Page 60 of Where the Blacktop Ends

Finally, we make it out of the store and onto the sidewalk, a narrow space lined with just shops and the quaint main road of the buzzing Hamptons town. I yank him along, my heart racing and the blood rushing through my ears as I look both directions, finding the pathway now covered with passersby and reporters.

Who are these people?

Why do they care this much about Troy?

How did they find us?

How do they know we’re connected to him?

"What about Minnie? Are Troy and her together? Do you think there will be a proposal soon?"

The words hit like ice water, freezing me in place. Troy was with Minnie this morning. Hours after our night on the beach. Hours after holding me close, whispering my name and taking care ofmy body in ways that ruined me. I swallow hard, but the bitter taste remains.

He’d carried me inside, tucked me into bed, and then vanished. He hadn’t stayed. Hadn’t fallen asleep beside me. And by the time I woke up, he was already gone—back in the city, buried in his usual Friday workload. Meanwhile, Eleanor had arrived at the beach house, dropping Liam off for our day together before heading to an appointment she had planned.

I was grateful for the distraction of a day spent with Liam after our steamy night together. But now, hearing that he was out with Minnie—not just privately, butpublicly—this morning… it makes me feel like his dirty little secret while hisrealgirlfriend gets paraded around town, smiling for cameras, perfectly positioned for the world to see. It makes me feel like herushedback to her as soon as he could.

Another voice shouts something about the Marshall family farm, but I barely register it. Embarrassment swirls in my stomach, hot and suffocating—Troy spent the morning with Minnie after bringing me to orgasm. And now, instead of dealing withthat, I have to figure out how to protect Liam and get us out of this mess in one piece.

My mind blanks as I clutch Liam to my back, shielding him from the flashing cameras, the shouting voices, the relentless, prying eyes. These people are vultures, circling, hungry for a scandal.

And though part of me wants to turn around, march up to them, and ask,Who the hell do you think you are, ambushing a stranger and a toddler in the Hamptons?—I don’t.

Because right now, my only focus is getting out of here.

“Who’s the child? What’s his name? He looks just like Minnie!” Someone else shouts.

Are you fucking kidding me…

I step towards the curb, trying to put some space between us but the bodies keep closing in. I move to take off again, Liam’s still throwing a fit when suddenly, he trips and is sent flailing to the ground, scraping his knee in a crumbled ball of little limbs half in and out of the street. He lets out a blood-curdling scream and clutches his leg as tears stream down his chubby cheeks.

I bend over to scoop him up, but before I can collect him and take off, I notice a black SUV with tinted windows barreling towards us.

Time slows down, my pulse hammers in my ears with only a second to decide what to do. And without hesitation, I throw myself over Liam, pressing him into the sidewalk, covering every bit of his little body with mine, bracing for impact. And at the last minute, the car screeches to a halt mere inches away from us, just barely sparing my legs.

Someone is using this—this terrifying, heart-pounding moment—as aphoto op.

“Are you out of your fucking minds?!” I roar, still sprawled on the pavement. My pulse is a wild drum, my breath short. The driver. The cameras. The gaping onlookers. They’re just… standing there. I don’t care that I’m swearing in front of Liam. We’ll have a talk later about when and where certain words are appropriate to use, but anear-death experience?

Yeah, I’m giving myself a free pass on using the F word.

My voice shakes with fury, fear, and leftover adrenaline as I scramble to my feet, scooping Liam up and hoisting him onto my back. He clings to me immediately, arms locking around my neck in a desperate grip. He’s still crying—but now, it’s not out of frustration about being pulled from the store.

Now, it’s fear.

Fear ofthem.

The flashing cameras. The relentless voices. The vultures who see a scared little boy and a woman on the pavement and don’tcare about anything but the story—because they’re too busy capturing the moment for clicks and headlines.

“Hold on, I’ve got you,” I whisper to him over my shoulder in a voice that I hope sounds like I know what I’m doing.

I don’t have time to yell at the rest of these assholes, or process what just happened. I shout out anotherfuck you,flip them the bird, holding it there for longer than necessary to be sure they catch it on camera for their headline.

‘Future Governor of North Carolina’s Nanny Cusses on Sidewalk After Near Death Experience.’

I’ll ask Troy for forgiveness later for ruining his perfect reputation but right now, I don’t care what these people think of me.

I spin on my heels and take off, sprinting down the sidewalk, weaving through the crowd with Liam clinging to my back. The flashes of cameras blur into streaks of white behind me, their relentless snapping fading with every pounding step.

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