Before I can go any higher, I need chains.
The shoulder materializes on my right, barely visible through the snow. The one safe place to pull over and do this. Gravel crunches under the tires until I stop, leaving the engine to idle and the windshield wipers to beat a frantic defense against the winter storm.
I sit here for three seconds, pondering.
I’m still in my black cocktail dress, and although I don’t have time to change, I’ve got to get the chains out of the back and attach them to each tire.
I’m going to freeze my ass off, maybe even get frostbite on my fingers.
I peer into the rearview mirror and glimpse nothing but darkness, snow, and the empty road.
For now.
After snatching my coat from the backseat, I push open the door, the wind whipping through my stockings as I stumble out. Shuddering, I quickly zip up the jacket. I should have planned better.
Though hypothermia might be a preferable death to whatever Max has in store for me.
Snow quickly accumulates on my hair and shoulders. My heels sink into the gravel and slush piled on the side of the road.
I walk on the balls of my feet and cling to the side of the truck to reach the back. The wind kicks up, rocking the vehicle on its suspension and blowing into the slit of my skirt, freezing me even faster.
I open the tailgate, and the bag full of snow chains rattles and thunks. The rough, woven handles bite into my chilled hands as I pull the bag free.
Starting with the rear tires seems simplest, so I squat down, tucking the skirt of my dress under my legs to hold it in place and hopefully stop the wind from gushing through.
The chains are heavy, hooked, and have been rattling around in the truck bed for the better part of a year. It takes several long minutes to untangle them. By then, my mind is so numb from the cold that I have to pull out the manual to remember how to start.
The instructions flutter in the wind, so I pin them down with rocks before squinting at them in the red glow from my taillights.
Step one, lay the chains flat on the ground in front of the tire.
Flat? On this ground?
This is going to suck.
I drop to my knees in the slush. Gray water soaks through my dress and coat, weighing the fabric down and adding to my misery. Working the hooks, I slowly roll the chains out. Next, I try to mimic the instructions by forming a straight line in front of the tire I’m working on.
With that done, I struggle to my feet, my toes throbbing from the cold. I hobble forward to the driver’s side front tire with another set of chains.
By the time I reach the last tire, my feet have gone numb. That’s both a blessing and a curse. Walking no longer hurts, but staying upright in these heels demands more concentration than I have to offer.
Now to drive over the chains.
Back inside the car, I shuck off the soaked coat, and for a few minutes, I relish in the rush of warmth and the returning blood flow. As soon as enough sensation comes back to my feet, I put the vehicle in drive.
Estimating how far I need to go before shifting the vehicle into park again, I inch forward.
After that, I spare a couple more precious moments to soak up more heat. Exhaustion weighs on my shoulders as I recline against the headrest and sigh.
When I refocus, two pinpricks of light appear in the rearview mirror.
They’re still miles back, with several switchbacks between us. It’s difficult to distinguish exactly how many through the falling flurries.
No one else is this insane. No one else would be on this road, in this storm, at this hour.
No one but…Max.
Fear pierces through the icy numbness that’s taken my body captive.
