Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
This is fine.
I’ll just head back into civilization tomorrow and pretend this never happened. I’ll get back in my car, try to pawn this stuff for gas money, and go straight to Lyssie.
She’ll gladly take me in.
I’ll sob all over her and we’ll eat ice cream, and then she’ll beat me over the head with a pair of reindeer socks—she wears them year-round—until she forgives me.
A few glorious months from now, it’ll be like none of this ever happened.
I can regroup for a few days in Springfield, laying low, and run away with a better plan.
If only those cicadas or whatever they are weren’t so loud, I might actually be able to get some sleep. I duck under the hood of my sleeping bag, which has the added benefit of making sure said bugs don’t crawl all over my face.
I’m lying on the tent, but still. They can crawl.
And I’m still willing my brain to shut out the creepy crawlies when this weird moaning sound comes from my left.
I bolt up.
Okay, Mother Nature.
Not cool.
We are about to have some serious words, because this is not what I signed up for when I went on this stupid camping disaster without thinking it through.
The next moan comes closer.
I fling myself back in my sleeping bag, finding my shoes and putting them on. That’s it—I’m heading to the RV park I saw a little ways from here. At least over there, I’ll find people around.
Light and familiar noise.
A little community where I won’t just magically disappear alone.
It takes me way too long to stuff the tent and its doohickeys back into this oversized bag. Then I’m on my way in the dark, my phone in my pocket and the light from the moon guiding the way.
Or rather, not guiding the way.
As time ticks by and I clamber over rocks and fallen branches and twigs reach out to scratch my face, I’m coming to the worst conclusion possible. A perfectly rotten close to this disaster of a day.
I am lost.
Totally and utterly.
I wander around for about an hour before giving up and checking my phone to see if I can call emergency services—only to see my phone has ten percent left on its battery. And the service bars look weak, fading in and out as it tries to find a tower.
Holy shit.
I don’t think it’s even going to hold out to call anyone, so I send a quick Snap to Lyssie, taking a picture of the dark and captioning it, Guess where I am! If you find out, please tell me because I have no clue.
There.
Not too panicked.
Nothing embarrassing.
I don’t want to worry her, but also, I am freaking out.
The only thing I can do is press on, though.
Only now I’m facing a different, scarier problem than the one I tried to flee from.
My stomach knots as I push through the dark, hoping I’m going in the right direction, desperately looking and listening for any sign of the RV people.
24
LOST HONEY (ARCHER)
Iread the letter Winnie left for the umpteenth time.
I practically know it by heart at this point, but I can’t stop looking, even when every word feels like a toothpick in the eye.
It’s the saddest fucking letter I’ve ever read in my life.
Winnie, thinking she’s brought so much chaos she’s deleted herself from my life. In her heart, I’m sure the math made sense.
Because I’m the prick who told her.
I fucking told her it wasn’t working, demanding her trust and barking shit, and of course she took that literally.
How many times has she been pushed around by men with egos bigger than their brains? And I went in and threatened to abandon her if she didn’t fall into line.
Now, I’m another name on her long list of disappointments, and I can’t blame her for taking the one way out she had.
She left.
The worst part is, I know what she’s feeling.
I know how she feels about rejection.
Her entire family, her stupid ex-fiancé, the career she had in politics, they all made her feel like less.
Now I’m standing here, gobsmacked that I followed in their footsteps.
Colt shuffles into the kitchen, sees me standing there reading the letter that Winnie stained with her tears, and walks back out again.
What does he know?
“Wait,” I say, lurching after him. He’s been home all day—he probably saw her leave. Maybe she talked to him or said something, or at least—
Goddammit, what? I don’t even know what I want besides having Winnie back.
Colt stops in the hall, folding his arms.
“What do you want?” His voice has an edge that says he’s hiding something.
“Did you know she was leaving?” I demand, not caring that I’m too heartsick to be Mr. Calm Upright Dad of The Century right now.
He shakes his head. “Not until she came into the kitchen with all her bags and that letter. She was crying, Dad.”