Page 2 of Sunrise & Serenity

New York’s photography scene, which had opened its arms to me when my name was linked to his, turned its attention to something newer and shinier almost overnight.

Doors that used to be open to me suddenly weren’t.

Mia’s call couldn’t have come at a better time. A ranch near Silverford, the small Colorado town she now calls home, was looking for a photographer for a three-month contract. One hastily arranged interview with the ranch manager and co-owner, Sterling McBride, and a secondhand car purchase later, I was driving west.

Easing my foot almost completely off the accelerator, I navigate a blind corner, only exhaling once I’m around the bend. The rain-smeared glow of my headlights reveals the same thing I’ve seen for the past ten miles.

A dark, wet road without a single other soul in sight.

But on the other side of this mountain lies the career stepping stone I desperately need. Wild Ember. A working ranch that, according to Sterling, is about to become a premium agritourism destination. My job will be to capture it on camera so future guests can picture themselves there. Horses in open fields. Scenic trails. Dusty cattle roundups and mountain sunrises.

It sounds perfect.

Right now, anywhere that isn’t New York City sounds perfect.

So I’m going to spend the next three months photographing the hell out of Wild Ember Ranch. It might not lead to gallery shows or international acclaim, but it will be a start. An accomplishment built on my work—not on Graham’s name.

Another bolt of lightning makes me flinch. Never mind accomplishing something on my own. At this point, I’ll be lucky to make it to Mia’s in one piece.

A few miles later, the hammering of the rain on the roof eases, and the next flash of lightning isn’t followed quite so quickly by a crash of thunder. I finally loosen my cramped grip on the steering wheel and let my head fall back against the headrest.

Arriving for my new job on the heels of a storm may not be ideal, but there’s a certain symmetry to it. From a stormy ending in New York to a stormy start in Colorado.

I roll my eyes at that overly dramatic thought, then flick another glance at the GPS. Less than half an hour away now. Thank god.

My muscles loosen further.

The thought of a cozy catch-up chat with Mia, perhaps with a glass of wine, has me pressing the accelerator a little harder.

A flash of movement at the edge of my vision is the only warning I have before some kind of large deer bounds in front of the car. My heart catapults into my throat as I instinctively slam on the brakes and jerk the steering wheel to the side.

For a split second, my headlights freeze-frame the animal, its delicate head thrown back, a huge white-rimmed eye rolling toward me as I bear down on it in what feels like slow motion.

Then, with an almost impossible leap, it’s gone, crashing into the brush and trees on the far side of the road.

I don’t have time to be grateful I didn’t hit it. I’m too busy grappling with the wheel as my car spins and slides sickeningly on the wet road. As the front end drops sharply, I scream, imagining myself plunging off the edge of the mountain.

With a sudden jolt, I come to a stop.

My heart thunders in my ears. I stay frozen, hands still clutching the steering wheel, staring straight ahead, afraid to move. My terror lessens as I realize I’m not hanging off the side of a cliff. The car’s just wedged nose-down in the ditch on the opposite side of the road.

The fear, the rush of adrenaline, and everything that’s been building in my chest over the past few weeks burst out of me. I rest my forehead against the steering wheel and dissolve into tears.

Sobs I’ve been holding back since the moment my relationship—and career—imploded burn my throat. For the first time, I don’t force them down. Here, on this dark, wet, lonely Colorado road, I let it all pour out. All the anger, heartache, and self-doubt erupt in a storm almost as violent as the one I’ve been driving through.

But in the same way the weather has eased, my tears eventually subside.

With a shuddering breath, I wipe my eyes with the backs of my hands. Then I let out a slightly hysterical laugh, even though there isn’t a single part of this situation that’s funny.

Once my hands stop shaking, I twist the key in the ignition. The engine coughs and turns over, but when I shift into reverse and press the accelerator, a harsh metallic clunk echoes from beneath me. The engine revs, but the car doesn’t move. Instead, a horrible grinding noise comes from the same spot as the clunk.

Air leaves my lungs in a rush, and I close my eyes, summoning what little calm I still possess.

Okay, I had cell reception when Mia called, so I can hopefully call for help. I check my phone screen, perking up at the sight of the single bar still visible.

Unfortunately, the battery icon is red. I might only have enough power for one call.

Gnawing on my bottom lip, I weigh my options. I could call Mia, but if she’s already put Ruby to bed, it might be hard for her to come get me. And searching for a local tow truck driver will probably drain the remaining battery before I can even make a call.