Page 4 of Bossy Mountain Daddies
My hands shake as I load everything into the passenger seat of my car. An hour ago, I had a boyfriend, an apartment, and a job. Now I'm running away to Wyoming with whatever I can fit in my grandfather's old Mustang and whatever cash I could pull from the ATM.
As I drive back to the apartment, I keep checking the time, calculating when Daniel and Alicia would have left. He has a client meeting at two. She has a marketing meeting at one-thirty. The apartment should definitely be empty.
Relief washes over me when I don't see Daniel's BMW in its usual spot in the parking garage. I hurry upstairs, heart pounding as I unlock the door, half-expecting to find them still there, still in my bed. But the apartment is silent. The bed is slightly rumpled from their activities, and I turn away from it, feeling like I could throw up.
I grab my biggest suitcase from the closet and start throwing clothes in it. Jeans, t-shirts, hoodies, underwear, socks. I avoidlooking at the lingerie Daniel bought me for Valentine's Day. I contemplate shredding it to pieces and leaving it on his pillow. But I don’t have time—I need to get the fuck out of here.
In the bathroom, I sweep my toiletries into a bag. Toothbrush, face wash, deodorant, makeup. My fingers brush against Daniel's expensive cologne, and I resist the urge to smash it against the tile floor.
My laptop goes into my backpack, along with my journal, the family photo album I keep in my nightstand, and the small box of jewelry that includes my mother's wedding ring. I don't bother with books or kitchen items or bed linens. I remember to grab my favorite pillow just as I’m about to walk out of the bedroom.
Fifteen minutes. That's all it takes to pack up the pieces of my life I care about.
I hesitate before leaving, pen hovering over a scrap of paper. What do you say to someone who shattered your trust? In the end, I write simply: "I know about you and Alicia. Don't contact me." I leave the note on the kitchen counter.
One last look at the apartment that never really felt like mine anyway. The gray couch Daniel insisted on that's too hard and too shallow to curl up on comfortably. The abstract art prints he chose that do nothing for me. The sleek coffee table where we ate takeout while watching shows I pretended to like.
I close the door behind me, and it feels like closing a chapter. I know I’ll have to come back eventually to get the rest of my stuff, but for now I’m done with this place.
Back in the parking garage, I load my bags into Grandpa's 1967 Mustang. The red paint is faded in places, and the chrome isn't as shiny as it once was, but the engine purrs when I turn the key.
"Come on, Poppy," I murmur, patting the dashboard affectionately. "We've got a long drive ahead of us."
When Grandpa died six years ago, everyone was surprised he'd left the car to me instead of one of my male cousins. But I'd spent countless summer afternoons handing him tools while he tinkered under the hood, soaking up his explanations about carburetors and timing belts, mesmerized by the way his weathered hands could coax life back into metal parts.
Poppy and I have history. We've weathered storms together—literal ones, like the flash flood two years ago that almost swept us away, and figurative ones, like the night I drove for hours after getting the call about my parents' accident, tears blurring the road ahead.
I point us toward the highway, the familiar rhythm of the engine settling my nerves. Three hours to the Wyoming border, another three to Charlotte's place. I can make it before midnight if I push through.
As the city disappears behind me, my thoughts drift back to Daniel. Three years together. Three years of building a life, making plans, imagining a future—all of it meaningless now. Was he cheating on me the whole time? Were there other women before Alicia?
My hands tighten on the steering wheel. My throat aches with unshed tears, but I refuse to cry for him again. I crank up the radio instead, letting some angry woman with a guitar drown out my thoughts.
By the time I reach the foothills, my fury has cooled into something more determined. There's a strange freedom in having everything fall apart. No job holding me back. No boyfriend to consider. No apartment lease to worry about. Just me and the open road and a friend waiting at the end of it.
My phone rings, Charlotte's name flashing on the screen.
"Hey," I answer, "I'm on the road. Sorry, I forgot to text you."
"Good," she says, and I can hear her relief. "Did you go back to the apartment?"
"Yeah. He wasn't there. I left a note."
"What did it say?"
"Just that I know about him and Alicia and not to contact me." I pause. "It wasn't much of a goodbye."
"He doesn't deserve a goodbye," Charlotte says firmly. "Did you take everything you needed?"
"Everything important," I confirm, watching the mountains grow larger on the horizon. "I'll have to figure out the rest later."
"We'll figure it out together," she says. "Where are you now?"
"Heading into the mountains." The landscape has changed, buildings giving way to pines and rocky outcroppings. "Should be at your place around eleven if I don't stop too much."
"I'll have wine and ice cream waiting," Charlotte promises. "And a shoulder to cry on if you need it."
"Thanks," I say, my voice catching. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
