Page 115 of What We Burn

She’s in a car.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck. Fuck!

I shove the reading logs aside and start the engine. U-turn in front of a postal truck. Somebody leans on a horn. It doesn’t register. Nothing matters but the dot.

I can’t lose her again.

Heart in my throat, I drive erratically until I spot her two miles from the diner. She’s a blur of hair and a denim jacket in the passenger seat of a blue Honda.

Jamie’s at the wheel. There’s no sign of distress. If anything, she’s laughing, head thrown back, eyes bright, hand out the window catching air.

Not running, then. Not in trouble. Just—out. With Jamie. A man I have never once had to think about.

I breathe a little easier, hang back, and loosen my grip on the wheel one finger at a time. I put a little distance between us, letting the Honda get two cars ahead.

She’s okay.

Sage glances in the mirror once, and I know she’s checking for me, but I’m good at this. Always have been.

I cut over to the next lane, slow at the light, and track them as they hook a right onto the strip, then up the winding causeway that crosses the bay.

They’re not being subtle. Jamie’s stereo is up—bass so heavy I feel the beat through my own windshield. They fly past the turn for Sage’s apartment, past the boardwalk, out toward the malls by the harbor. I relax a notch.

They’re headed to the shopping mall.

My phone buzzes.

Milo

Hey, just clocked Kitten leaving out the back on the diner cams. She with you?

My thumb hovers. The lie forms before the thought does.

Me

Yeah. She got off early. We’re grabbing food.

MILO

You’re talking again? Awesome! Tell her I said hi.

I put the phone down. The dot turns inland. Definitely the mall.

I get another text three minutes later.

Knox

App shows Fury’s on the move. Status?

Me

She’s with me. Got off early.

Knox

Copy.