Page 110 of Fool Me

My whole body exhales the second I see her name, but it’s short-lived. The second I answer, I know something’s wrong.

“Harlowe?”

“Give me the phone.” My brother’s muffled yells are just barely audible over the noise from the bar. I push outside.

“Canyon, please, you’re going to crash.”

The fear in Harlowe’s voice has my knees buckling as I look from side to side for someone who can help. Sheriff Evans is getting into his car; I break into a sprint.

“Phone, bitch.” My blood runs old as my hands come down on the hood of the sheriff’s SUV. There’s more yelling from mybrother, but I don’t hear the words, just the pleading response from the woman I love.

“I’m sorry, Canyon. For all of it. I’ll do whatever you want, just please pull over. You can leave me on the side of the highway for all I care. Just, please, let me go.”

“No, it’s too late for that. You already took everything from me,” he tells her and then the phone goes dead.

My heart punches into my ribs. Evans gets out, looking furious, but I don’t give him a chance to yell at me.

“It’s Harlowe. Canyon has her in a car. She’s in trouble.” Saying the words aloud makes it real, and it’s like someone yanked the rug out from under me. I struggle to stay upright, his car supporting most of my weight.

The Sheriff’s face hardens instantly. “Get in.”

I don’t waste a breath. I climb in and the lights flash to life, sirens up, tires peeling out.

“What do you know?” he barks.

“The highway.” I blink rapidly trying to stay calm enough to get it out. “She mentioned the highway—asked him to leave her there. I think they are in Canyon’s Tacoma. I think he was high.” Everything is choppy, but I just try to share anything that will help her.

“Good job,” Evans says, eyes locked on the road as he grabs the radio mic. “Dispatch, be advised, possible domestic in progress. Female party last seen at Hey Jude’s suspected to be heading out of town on Teton Spur 9. Vehicle is a gray Toyota Tacoma, unknown plate, registered to Canyon Kane. Driver possibly impaired. Attempting to locate—priority response.”

He hooks the mic back on the dash and floors the accelerator. Everything blurs out the window.

“We’re going to find her, right?” I ask numbly.

He doesn’t look at me, just presses harder on the gas as he leaves town. “We’ll do everything we can.”

But his jaw is tight, and the silence that follows is worse than a no.

Every second stretches like a wire pulled too tight—sharp, fraying. I watch the road. I watch the trees. I don’t think I breathe.

Until up ahead, just past the curve, I see it.

The truck.

It’s off the shoulder, upright but clearly rolled, with the airbags deployed. The driver’s side window is smashed and Canyon’s crawling out.

My blood goes ice cold, because I don’t see Harlowe.

“Stop!” I shout, already yanking at the handle.

Evans slams on the brakes and I’m out before we’ve fully stopped, sprinting toward the wreck like the world is ending—because if she’s not okay, I’m not okay.

I reach the driver’s side first, passing my brother, who’s holding his side as he limps away from the wreck, and yank the door handle. Nothing. I reach through the broken window and turn off the engine with a shaking hand.

I sprint to the passenger side—same thing. Stuck. The whole cab is crumpled inward like it’s a crushed can. My breath is gone, my mind screaming as I see her—slumped in the seat, head resting against the window, completely still.

A slow, terrifying trail of red trickles down her temple, right over the pale pink scar from our rock climbing date. I remember kissing that scar, laughing about how it would be a good story to tell, just a few weeks ago in California.

I can’t breathe.

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