab of the truck.

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