Page 78

"Josie, wait—"

"I'm sorry."

"No, do not hang up on—"

I ended the call.

Inside, Derek turned over again.

The bedroom went quiet.

I stayed crouched on the landing, phone clenched in both hands, and counted to ten.

No footsteps came.

I stood.

My keys were already in my pocket. My boots were already lined beside the apartment door, but getting them meant going back in farther than I needed to.

I looked down at my socks.

Then at the parking lot.

No packing.

Nothing to pack.

I eased the door open, reached one arm around the frame, hooked both boots by their pull tabs, and withdrew without stepping inside. The door closed. Clover shifted against my ribs as I straightened. Everything I owned, and I could carry it in a coat.

I carried the boots down the concrete stairs.

By the time I reached the truck, snow had begun to move through the parking-lot lights in thin, hard slashes.

***

I was moving before the heater found warm air.

Boots on in the truck, laces loose. Socks wet at the toes from the landing. Seat belt. Headlights. Reverse.

Four minutes after the apartment door closed, I merged west with both hands locked around the wheel and Derek's building shrinking in the mirror.

I checked the mirror once.

Bozeman at three in the morning looked stripped to infrastructure. Wet asphalt. Traffic lights changing for nobody. Gas stations bright and empty. The truck's heater blew cold against my knuckles, then lukewarm, then finally hot enough to hurt.

My phone sat in the dash cradle.

Mine.

At the Four Corners junction, the snow came in sideways.

One moment the windshield held scattered white needles. The next, the intersection disappeared behind a hard sweep of weather, flakes driven horizontal through the beams. The wipers shoved them away and they returned faster. A plow went east with its amber lights revolving, blade throwing sparks where it touched bare pavement.

Every person with sense was heading the other direction.

I turned west.

Once the truck settled into the lane, I searched for the Bluebird's number at a red light, hit call, and put both hands back on the wheel.