Play On - Michelle Smith Page 0,32
all is that I didn’t see it coming. Neither did Momma. It literally came out of nowhere. Maybe it’d be easier if something had led up to it or if something catastrophic had happened right before. Then maybe, maybe it would have made sense. But things were perfect. He was perfect. And then he was gone.
The sun’s already disappeared for the day when I turn onto the main road leading through town. George Strait croons through my truck’s speakers as I stop at a red light and flop back against the headrest, squeezing my eyes closed. The green light brightens my windshield, and I hit the gas, speeding through the intersection. But the second I see her walking in my direction, I slam on the brakes.
Even with my headlights shining right on her, Marisa doesn’t seem to notice that a truck just skidded to a stop in front of her. She continues down the sidewalk, with her head down and hood pulled up. What the hell is she doing out here? I honk the horn, and she jumps, finally looking at the truck. I release the brake and inch forward a little, pulling up right next to her. She crosses her arms as I hit the passenger window button.
“What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this all by yourself?” I call, leaning across the center console. All I get is a blank stare. ’Kay, so she’s possessed. Awesome. “Seriously, you shouldn’t be walkin’ out here alone. You need a ride?”
She shakes her head. All she’s wearing is her Braves jacket, so she’s got to be freezing, unless she’s got an industrial-strength wool sweater on under it.
“I feel like walking,” she calls back. “No big deal. You go ahead.”
“Where’s your car?”
She jerks her thumb over her shoulder. “I left it at the grill.”
And she’s been walking ever since? We’re a solid mile from the grill. A chill shoots through me. I crank the heat up a notch. “Come on. I’ll drive you back there, or I can just give you a ride home if you want. Aren’t your parents freaking out?”
“I don’t want to go home right now. I’m fine. My parents are cool as long as I text them every half hour.” She sighs. “We have an understanding tonight.”
What, is she planning on staying out all night or something? I put the truck in park. “Do they know you left your car in a parking lot and you’re walking?” Her silence is the only answer I need. “Marisa, I can’t leave knowing you’re out here alone. As in, my conscience will eat me alive for the rest of the night. It’s thirty degrees outside. Please get in the truck.”
And I won’t even tell her that drunk assholes still wander the streets in small towns like this. If anything, they’re worse here.
She levels me with a glare I didn’t even know she was capable of. Yikes. “I don’t want to go home,” she repeats, pointing a finger at me as she inches toward the truck. “Got it? Promise you won’t try and trick me.”
I hold up my left hand, placing the right over my chest. “Swear it. If it makes you feel better, I don’t want to go home right now, either. We can be homeless together for a few hours.”
Her face tightens. I understand wanting alone time, but walking by herself in below-freezing weather isn’t the way to get it. Finally, she sighs again and opens the door, climbing inside. She stares straight ahead, silent.
Okay, then. At least I won that battle.
I shift the truck into gear and continue down the road, unsure of where to go next. I know where I wanted to go a few minutes ago, but now I have unexpected cargo. I don’t want her thinking about being the topic of some creeper Lifetime movie.
Momma watches them. Shut up.
We drive for a solid ten minutes before Marisa finally says, “Where’re we going?”
“Where were you heading?” I ask with a quick glance over.
She shrugs, still staring out the windshield. “No idea. I just wanted to be alone for a while.”
Everyone wants to be alone tonight. I stop at the caution light, which casts a yellow glow across her face. There are streaks of missing makeup on her cheeks, and with the black smudges beneath her eyes, it’s clear where they came from. What I wish I knew was why, and how I can make it better. My fingers twitch with the urge to