Page 23 of Life After You

So what if, while thinking this, I shift gears, my foot gradually pressing down? The car trembles with excitement beneath me, the music fading beneath the clapping thrums of the engine doing its thing.

Karen’s Opel doesn’t stand a chance—I pass her like she’s standing still. Kyle in his F-150 hears me coming and threatens to cut in front, but I take the feint, shifting to lane three, then diving into the first, slipping past with effortless precision.

Highway patrols are dotted along the roads, so after a few miles, I ease off and take in the views. The emerald ocean of the state forest stretches endlessly beside me before the highway bends alongside the Columbia River. Portland is finally within reach.

And that’s when it really hits me. I have no fucking clue what I’m gonna say to Mac when I find her.

My phone chimes. Slipping in a wireless earbud, I tap to connect, waiting a beat for Bluetooth to wake the hell up.

“—ck you at, man?”

“Sorry, earphone was connecting. Shit, did I drop the call?” I adjust the bud, making sure not to accidentally hang up.

“No, we good. What’s going on? What’s this about Braden’s cell Chace was rambling on about?” Sam’s voice is rough, like he just woke up after a night of whiskey and bad decisions.

“It was Mac,” I say, gripping the wheel tighter. “She gave us the slip, bro.”

“The fuck that mean?” Sam’s instantly more awake.

“I got back to their place. No one was home. The place was clean—not a disaster like I expected.” I hesitate, my fingers tightening on the leather. “I found a note on the bed. Just one word—‘Sorry.’”

“What the fuck, Mac… that sounds like—”

“Yeah,” I cut in. “I thought the same thing when I saw it.”

Sam exhales sharply. “But she wasn’t there?”

“No. She’s in Portland.”

“The fuck she doing in Portland?”

“I have no idea, bro. Maybe she’s got friends there? A spa? A retreat? Something?”

“It’s Mac, man. She doesn’t exactly strike me as the ‘spa weekend’ type.”

I snort. “Yeah. Either way, I’ll be there in about thirty minutes.”

A beat of silence. Then—

“You’re in Braden’s baby, aren’t you?”

A small grin tugs at my lips. “You can hear her purring, huh?”

“Unlike that goddamn rice racer you usually ride? That’s American muscle, man. You can hear her from a mile away—she’s gonna hear you coming.”

That thought lands like a punch to the gut. If she hears me—sees me—is she gonna run?

I curse under my breath. “You’re giving me other shit to worry about now, man.”

“Just keeping it real.”

I grumble at Sam’s so-called realism.

“Huh. You think she’s into micro-breweries?”

“What? Why?” I ask, thrown by the sudden topic shift.

“Looking online. Apparently, Portland’s got a shit-ton of them. Some eco-friendly, hipster haven kinda places.”

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