Page 28 of The Right Woman

I fling open the front door with my shoes dangling from my fingers and wander to my piece of shit car. How many times have my mother or father asked to get me a new one? I don’t remember. But I won’t take anything from them. Screw them.

Tossing my purse and shoes into the passenger seat, I turn on the engine. The grinding of metal on metal is a foreboding sound, but I squeal away from the curb without issue.

My chest heaves with wails, leftover pain that I always avoid whenever I visit that place. But it lingers inside like a demon of discomfort, waiting to attack me with despair.

Am I slipping back into that place? The pit of darkness where there’s no escape?

As I wipe my nose with the back of my hand, I blink a few times to clear the tears so I can see enough to make it home. Home, where I can hide under my own patchouli-scented blanket with Freckles and escape in a book. Live in someone else’s problem for a few hours.

Andnotcut.

They want me to, I know. To show how they were right all along. Toprovethat all of this ismyproblem and not theirs. But I won’t let them win. I refuse.

“Oh my god!” I scream as I approach a red light and pump the brake, but nothing happens. Trying with all my might, I slamdown the pedal, but the car keeps moving at a rapid pace. Cars whiz by the busy intersection as I careen straight for them.

Think, think!

My hand grabs at the emergency brake in the center, and I jerk it up until the car spins in a rapid circle, tires burning into the pavement as their dusty smoke fills the cabin inside. When I stop, my clunker faces the opposite traffic, but is enough to the side that people can get by me. I put my emergency lights on and do the only thing I know.

With a shaking hand, I text Essa, telling her it’s a car emergency. Once she gives me the info, I swallow back my tears and call the person I need most at this moment. My hero.

“Adon? I need help.”

Chapter

Thirteen

ADON

Her voice is frail,filled with panic, which I didn’t think a force like Piper could experience. It releases something inside of me until I’m tossing my wallet into my back pocket and racing through my garage to the truck.

“I’ll be right back, guys! Aunt Maria is in charge!” My mother’s sister is visiting for Thanksgiving, which is a godsend at this moment when I need to rush out the door. Avery barely acknowledges my call-out.

“Where are you, Rosy?”

“I-I’m on Main and facing the wrong way. The brake wouldn’t work. I didn’t know what to do—” Her sentence is cut off with a soft sob.

“Stay right there. I’m coming.”

Will I get a ticket? Maybe. But I don’t give a fuck. My focus is solely on getting to Piper and making sure she’s okay. Have I been miffed that she hasn’t said shit to me for weeks? Not even thanked me for the couch? Absolutely. But none of that matters right now.

By the time I reach her, she’s wandering outside of her car on the sidewalk, arms crossed, rubbing her hands up and down herarms repeatedly. The vision of her in one piece brings me some moment of relief. I reach out, grab her shoulders, then pull her tiny body into me.

Her rosy cheeks are flaming red in the streetlight from the tears falling down her face. She grips my shirt and pushes her nose into my chest until I hold her tighter. Tiny shakes rattle her body as she cries and clings to me like I’m her savior. One of my big palms cushions her hair and strokes its silky softness slowly until her sobs turn to sniffles.

When she pulls back and looks up at me, I almost fucking die right there. She’s so beautiful and broken. I want to fix every piece of her.

“What happened?” I don’t think I’m asking about the car. Maybe it’s because when she shimmied in that silver dress the first time I saw her, I could peek behind the façade to the sadness hidden by sparkles. But I’ll give her the option to answer whatever question she wants.

Her big green eyes bounce toward her vehicle before she glances back at me. “I think something happened to the brakes. It was acting funny.”

I pull out a handkerchief from my back pocket and wipe her cheeks, then hand it to her to blow her nose. “Who carries these things?” she asks.

“My grandfather always taught me to keep one with me for women.”

Her pert lips lift at the corners, but a loud wail of her nose into the cloth is the only reply. My arm wraps around her as I lead her back to my truck. Hopping in, she looks at me as if she has no idea what to say or do.

“I’ll call the tow truck. Jim will bring your car to my shop. Sit tight.” Her pink hair falls into her face with a nod. Jim is half asleep when I call, but says he’ll be right over to bring it to Griffin Motors.

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