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The call disconnects after I say goodbye. Not long after, roadside appears and swaps out my tire with the spare. As suspected, the tire isn’t patchable with the nail in the sidewall. The old man with kind eyes suggests two auto shops in the area that don’t try to upsell or overcharge female clientele. I thank him for the suggestions, but leave out that my father works at the dealership where I bought the car. Dad will get me a new tire at wholesale cost. Still an expense, but not as steep.
Handing me a copy of the roadside invoice, he looks me square in the eye. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Miss York.” He pauses and looks off in the distance, as if searching for the right words. Once his gaze circles back, he points to the car. “Nails happen. I see it all the time. But where that one was and the type of nail…” The corners of his mouth turn down. “I’d bet money it wasn’t an accident.”
My brows scrunch together. “How do you mean?” Because I really want to know. I am no idiot, but never having dealt with nails in my tire and only hearing others’ flat tire stories, this isn’t my area of expertise.
“Nails in the sidewall tend to be closer to the tread. Maybe an inch off, at most. That nail is close to the rim and perfectly straight in the tire. On the tread, I wouldn’t question it going in straight. On the sidewall, though… hate to say it, but someone did that on purpose. And on a tire, you wouldn’t see easily.”
Mind. Blown.
What the hell is going on?
Yes, I pissed off Kelli Langston. Yes, I took something—someone—away from her. Lawrence didn’t belong to Kelli, though. Kelli thought—maybe still thinks—otherwise.
Would she really resort to hammering nails in tires? The job seems below her snobbish ways. The gossip and whispers and shaming? Those seem more her style—like a teenager trying to ruin someone’s reputation. But a nail in the tire? I suppose it is possible. If anything, she would pay someone to do the dirty work.
And after this news, I have reached my wit’s end with her. The sudden uptick in bullshit… it needs to end.
I hold out my hand to the kindly man. “Thank you…”
He takes my hand with a soft grip and shakes. “Buddy.”
“Thank you, Buddy.”
He returns to his work truck, cranks the engine, then honks as he drives off. I stare after the white truck with the word Roadside in bold letters until it disappears from view.
“Hate to say it, but someone did that on purpose.”
His words flash in my head like a neon sign in the pub window.
I don’t just need comfort food, I need an isolated place to let out my anger. A place to scream at the top of my lungs where people won’t think I am being murdered. I need release. Because if one more thing goes haywire, I might lose it. Fully lose it.
And I am too pretty for jail.
Chapter Fourteen
LAWRENCE
By a chance miracle, I leave work thirty minutes early, which gives me time to stop for a few things at the store—namely, potatoes and pasta, but also a few other items for dinner.
The basket dangles at my side as I stroll from produce to the meat department. After the butcher wraps up two chicken breasts, I waltz through the store for the final ingredients. While I sift through the blocks of parmesan, an older woman passes me with a sneer on her lips.
“Should be ashamed,” she mutters.
I drop the cheese in my basket and follow her. “Excuse me?”
She peers over her shoulder, eyes wide as a hand comes to her chest. “Why are you following me?”
Lengthening my stride, I step ahead and grab her cart to halt her. “If you don’t want people following you, don’t insult them.”
A gasp leaves her lips. Faux shock plastered on her weathered face. I resist the urge to laugh at her pompous attitude. Barely.
“What you did to the Langston girl… you’re disgusting. Despicable. Cradle robber.”
First off, how does anyone know what I did or didn’t do to Kelli? The only person to see me with Skylar was Kelli. To tell the townsfolk you walked in on your supposed boyfriend while he fucked another woman… I don’t picture Kelli wanting to taint her image that way.
Maybe Kelli isn’t who I think she is. Maybe she would blather to the town. Shed crocodile tears in front of the gossip mill as she discloses what she walked in on. Whether for sympathy or the spotlight or both.
Secondly… cradle robber? Seriously?
