Page 4 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

I imagined buying Pops the truck I’d promised him.

I imagined a hundred different versions of my future.

Every single one of them felt possible and so utterly attainable it was almost too good to be true.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the sponsorship and what it might mean for me and my grandparents. It would be life changing.

By the time I crossed into Tennessee, I’d already mentally spent money I hadn’t earned.

I’d buy Pops a new truck.

Not a used one.

Not something practical.

A brand-new truck with all the bells and whistles he constantly complained about.

The kind he’d swear he didn’t need while secretly showing it off to every person in Willow Creek. Walter Jones would tease him about it constantly, but I knew deep down he’d be happy for my old Pops. That’s what best friends did.

He’d act annoyed, and Meme would roll her eyes because she hated anything extravagant.

The sky had darkened, thick gray clouds stretching across the horizon. Rain tapped lightly against the windshield. I slowed down, sticking to the right lane so I wouldn’t irritate any faster vehicles. This had been why I left early, so I could drive slower with Blueberry in case something happened.

My phone buzzed in the cupholder, Meme’s face flashing on my iPhone. I smiled immediately. She was probably calling to remind me to eat something besides gas station snacks.

Or to make sure I’d remembered my lucky belt buckle. Or maybe she’d forgotten what she’d wanted to tell me and was calling just in case.

I reached for the phone. Then paused. She’d kill me if she knew I answered while driving in the rain.

The phone stopped buzzing. And I mentally reminded myself to call her back when I pulled in at the next gas station. The rain fell heavier, and Blueberry shook the trailer with her discomfort, causing the truck to sway.

A second later, headlights flashed in my rearview mirror. Way too bright. I frowned and put my hazards on in case the truck couldn’t see us in the downpour.

But the truck behind me was moving faster than what was safe. The headlights drifted to the left, off the road, and then back on. I could barely make out the dark truck hanging in my blind spot. The driver corrected and then drifted again, causing an icy trail to skate down my spine as my heart began to race.

I couldn’t speed up or slow down, nor could I see very far in front of me. My stomach squeezed harshly. Something wasn’t right.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, both hands digging into the worn leather. The dark truck suddenly surged past me in the left lane. For one brief second, I thought they were passing.

Then the driver overcorrected. The truck fishtailed. The headlights swung sideways. Straight toward me.

“Oh my God!”

Time slowed. Blueberry’s shrill cry had me gripping the wheel with all my strength. I slammed my foot onto the brake, trying to avoid the truck that was spinning in front of me.

The trailer jerked violently. The steering wheel shook beneath my hands.

There was nowhere to go.

Nowhere.

The truck filled my windshield. The glass shattered, slicing my skin as metal crunched around me, the noise so deafening I couldn’t hear my own scream.

The world spun so violently, I didn’t know where to look or to hold on.

White-hot pain flashed through as the truck came to a halt.

Please let Blueberry be okay.