Page 78 of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart

“Are you sure? I think there might be more legroom in front.”

“Trust me, the difference isn’t going to matter,” I muttered.

I tossed my bag in first and then proceeded to fold myself up and into the backseat. Merritt climbed in next to me.

“Hi!” the bubbly woman said from the front seat. “I’m Lucia. Do you remember me from the funeral?”

“I do,” I said. “Kannon.”

She grinned. “I know.”

The backseat of Lucia’s lime green Mini Cooper was not designed for someone over six feet tall. I felt like a pretzel, my legs folded awkwardly, my knees crammed against the back of the front seat. Every bump in the road sent me lurching forward, my head dangerously close to smacking the ceiling. Meanwhile, Lucia drove like she was auditioning for a stunt driver gig, and Dominique’s commentary wasn’t helping.

“I’m going to puke,” Dominique groaned from the front passenger seat, gripping the door handle like her life depended on it.

Lucia shot her an unimpressed look. “Puke in your purse, not my car.”

The car lurched again as Lucia slammed on the brakes for no apparent reason, then immediately floored the gas. I glanced at Merritt and gave her a desperate look that screamed, Get me out of this death trap.

She laughed. “Lucia, you’re scaring Kannon and he speeds around on a motorcycle.”

Lucia glanced over her shoulder, turning all the way around to give me what I assumed was meant to be a reassuring smile. Her eyes, however, were not on the road. “Oh, please. I’m super familiar with Miami traffic. My dad was a race car driver, and he taught me how to drive. My reaction times are⁠—”

“Lucia!” Dominique shrieked, grabbing the steering wheel as we swerved out of our lane. The car next to us honked loudly. Lucia responded by flipping them off and shouting a string of expletives.

“Keep your hands to yourself, Dominique,” Lucia snapped, wrenching the wheel back into our lane. “You could have killed us.”

“You were going to hit that car!” Dominique argued.

“Not even close,” Lucia countered, revving up the engine and dodging in between two larger vehicles as if proving her point. I tightened my grip on the handle above my window, wincing as my knuckles started throbbing.

“We’re almost there,” Merritt comforted, touching my knee gently. “I would think this is right up your alley of thrills and close calls.”

“No. I know what I’m doing when I’m in control.”

She grinned. “Ah, so it’s a control thing.”

“No, it’s a living thing. It’s an ‘I don’t want the firemen to have to use a can opener to get me out of this metal box’ thing.”

She giggled again. “She’s always like this.”

“Well, it’s been nice knowing all of you. See you soon, Gary.”

Lucia and Dominique both gave me confused looks, clearly not getting the joke about Gary’s recent passing, but Merritt surprised me by laughing. It was enough to make me relax for half a second—until Lucia made another sudden turn that nearly sent me flying into Merritt’s lap.

“Lucia!” I roared, louder than I intended, as I was thrown back into my seat.

Her eyes flickered in the rearview mirror and her lips curved into a wicked grin. “Relax, Mr. Tough Guy. I’m a professional.”

“At what?”

Just then, the lime green monstrosity of a car skidded to a halt. By some miracle, we made it to Merritt’s beachfront condo in one piece. I climbed out of the car like a man who’d just been released from captivity, stretching my legs and vowing to never ride with Lucia again. My aching limbs from the bike wreck were really screaming now.

“See? We’re here, safe and sound!” Lucia said cheerfully, locking the car.

Dominique muttered something under her breath, but I was too busy glaring at the Mini Cooper to care. Merritt touched my arm, her expression amused. “Come on, drama queen. Let’s go upstairs.”

We headed up to Merritt’s condo, and once inside, I had to admit it was a nice place. The kind of spot you’d expect from someone who’d landed on their feet. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed a view of the ocean and the salty breeze drifted in through an open sliding door.