Page 1 of One Night Rebellion
1
Addie
The banging, clanging, and anxiety-provoking noise coming from beneath the hood of my car is quite literally the last thing I need. I just finished my last final. I start a brand-new job with my shiny new diploma in three days. Do I have money for car repairs? Of course not. Do I have money for a new car? Ha! After I pay rent, I’ll be lucky if I can buy a Hot Wheel.
Easing over onto the side of the road, I pull my phone out from the console and then the cuss words just start flying. Yes, I’ve needed to replace my charging cable for a while now. It was iffy at best more than a month ago, and every time I’ve used it since then, I have to practically origami the cord just to make sure it’s actually charging. And this time? I didn’t. And now I’m stuck on the side of the road between Lexington and Bellehaven with a busted-down car and a phone with three percent battery life.
“Fuck my life,” I whisper to the interior of the car. “And fuck you, you disloyal piece of shit. Would it have killed you to last even a couple more weeks?”
It’s not the first conversation I’ve had with Myrtle, and it probably won’t be the last. And yeah, I named my car. I gave her an old lady name because in terms of vehicles, an early aughts Buick is definitely an old lady.
I check my el-cheapo fitness tracker. If I’d sprung for the pricier model, I could place a call through it. Or at the very least send a text to my stepdad to come get me.
“Shit. Just shit!”
I grab my purse from the floorboard of the passenger side and tuck my dead phone inside it before climbing out. It’s four miles to the closest gas station on the outskirts of Bellehaven. I’m in sneakers, at least. Of course, my feet are killing me from pulling a six-hour shift waiting tables. But the tips had been good and those tips were paying the bulk of my monthly bills, so even though I may moan, groan, and shed a few tears, I can’t really complain.
I’m only about ten yards from my car when I see the fanned-out rays of headlights. Glancing over my shoulder, I frown. It’s a car I don’t recognize and if I’d ever seen it, I would remember it. Classic muscle cars in pristine, mint condition are not exactly thick on the ground.
While the reasonable part of me says that criminals try to blend in and would likely not be driving a car that would draw so much attention, my true-crime-obsessed anxious self is going over the perfect storm of malfunctions that make me the perfect victim of opportunity. No transportation. No communication. No one at home to worry when I don’t show up. No classes to attend for my absence to be noted. And tomorrow is my day off, so not even a no call, no show at work to rouse concern. I’m a damn serial killer’s dream come true right now.
The car slows down, the window rolling down—old school with crank—and the driver leans over far enough for me to see his face.
The shock of recognition has me stumbling, tripping over my feet even as I’m struggling to stay upright.
“You need a lift?”
I can’t speak. I can’t even form words.
“Hey, if you’re not comfortable taking the ride, that’s fine… but at least use my phone to call a tow.”
“JT?”
He frowns and cocks his head to the side, trying to hide his grin and failing a little bit. “Do we know each other?”
OMG. Does he seriously have no idea who I am? Of course, the last time I saw him I was an awkward sixteen-year-old and he had breezed into Bellehaven for Sierra’s birthday, some unbearably hot and sophisticated chick hanging off him. “Umm, yeah. We know each other.”
He grins at me then. “How do we know each other?”
“Cut the crap, JT! You know who I am!”
“I do know,” he says. “You look good, Addie. A little more grown than I remember.”
“If you hadn’t stayed gone for eight years, it might not be such a shock,” I point out. And then I start walking, marching along the shoulder of the road as he rolls slowly next to me. I’m not looking at him. I’m unreasonably mad at him for having the audacity to be older than me, hotter than me, and not inclined to wait for me to grow up enough for my girlhood crush to not be inappropriate.
“Addie?” he shouts, over the rumbling engine.
“What, JT?””
“Get in the damn car. Are you crazy? You can’t just be wandering around out here by yourself. Do you even know half the shit that could happen to you out here?”
“I’m not a kid anymore. You don’t get to say jump and have me ask how high,” I point out. But I get in the car anyway. I’mnot stupid. I do know the dangers of being out here all by myself. And JT, even though I’ve not seen him in forever, is trustworthy.
He clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “I know I’ve not been around in a while, but we used to be friends, Ad. Why the hostility?”
“That tends to happen when you vanish for eight years. Eight. Fucking. Years,” I tell him. My tone is a little sharper than it should be.
He doesn’t respond to that, but I see his hands tense on the wheel as he pulls out. The interior of the car goes quiet. Even the rumbling of the engine can only do so much. The silence is so thick and heavy. Finally, he says, “I didn’t like coming back here—no, it was hard to come back here.”
