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But that wasn’t me.
I wanted more.
So, I packed up my stuff and left. I waited until my father went to work, packed up everything I could into the suitcases I owed, and tossed them in my car. My mother was too busy picking out my dress for my date tonight that she didn’t even hear me leave. I sat in my car for ten whole minutes, wondering if anyone would come out and look for me.
But they were all so preoccupied with the pathetic lives they had fallen into that no one noticed my absence.
It didn’t matter. I was going to set off and do my own thing. I didn’t know what I was going to do with my life, but I knew I wanted to do something. I had enough business acumen from listening to my father ramble on to be of use to someone. Maybe I could open my own business. An independent business for independent women wanting to create a new life for themselves. I dreamed about it as I wove my way out of town. How I would decorate my store. What services I could offer women transitioning into a harsh world from a family who kept them from it. I dreamed of a life where I could walk onto stages and give lectures to thousands of people. How I could use my life story to inspire others and create easy-to-follow programs to help people reclaim their lives again.
But the daydreaming caused me to take some wrong turns, and I found myself trapped in an endless maze of nameless roads.
“Here. This should help.”
I looked up from the fire as my vision began to clear. I wasn’t even aware that I was still crying. The hope I had this morning when I ran away from home had quickly turned to fear. If my parents found out I had run away and somehow managed to track me down, I would be done for. I’d be under lock-and-key for the rest of my life. I would never hear the end of it and I would be married off to the first man who decided he could tolerate me. I would never get another chance to convince my family that I could make it in the real world. That I could make my own empire and create my own life and live it by my terms.
Because doing that just this morning got me a broken-down car and a near-imminent death.
A large pair of hands tucked the soft blanket around my body. The fire continued to roar in the fireplace while my vision slowly began to clear. I looked around the part of the room I could see and was dazzled by its beauty. I was lying on cherry mahogany hardwood floors and was surrounded by the softest furniture I’d ever laid eyes on. The cushions underneath me were as soft as clouds as I looked up at high-vaulted ceiling that would make my mother envious.
It was a beautiful home. Very reminiscent of a cabin.
“Where am I?” I asked.
But instead of the voice answering me, it stayed silent.
“Hello?”
I rolled over onto my back and caught the gaze of the man taking care of me. His amber-colored eyes took me by surprise with how guarded they were. His dark grown hair was shaggy around his forehead and his strong jawline caught my attention. Even with the lack of a smile upon his face, I could tell he had dimples. Deep-set dimples on both of his cheeks that probably lit up his eyes whenever he chanced to smile.
He was beautiful. Breathtaking even.
“Where am I?” I asked again.
“My home,” the man said.
“Where is your home?” I asked.
“Not too far from where you crashed.”
I watched him get up from beside me and venture over to a chair. For the first time since I had become aware that he existed, I got a full look at his stature. He was massive. Broad in his shoulders and strong in his legs. His chest
was stacked with muscles and his neck pulsed with veins. Even though he sat down in a chair with his long legs spread, it felt like he loomed over me.
Except his presence wasn’t uncomfortable.
It was more… protective.
“Is my car okay?” I asked.
But this time, he didn’t answer.
“I just… had a lot of my stuff in there. Is it all going to be okay through the storm?”
And still… silence.
I was thrown off by it. He had been so willing to talk earlier when he didn’t think I was listening. Had he been talking to himself? I could’ve sworn he had been talking to me. Actually trying to hold a conversation with me. His voice had been steady and powerful. Commanding, but calm. I wanted to know more about him. I wanted to keep asking him questions. But I knew what it felt like to be forced to do something I didn’t want to do.
And if he didn’t want to talk, I wasn’t going to make him.
