though, when I notice the car in my rearview mirror. Something about the shape of the lights niggles in the back of my mind. I change lanes . . . and the car does too. I slow down to let them pass . . . but they slow down too.
I speed up, but the other car closes the distance, and my heart freezes when I finally recognize the car. It’s Rich. The black matte paint, a custom job that was his pride and joy.
I step on the gas harder, but I’m driving a twenty-year-old Toyota with wheezy valves and a worn automatic transmission that even right off the assembly line has an engine like two hamsters under the hood.
Meanwhile, Rich is driving a car with three hundred and seventy-five horsepower, a number he drilled into me. He must’ve bragged about it a thousand times. The wide tires grab the pavement and gobble up the distance between us, and as he gets close enough, I can see the grin on Rich’s face.
Terror grips me as I whip around a curve, but he takes it easily, seconds later back on my bumper so close I think he’s going to run me off the road. I lay on my horn, hoping to get him to back off or to get someone’s attention, but it’s late, and we’re in an industrial part of town. Nobody’s nearby.
I whip the car left and right, trying to shake Rich, but he’s on my bumper like a magnet. As we pass a warehouse, he bumps me from behind. Not hard, just a tap, but enough to tell me he’s not fucking around. He’s upping the ante, ready to play a game I’m nowhere near prepared to handle against a psychopath.
I cry out and press the gas harder, but I was already almost to the floor, and my leg quakes with the force. I see another turn up ahead, and I swing right, hoping to make it to the gas station ahead, but it’s still about a mile away, the light of the sign filling my vision like a beacon of hope.
The scream that comes out of my throat as Rich taps me again, sending my car careening out of control, is louder than the scream of the bodywork of the Toyota letting go. My rear tire gives out, and I feel the car start to flip as darkness overtakes me.
Chapter 29
Scott
My phone’s vibrating like crazy in the car seat beside me, but it’s just Dad. Fuck him. I ignore it, letting him leave his messages to rant. He wouldn’t understand and it’d just enrage him more if I answered and told him what I’m doing.
The drive to Stella’s, which normally takes just over thirty minutes most nights, takes almost four hours, putting me more and more on edge with the need to see Maddie and apologize, plead, grovel, whatever it takes. It’s just after midnight by the time I pull into the parking lot. I slam the car in park and all but run in. “Maddie!”
Tiffany, who’s working a mop across the floor, looks up. “You.” There’s enough venom in her voice that I know Madison has told her everything.
“Where’s Madison?” I ask, trying to choke down the panic rising in my throat. “I . . . I need to talk to her.”
“She’s had enough of creepy fucking exes tonight,” Tiffany says, turning back to her mopping. “Get the fuck out of here.”
“Tiffany, please. I love her. I need to at least apologize to her,” I reply softly. Tiff doesn’t even turn around, and my chin drops in defeat as I run my fingers through my hair, searching my mind for something, anything I can say.
“You look like shit.” Tiff says, and I look up to find her watching me curiously.
“She’s everything,” I say simply, but then try to explain the depth of my madness. “I had a huge victory at work today, a project I worked my ass off on for months, but when everyone was celebrating, I felt . . . empty. I don’t even fucking care anymore. None of it matters without her. I just want Madison, not under my thumb but right beside me. My strong, beautiful Maddie who doesn’t do a damn thing I expect and couldn’t care less about my last name.” My eyes roll up to the ceiling as I fight the tears threatening to spill. Dammit, I’m a fucking monster of a man in a business suit. I’m not gonna