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A slight grin curls around his cigarette. “In case you haven’t noticed, this ain’t no Mercedes.”
“How do you live in this inferno of a state without air con?”
He rests his elbow on the sill, holding his hand out the window. “Sorry we don’t live somewhere that better suits your needs.”
"Are you this hateful in actual life, or is it just me that brings the douchebag out of you? You don't even know me."
A puff of smoke wafts toward me. The wicked glare he chucks in my direction could kill me dead a hundred times over. "I don't need to know you, nor do I care to. I had one job, and I'm doing it."
I don't know who pissed in this guy's Cheerios this morning, but I really hope everyone around here isn't this much of an asshole.
He cuts the wheel hard. I slide down the bench seat, almost tumbling into his lap as he flicks the cigarette butt into thestreet. "Where did you get your driver's license? You have got to be the worst driver in the history of all drivers. I'll make sure to write a letter to whoever hired you to leave a scathing review."
“You gonna leave me a negative mark on Yelp, princess?” The words string from his lips in a slow drawl, his tongue extending theSlike a snake.
“Stop calling me that. My name is Ellie.”
“Like I care.”
I bite my tongue to keep from lashing out. I can’t believe I thought this jerk was good looking. For a split second, I thought maybe moving to Texas wasn’t the worst thing that could happen—then he spoke.
For the rest of the ride, I stare out the window. The long stretch of monotonous highway turns to modest homes and dilapidated buildings. The farther we go, the worse it seems. My stomach twists as he pulls onto an unpaved road. Trees line our passage, then open to a clearing where a quaint, well-kept home sits by itself.
A cloud of dirt kicks up from the tires when they come to a sudden halt. I punt the door open with my foot and jump out, thrilled to be free from the confines of his smoke-infested truck. A woman I can only assume is Cindy emerges through the worn screen door. She smiles when she sees me. “Ellie Cartwright, you made it!”
“I did,” I reply with a forced grin. While the situation isn’t ideal, I’m grateful that Cindy stepped up when no one else did. The second the news about my mother hit the airwaves, people scattered like rats in the subway. It’s true what they say—when you’re on top of the world, everyone wants to party with you, but the eventual landslide brings you to the bottom alone.
“Let me look at you.” She brings her clasped hands to her mouth, beaming as she looks me over. “You are even more beautiful than your pictures. Come here.” She scoops me in herarms as if we’ve known each other forever. “I’m sorry about your mom. She was a good, good person.”
The lilt in her accent has a calming effect on my viciously beating heart. It’s been a while since I’ve heard someone refer to my mother as a good person. I know she’s done some terrible things, but underneath that insatiable drive to succeed was the gentle, caring woman who kissed my boo-boos and sang me to sleep at night. That’s the Sarah Cartwright I know, and the one I want to remember.
The slam of a car door steals my attention. I look up, surprised to find Jace rounding the truck.Is he actually getting my bags from the back?
No. He stomps past us and pushes his way into the house. “Don’t mind him. He’s in a mood,” Cindy says with a dismissive wave.
My eyes widen. “You know him?”
Another bright smile rolls along her lips. “That’s my son.”
A sour taste sits on my tongue. I press my trembling hands to my stomach and swallow down the vile flavor of my humiliation.
He’s not an Uber driver.
He lives here.
With me.
Shit.
I rock back on my heels as Cindy takes both my hands in hers. “Come on. I’ll show you to your room.”
The shaded porch is a nice reprieve from the boiling sun, but the inside of the house feels like a sauna. I take in my surroundings as she gives me the tour. A cozy living room greets us upon entry. Beyond that, the kitchen flows into a small dining area with a beautifully carved wooden table. I touch the smooth dark finish as we pass. “Isn’t that lovely? My husband made me that as a wedding gift.”
“He made this?” I ask with a rising voice. Where I come from, people pay out the nose for quality furniture like this. The idea that some guy randomly made it in his garage is insane to me. Why would such a skilled carpenter allow his family to live in such squalor?
“Yep. He did a lot around here. God rest his soul.” She lays her hand on her chest, pausing for just a moment before turning toward a narrow hallway. Well, don’t I feel like a jerk? I had no idea her husband died. They obviously don’t have a lot of money, yet here she is taking in strays akame. I offer a silent apology as she ducks through a doorway to the right. “Your room is this way.”
An involuntary scowl wrinkles my nose, but I force my expression to fall neutral. A bed and a dresser are about all that fit in the compact space. My gaze scans the graying walls and threadbare linens.
