No Way Home

I never thought I'd be the kind of person to storm out of my own apartment, but here I was, suitcase in hand, the door slamming behind me. My heart was still trying to catch up, but my brain had already moved on—away from Evan and the life we'd built together.

An hour ago, I had a fiancé. An hour ago, I had everything I thought I wanted. Now, I was driving through the afternoon with no clue where I was headed. I didn't even know what I was running from. Was it him? Was it the life I thought I wanted? Or was it the fear that maybe this was all I'd ever deserve?

Evan had kicked me out. Me. The woman who'd been faithful, supportive, and who had spent years thinking he was the one.

"Pack your things," he'd said, not even looking me in the eye. "It's not gonna work."

I couldn't even get angry anymore. That had already been replaced by disbelief. The fact that he didn't even apologize, didn't try to salvage anything, only made the situation worse.

I grabbed a few things, not even knowing what I was putting in the suitcase, and walked out without another word. Because what was there left to say? The man I was going to marry had decided I wasn't worth fighting for, so I was done fighting for him.

Now, here I was, driving in tears, trying to outrun the mess that had become my life. The car hummed softly beneath me as I passed mile after mile of empty road. It was starting to get darker, the kind of night where everything felt quiet and endless, and I was too lost in my own thoughts to care about where I was headed.

Then, the noise started.

At first, it was a subtle clicking sound, barely noticeable over the hum of the engine. But it didn't take long for it to escalate into something louder—something that made my stomach churn. My car made a strange grinding noise, and then there was a sharp pop—like the engine was protesting.

"Great," I muttered under my breath, trying to ignore the rising anxiety in my chest. "This is just what I need."

I pressed the gas pedal a little harder, trying to force the car to keep going, but the noises kept getting worse. The engine sputtered, and then it started shaking.

Not now. Please, not now. I silently begged. My already shaking hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, but the car wasn't responding the way it should. Then, the unmistakable smell of something burning hit my nose.

I swore and quickly pulled off to the side of the road, slamming on the brakes. My heart pounded as I threw the car into park, yanked the keys out of the ignition, and stared at the dashboard in disbelief.

Smoke started pouring from under the hood.

"Oh, for the love of—" I slapped my hands on the wheel, not sure whether to scream or laugh at how quickly my life had unraveled.

I didn't even know where to start. I knew nothing about car engines, and right now, the car in front of me looked like it was about to set itself on fire.

The engine hissed again, and the smoke thickened, rising up in a cloud that made it hard to see.

"Perfect," I muttered, stepping out of the car. The cool air hit me as I slammed the door behind me. What was I supposed to do now? I didn't even have a plan. I didn't have anyone to call.

I opened the hood, expecting the smoke to be gone, but of course, it wasn't. Smoke hit me in the face, and I gasped, backing up from it and waving it away from me. Coughs left my lips, "shit, fuck!" I curse, running a hand through my hair, and looking down at myself. The once clean clothes I had on, completely covered in black.

I kicked the front tire in frustration, the weight of everything pressing down on me. "Are you fucking kidding me? Of course you do this to me, of course!" I yelled at the car, as if it would somehow listen to my complaints. Running a hand through my hair, I was about ready to burst into tears again.

As I stepped back, my hand moving to rest on my hips, I heard the sound of someone's engine behind me. I didn't even look up. If it was some small-town sheriff coming to give me a hard time, I wasn't in the mood. And my luck, I'd say something that ended with me in the back of said sheriff's car.

The vehicle slowed and stopped right beside me. I hesitated, but then I heard a voice.

"You need some help?"

I turned to see a man leaning out of the window of a rusty red colored pickup truck. Tall, with dark hair and a rugged look about him, like he belonged in a country song. Definitely not my type.

His eyes locked with mine, and I swear, they seemed to take in the whole situation—the broken car, the frustration on my face, and the fact that I was standing here in the middle of nowhere, in five inch heels, smoke all over my once pretty, and utterly expensive white clothes, absolutely no clue what I was doing, and obviously stranded.

Fuck me. Fuck me in the ass and call me a salior, or something, because I was ready to hop off deck.

I was ready to tell him I didn't need his help, that I could handle it myself. But my car was clearly not cooperating, and my pride was running out of gas faster than the actual car.

"Do you have a phone I could borrow?" I asked, trying to sound confident, even though I had no idea who I'd even call.

He shook his head, still looking me over. "No phone on me at the moment. But I've got a buddy who runs a garage about a mile or two from here. He can take a look at it for you." He paused, giving me a once-over. "I can take it to him. Get it sorted."

I opened my mouth to protest, to tell him I could figure it out. I didn't need anyone's help. But before I could say anything, the engine let out a pop, causing me to jump, and a plume of smoke billowed out like a bad cartoon.

"Well," I sighed, "I guess I don't really have a choice, do I?"

He grinned, leaning back in his seat. "Not unless you want to keep... doing whatever you're doing to that poor car. I'll take you to the shop. No fee."

I crossed my arms stubbornly, but the truth was, I wasn't going to get very far on my own. "Fine. Thanks. Or whatever."

He raised one of his eyebrows at me, clearly amused by my stubbornness. "You're welcome?" His tone came out like a question, but I ignored it.

I climbed into the passenger seat, still silently cursing my life choices. As we drove to the garage, I couldn't help but feel a little ridiculous. I was sitting next to a complete stranger, letting him take me to a mechanic in the middle of nowhere, but it was either that or sit in my broken-down car and wait for... what?

I repeated those words in my head a few times. Stranger. Mechanic. Middle of nowhere.

This guy could be an axe murderer for all I know, and I willingly hopped into the passenger seat of his truck. Oh my god, I am so screwed.

When we pulled into the shop, I immediately noticed the disarray of vehicles strewn about—old trucks, rusty sedans, and a bunch of other cars that looked like they had seen better days. Grayson—because he'd introduced himself on the way—pulled up next to a large blue garage with a big blue and white sign that read Jameson's Hotshot Garage in big bold font, and hopped out.

This is the end. I'm about to get chopped up into little pieces, and my body is going to go in a trashcan behind this garage, and I'm never going to be seen again.

He waved me out, and I followed him inside, trying not to feel like an idiot. Also while praying if they do end up killing me, they made it fast.

The mechanic, a big guy with tattoos and a friendly smile, gave me a quick once-over before walking up to the car. Grayson explained the situation, and the mechanic popped the hood, letting out a low whistle when he saw the smoke and the mess.

"Yep, this thing's blown," the mechanic said. "You're gonna need some parts, and it's gonna take a couple of weeks to get them in." He rubbed his chin, glancing at me. "And that's if we're lucky. Hard to find some of this stuff."

I blinked, feeling like the world had just dropped out from under me. "A couple of weeks? Are you—" I bite back a curse, "are you kidding me?"

He shook his head, "nope," he said, giving the p a little pop at the end. "Gonna cost a pretty penny too," his eyes flicked to Grayson, and he gave a small sigh. "I can give you a discount since he brought you here."

I fight the urge to roll my eyes, "I don't need a discount. Money isn't an issue. I don't even know this guy." I say, gesturing to him with my thumb.

The mechanic shrugged with a half smirk. "Fine with me. Get your stuff out of the car, and leave a number to call. I'll order the parts tonight to get you out of here as soon as possible."

I gave a small nod, wiping my face off with the back of my hand. I knew I was probably just smudging the smoke, which they were most definitely talking about while my back was turned, and popped my trunk open to grab my suitcase out, and then my purse from the passenger side.

I turned to Grayson, who had been watching me. Creep. This guy was definitely going to murder me. I just know it.

"Do you uh—" I started, rubbing the back of my neck. "I'm assuming you know where a hotel would be around here, right?"

His smirk widened a little, "no hotel, but there is a motel in town." He said, "It's real good. Free breakfast from 7 to 11:30." I let out a small whine. A motel? Good? Please.

I just wanted to go to a hotel, preferably one with a hot tub, and melt away for eternity. But no, no, of course not. A motel was my only option.

But honestly, I didn't care. As much as I wanted to care, I just didn't. I wanted to lay down in a bed, hopefully not infested with bugs, and go to sleep.

"Okay," I mutter, "I'll pay for your gas if you can get me there." I offer, and he gave me a casual shrug. "No need, got a full tank."

A wave of anxiety started to overcome me. "So... you're going to take me there. For free? No pay?"

Grayson chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned against the car. "Not everything's about money, girl. Just being nice. You don't gotta look so suspicious."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "I don't trust nice. People are only nice when they want something."

His smirk deepened like he found my cynicism entertaining. "Damn, who hurt you?"

I shot him a glare, grabbing the handle of my suitcase with a little too much force. "You offering me a ride or not?"

"Yeah, yeah, c'mon." He pushed off the car and walked put of the garage to the driver's side of his truck, hopping in like this was just another normal day for him. Meanwhile, my entire life had gone to shit, and now I was taking rides from strangers in backwoods towns where motels were considered the best option. Perfect.

I climbed in, slamming the door shut behind me. I hadn't noticed it before since the windows were rolled down, but the truck smelled like leather and pine, a scent that somehow made it feel lived-in but not dirty. A worn-out ball cap rested on the dash, and a pair of work gloves sat on the seat between us.

As he pulled out of the lot, I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. "So, do you do this often? Pick up stranded women and drive them to sketchy motels?"

He laughed, shaking his head. "Nah. Usually, I leave 'em on the side of the road. But you looked pitiful, so I made an exception."

I let out a sarcastic snort. "Gee, thanks. Makes me feel real special."

"You should. I don't waste my good deeds on just anyone."

The drive into town didn't take long, but it gave me enough time to silently panic over my situation again. My car was dead, my engagement was dead, and now I was checking into a motel with nothing but a suitcase full of hastily packed clothes and a bruised ego

Grayson pulled up in front of a squat, single-story building with a flickering neon sign that read Sunset Inn—Vacancy. The parking lot had exactly three cars in it, and the paint on the building was peeling in places, but at least it didn't scream murder scene.

Yet.

He threw the truck in park and turned to me. "This is you. Think you'll survive?"

I rolled my eyes. "I'll manage."

"Well, if you need a tour guide for our exciting little town, I'm usually at the bar down the road. Or fixing shit at the garage we were just at."

I raised an eyebrow. "So, you either drink or fix cars? That's the extent of your hobbies?"

He grinned, tapping the steering wheel. "Pretty much. Small-town life, sweetheart. We keep it simple."

I grabbed my suitcase and pushed the door open, stepping out onto the cracked pavement. "Well, thanks for the ride, I guess."

"Anytime." He watched as I dragged my suitcase toward the motel entrance, then called after me, "Try not to burn the place down, city girl."

The name that left his lips made my stomach churn. I was city. The heels, the expensive clothes, the twenty pounds of makeup screamed it all. And here I was, in a place where people wore boots instead of normal shoes, and ran through mud, when I could barely look at it.

I was spoiled, pampered, whatever other words that screamed daddy gave me his money so I'd leave him alone.

I flipped him off over my shoulder without looking back. The sound of his laughter followed me as I stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind me.

The motel lobby was exactly what I expected—musty carpet, an old vending machine humming in the corner, and a guy behind the front desk who looked like he hadn't cared about life since the '90s.

I sighed and pulled out my wallet. "One room, please."

The man barely looked up as he slid a key across the counter. "Cash or card?"

"Card."

I tapped my foot impatiently as he ran it, the machine beeping sluggishly before spitting out a receipt. He handed it to me without a word, and I took the key. He had clearly been judging my state, but I ignored it, turning toward the hallway that led to my room.

The door creaked as I pushed it open, and I took one step inside before exhaling heavily. The room was...fine. A little outdated, a little worn, but clean enough. The bed looked stiff, the TV was an old box model, and the bathroom had that weird floral wallpaper that motels always seemed to have. But it was a roof over my head, and that was more than I'd had an hour ago.

Dropping my suitcase by the bed, I kicked off my shoes and flopped down onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling. My life had gone to hell in record time, and I had no idea what the hell I was going to do next.

But for tonight, I was too damn tired to care.

I'd figure it out in the morning.