Page 94 of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart

“With you? Anytime,” I said, meaning every word. This trip, despite my reservations about the transportation, had shown me a side of Merritt I had not known before.

Merritt got a text. “Lucia is here.”

“Heaven help us.”

She swatted my ass and we headed down to the street. There was a part of me hoping Lucia may have bought a new car between the time she picked us up at the airport and that moment.

No such luck.

She sat in her deathtrap of a car and waved at us.

“You can sit in the front,” Merritt offered.

I looked at the seat and shook my head. “No thanks.”

“There’s more room.”

“And it just puts me in a front row seat to whatever disaster there might be. If she thought Dominique grabbing the wheel was bad, she’s not going to like what I do. It’s better for everyone if I put my ass in the back.”

Merritt smiled. “Okay. Suit yourself.”

She gave me a quick kiss. Once again, I crammed myself into the backseat and said a quiet prayer. I didn’t bother with the seatbelt. For one, I didn’t think I could reach for it. And two, if there was a wreck, I honestly didn’t think my body was going anywhere. I was in this thing for better or for worse.

Lucia revved the engine, a sound oddly akin to a senior dog growling in its sleep. “Ready to rock?”

“No,” I said sullenly.

Merritt giggled and buckled up. I made a mental note to write a thank-you note to whoever invented airbags—though I doubted they would be enough in this matchbox car.

As Lucia maneuvered out of the parking lot, each turn was accompanied by the ominous creaking of the Mini’s suspension. It sounded suspiciously like she was navigating a pirate ship rather than a car. Merritt caught my eye in the rearview mirror, her smile as bright as the Florida sun.

“We’re just stopping for gas, then straight to the airport,” Lucia announced over the sound of some pop song playing through the car’s battered speakers.

Merritt chatted animatedly with Lucia about plans for future trips, about coming back to Miami, and where she was going to take me next.

Lucia whipped into the parking lot of the gas station, practically on two wheels. I grimaced as the car jerked to the right between the pumps that suddenly felt way too narrow despite the size of the tiny car.

Merritt turned to look at me. “Want anything from inside?”

“A helmet?”

She laughed. “You’ll be fine.”

Lucia was already filling up the car.

“I feel like a jackass for letting her pump the gas,” I muttered. “If I was a guy and I saw me sitting in the backseat while a woman pumped the gas, I’d call him out.”

“Lucia is a very capable woman. She doesn’t need you to pump her gas. Screw whoever has a problem with that. Besides, you’d probably fall out trying to get out of the car right now, giving her an extra job of hauling you back inside.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Fair point. You might have to grease me up to slide me out.”

Just then, Lucia finished up, hopped back into the driver’s seat, and slammed the door with more force than seemed necessary. “Alrighty, off to the airport we go!”

The car sputtered to life once more and we were off, darting out of the gas station like she was leaving the pit lane of a racetrack.”

The road to the airport wasn’t long, but with Lucia’s driving, it felt more like a roller coaster than a car ride. Every sharp turn and sudden stop sent my heart into my throat. I clung to the seat, secretly praying for our safe arrival and promising to never skip a Sunday mass again if we made it in one piece.

Merritt seemed unfazed by Lucia’s aggressive maneuvers. As we approached the airport, the traffic thickened, and Lucia’s patience seemed to thin. She wove through cars with a precision that was almost terrifying, earning honks and more than a few angry shouts.