Chapter 1
Ivy
The desert didn’t care if you were late, lost, or just plain done with life. It sat there...endless, indifferent, baking beneath a sky that stretched on forever. Exactly the kind of place Ivy might’ve loved, if she wasn’t currently skidding across it in a midlife crisis on wheels.
She had always liked open spaces, the way they made her feel small, insignificant, like her problems couldn’t follow her out here. But this wasn’t freedom. This was desperation disguised as direction, a long stretch of asphalt leading somewhere she hadn’t quite figured out yet.
And then—
The tires screamed against the pavement like they knew what was coming.
Ivy hit the brakes.
Too late.
Her Honda jerked sideways, like it had its own agenda. The tires shrieked across asphalt slick with something she couldn’t see... oil, maybe. Or just bad luck, clinging to her lately like static.
A metallic scream.
A violent jolt.
Then silence... except for the hiss of steam rising from the hood and the high-pitched ringing in her ears.
For a moment, Ivy didn’t move.
She blinked through the chalky cloud of airbag powder, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst through her ribcage. Her hands were still clamped to the wheel, knuckles white. Her breath came fast and shallow.
She exhaled sharply.
“Okay,” she muttered. “Okay.”
Then came the voice.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Low. Dry. Annoyed.
She turned toward the sound, coughing as she pushed the deflated airbag aside. Through the cracked windshield, she saw him, half leaning out the window of a dusty silver pickup, one arm draped over the door like it was just another Tuesday.
He stepped out slowly, stretching like he’d been waiting for this moment.
She narrowed her eyes.
He looked like he belonged in a low-budget music video: faded band tee, sunglasses despite the setting sun, hair untouched by a comb in days.
He smirked. “You drifted into my lane.”
She shoved the car door open and stepped onto the blistering pavement. “I did not.”
He strolled around his truck, inspecting the dented front bumper. “So we both suck at driving?”
“Or paying attention,” she shot back.
He tilted his head. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
She frowned. “What does that mean?”
“It means I don’t know you,” he said with a shrug. “But I can tell you’re wound up.”
She stiffened.
He didn’t press. Just kept circling the wreck like he was inspecting the damage, or maybe her.
She followed, eyeing the long smear of paint across her car like a war wound.
“This’ll need more than duct tape,” he muttered.
“Yeah.” Her voice was tight.
The wind kicked up, gritty and hot. Somewhere in the distance, a tumbleweed rolled past like the universe was mocking her.
She tugged her jacket tighter. Even here, in the middle of nowhere, she hated how exposed she felt when plans unraveled.
No signal.
Of course not.
She sighed, raking her fingers through her hair. “This is going to be a long night.”
“Could be worse,” he offered.
She raised a brow. “How?”
“Could’ve been raining.”
She blinked at him. “In the desert?”
“Still possible.”
She didn’t know whether to laugh or throw something.
Instead, she popped the hood and leaned in, pretending to check anything to avoid looking at him. The engine hissed, unimpressed.
“You sure you know what you’re doing?” he asked.
“Do you?”
“Nope.”
She straightened, wiping sweat from her brow. “Then don’t ask questions you won’t understand the answers to.”
He grinned. “Fair enough.”
She studied him then, really studied him. He was tall, lean but sturdy, that same old band tee stretched across his shoulders, jawline sharp enough to headline a romance cover.
Which annoyed her more than it should have.
She turned away quickly, focusing on the horizon. The road stretched ahead, straight as a ruler and just as dull. The sun bled orange and pink across the sky, casting the wreckage in a strange cinematic glow.
She hated noticing beauty in moments like this. Hated that even stranded in the middle of nowhere with a stranger, part of her still paused to admire the light.
He cleared his throat. “You okay?”
She blinked. “What?”
“You zoned out for a second.”
She shook her head. “Just thinking.”
“About what?”
A pause. “How far I am from home.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Regretting the trip already?”
She crossed her arms. “I haven’t decided.”
He chuckled under his breath. “Honest.”
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she stepped closer to the front of her car. A jagged scrape ran down the fender, paint stripped like raw skin after a fall.
It looked broken.
Like her.
She swallowed hard.
“You ever think,” he said suddenly, “that maybe crashing into each other was the point?”
She turned sharply. “What?”
He gestured between them. “Maybe we weren’t meant to keep going. Maybe we were supposed to stop here.”
She stared. “That’s poetic.”
He grinned. “Sometimes I try.”
She shook her head. “You’re impossible.”
“And you crashed into me.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You were in my lane.”
He held up his hands. “We’ll never agree.”
“No,” she said. “Probably not.”
Silence fell, thick and awkward. Outside, the wind rattled the side mirror like it was laughing at them.
She grabbed her bag from the back seat and took a long drink from her water bottle. She needed to cool off. Think clearly.
Remember why she was even out here.
She’d left town chasing something, something bigger than herself. A rare celestial event. A chance to photograph NGC 2158 aligning with Iota Cancri. A sight most people would never see.
A sight she hoped would somehow fix the crack inside her.
She hadn’t told anyone where she was going.
Not her friends.
Not her coworkers.
Not even the sister who always said she was too serious, too focused, too afraid to live without a plan.
She missed her.
God, she missed her.
She blinked rapidly, shoving the memory back down.
Now wasn’t the time.
Now was the time to deal with what was right in front of her: the busted front end of her car—and the man standing ten feet away, as if the same thing hadn’t just happened to him too.
He was watching her again.
She hated that.
Hated that he noticed when she wasn’t fine.
She turned sharply. “You just gonna stand there?”
He tilted his head. “Is that an invitation to help?”
She hesitated.
Didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
But she didn’t have a choice.
“Fine,” she muttered.
He circled to the front of her car and crouched beside the tire.
She stood nearby, arms still crossed, watching him.
He moved with a quiet confidence, like someone used to fixing things. Like he wasn’t just a guy with a beat-up truck and a smirk that drove her crazy.
He tapped the rim. “Tires are good.”
She blinked. “You checked mine?”
He smirked. “Looks like someone needs a mechanic.”
“And you’re him?”
He stood, brushing off his jeans. “Nope. But I know enough to say we’re not getting out of here tonight.”
Her jaw clenched. “Great.”
He nodded toward the horizon, where distant buildings shimmered like a mirage. “There’s a motel back that way.”
She frowned. “You sure?”
“As sure as I can be with no service.”
She rubbed her temples. “Perfect.”
He headed for his truck. “Come on. We’ll drive together.”
“I’m not leaving my car.”
He turned back. “It’s not going anywhere.”
Neither are we, she thought grimly.
But she didn’t argue.
She grabbed her bag and locked the doors behind her.
The truck’s interior smelled like old leather, dust, and something faintly citrusy, like he cared enough to clean it, even out here.
“Buckle up,” he said as he started the engine.
She obeyed without thinking.
As they pulled away, she glanced back.
Her car looked small. Abandoned. Like it knew she wouldn’t be coming back.
They rode in silence. No radio. Just the hum of the engine and the desert sliding by—scrub, rock, the skeletons of long-dead trees.
The desert wasn’t peaceful to Ivy. Just vast. Brutal. Indifferent.
Kind of like space.
Except space had patterns. Meaning. Purpose.
Here, she just felt stuck.
Worse—unmoored.
“So,” he said after a while. “Where you headed?”
She didn’t answer right away.
“Barstow,” she finally said, quieter than before.
He glanced over. “That your final stop?”
She hesitated. “No.”
He didn’t press, just nodded, fingers tapping lightly on the wheel.
She watched him for a second too long.
He caught her.
Raised an eyebrow.
She looked away fast.
The motel appeared a few minutes later, worn down with a flickering neon sign that read Open? like it wasn’t sure.
He parked near the office.
She sat there a beat longer, staring at the cracked pavement.
“You good?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yeah.”
He didn’t look convinced, but said nothing.
The heat outside hit her like a wall. She wiped sweat from her brow and followed him in.
The lobby was dim. A ceiling fan spun lazily above them, stirring more dust than air.
A wiry old man sat behind the counter with a newspaper and a mug.
Evan stepped forward. “One room. Queen bed.”
The man didn’t look up. “Only one left.”
“We’ll take it.”
Ivy stiffened.
She hadn’t agreed to this.
But Evan was already handing over the cash.
Outside, she crossed her arms. “You just assumed I’d stay with you?”
“Didn’t seem like you wanted to sleep in a broken-down car.”
She opened her mouth to argue, then stopped.
He was right.
She didn’t want to be alone.
Not tonight.
Not after everything.
Not when the stars were out, the sky felt too big, and her grief felt heavier than usual.
She exhaled slowly. ‘Thanks.’
He smiled faintly. ‘Don’t mention it.’
They walked toward the room, boots crunching against gravel.
Inside, the air was stale—old carpet and cheap soap clung to the walls. Two beds. One window. A mini fridge that probably didn’t work.
She dropped her bag by the nearest bed and sat down heavily.
He sat across from her, elbows on his knees.
Silence.
Just the buzz of insects beyond thin walls.
Then: “You okay?”
She didn’t answer right away. Just stared at her hands—callused from years with camera gear, a faint scar on her thumb.
Memories.
Distance.
Finally: “I hate being stuck.”
He tilted his head. “Why?”
A pause. “Because I always feel like I’m falling behind.”
He studied her. “Falling behind what?”
Her voice dropped. “Everything.”
He nodded slowly. “Sometimes stopping isn’t falling behind. It’s just... catching your breath.”
She looked at him.
Really looked.
He was watching her like he understood something she hadn’t said.
And for the first time since she’d left home, Ivy felt something shift.
Not relief.
Not trust.
But something close.
He leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. “Well, looks like we’re stuck together tonight.”
She exhaled. “Great.”
He grinned. “Could be worse.”
She raised a brow. “How?”
“We could’ve crashed in the rain.”
She shook her head. “You say that like it happens.”
He shrugged. “In the desert? Anything’s possible.”
She didn’t answer.
Just lay back on the bed, arms behind her head, staring at the ceiling.
Outside, the wind rattled the window.
Stars blinked across the sky like scattered memories.
She closed her eyes.
And for the first time in a long time...
She didn’t feel completely alone.
Even if the company came with a mystery she wasn’t ready to solve.
