Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 148434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
“I’m trying to calculate our distance to the house.”
She does the mental math in one second flat. “Based on our speed and current time, we should have about thirty miles left to go.”
Roughly fifty klicks away. Maybe more. Too far from the house to park on a bank and wait out the storm. If snow buries our car, we’ll need to hike thirty-miles in the morning—which means we’re fucked. We’re not prepared for an eight-hour trek on foot…but we could manage a three-hour walk to the house tomorrow if the weather lets up.
“Here’s the plan.” I speed up the wipers. “We’re going make it as close to the house as possible, and then I’m going to pull off and we’ll wait it out in the car.”
She inhales deeply. “You don’t think we can reach the house tonight?”
“Not with black ic—” I lose control of the car again. Goddammit. Front wheels skid to the left for a full second. Quickly, I counter and right us onto the road.
“Merde,” she curses.
I rip my eyes off the windshield for a split-second, just to check on Jane. She has a hand posted on the door, but her blue eyes are focused pinpoints.
I think she might be scanning for road signs.
Returning my concentration to the street, I exhale through my nose. “If we can make thirty more klicks, we’ll be fine.”
“I’m trying to keep track of our distance,” she tells me. “But it’s quite difficult.” Even now she wants to be my right-hand. I swallow back emotion that surges, constricting my lungs.
And then, just like that, we’re spinning.
It happens faster and swifter than the first two times, and I have zero control over the wheels. Nothing I do will stop tires from skating like four hockey pucks on ice, but I try to right us without causing more problems.
Disorientation kicks in for a split-second before we stop. I assess our surroundings with almost no visibility, but two tires dip a bit. Which means we’re probably on the bank of the road.
I turn to her. “Jane, are you okay?” I reach for her before I remember we’re not together, and she might not want me to touch her.
I pull back.
She blinks hard. Her chest rises and falls heavily and she sweeps my frame just as much as I sweep her. Confusion pinches the creases of her eyes. “Why don’t you look like we just went through a rollercoaster?”
“Because I’ve spun out on black ice before,” I tell her. “It’s nothing new.” It’s not as violent as a car crash, but the shock is the same. “You didn’t answer me. Are you okay?”
She nods, gulping a bigger breath. “I think so. I just kept thinking we were going to flip like Maximoff and…” And Farrow and her brothers and little cousin.
“We didn’t,” I say strongly. We’re just fucked. We’re nowhere near the house.
“So now we wait in the car, and tomorrow we hike.” Confidence blazes her words. She pulls her shoulders back like she’s preparing for every war to come.
“No, there’s not going to be a hike.”
Her brows bunch. “Then what?”
“We have to wait for help.” She can’t walk eight-hours in the snow without the right gear. I can’t put her in that situation, and unfortunately, I also can’t radio the team. Comms are still down.
“You think we’re too far away.” Jane realizes into a slow nod. “Alright then.” She unlocks the glove compartment and grabs a flashlight. “We should gather provisions from the trunk and make sure the exhaust pipe isn’t blocked.” Goddamn, she’s smart.
My lips almost lift.
Bottom line, she’s one of the best people to have in this situation. I’m sure of that. Desire pumps through my body without much warning. Bottle that shit. I hate right now how much I’m enticed by each and every part of her.
“That was my plan,” I tell her stiffly. “Except you’re not a part of it.” I hold out my hand for the flashlight.
She doesn’t move.
“Jane, your shoes.”
She glances at her leopard-print ballet flats. Our boots are back at the house, still drying from yesterday’s thunderstorm. Only difference is that I had an extra pair.
Jane sighs at the sight of her shoes. “And here I thought you were being over-prepared by bringing two pairs of the same boots to a week-long trip.” She brushes a strand away from her eyes. “My mom would call you intuitive.”
I shake my head. “It’s just a habit. I’m a size 15 shoe. I can’t run to the store if anything happens to my boots.” I stop and then push myself to say more. “As soon as I started making good money in security, the first thing I bought was an extra set of shoes for each that I own.”
“I love how practical you are.” She flushes immediately. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that. It just slipped.” Her eyes are reddened from crying earlier. “Which, I suppose, is why they call it a slip of the tongue. And I’ll just stop talking…”