The gas station grows closer and my hands tremble against the steering wheel as I pull up beside a pump and glance around at the completely empty space.
“You can do this,” I whisper.
I’ve done it a hundred times before. Get out, swipe my card, fill up the tank. Go inside, find the bathroom, get snacks and a drink, and then I can get back on the road.
Easy.
I swallow down the bile climbing up the back of my throat and force myself to reach for the handle.
The quicker I get this done, the sooner I’ll be back on the road.
Cool air rushes around me the second the door opens and I suck in a breath.
The morning sun has been enough to warm the car, but out here the fall air has a bite to it.
Moving through the motions of filling the tank, I track my eyes over the gas station parking lot. There’s just the one car, which I assume belongs to the operator, and the silence is more unnerving than it is comforting.
Once the car is full, I lock it and head inside to find the restroom, which is blissfully clean.
You never know when it comes to a gas station, and I start to think this might actually be my lucky day.
I’m washing my hands when someone knocks on the door, startling a soft cry from my throat.
“Get a grip,” I mumble to myself, quickly moving through the motions of drying my hands before I reach for the door, an apology on my lips. But when I tug at the handle, I’m met with cold blue eyes that make my chest tighten and my stomach roll.
“Thought you could run from us, Duchess?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
DAMON
THEN
TEN YEARS AGO
Ican’t take my eyes off her.
But then again, can I ever?
It’s part of the reason I hate her so fucking much, why her presence makes my skin crawl in a way no one else’s ever has.
Every time she steps into a room, I’m uniquely aware of her every move, of every breath she takes, of every smile she gives. It’s fucking torture.
I move through the motions, accepting congratulations from people I’ve never seen before, forcing a smile when it’s appropriate and holding Mikayla’s hand like it’s my only lifeline.
Which right now it is.
As much as I loathe the idea of marrying her, she’s drowning just as badly as I am, and that’s oddly comforting.
Dad stands beside me, his face stoic as he shakes people’s hands, not a lick of emotion in his cold dead eyes.
The day Mom died, so did he in a lot of ways, and I can’t remember the last time I saw him look anything other than apathetic.
“I’m just so happy for you both, you’re going to make such beautiful babies,” a woman gushes, her hand rubbing my arm in a way that’s too familiar for someone I’d never met before she stepped in front of me thirty seconds ago.
“Thank you for being here,” I grind out, squeezing Mikayla’s hand to stop me from forcibly removing this woman’s touch.
“Of course, dear. Ronald and I are so excited for the big day. Do you have a date in mind?”
