Page 19 of Dad Bods and Blizzards

The plow blade clips the column.

Metal screams against brick. The steadfast entry tilts and crumbles as the world spins in a blur of white. My body jolts into the door, then my arms and legs flail the other direction as the vehicle comes to an abrupt halt. A limb bursts through the glass in the passenger window. I’ve slammed into one of many gigantic oak trees that line the driveway.

My jaw hurts, and it takes a second of personal inventory to assess that my teeth are clenched. I relax my jaw then the rest of my body. No airbag. How old is this truck?

I think I’m physically okay.

The truck isn’t. Smoke rises from the crumpled hood, and one headlight offers the normally beautiful sight of snowflakes continuing to fall—a serenity surrounding my chaos.

Clicks and hisses become audible over my pulse pounding in my ears. Now what?

Back toScooby-Doo. I’ll survive with the help of a team. Retrieving my phone from my purse, I order an Uber to take me to my friend’s house. That sets a ticking clock on grabbing my cash and packing a few things, plus I can tell my dad that someone’s picking me up.

Thanking my lucky stars that most of the damage is to the passenger side, I get out, steady my shaky legs, and wish that the sky was visible so I could find one more lucky star to wish upon. I need to be able to sneak inside without my dad noticing.

Snow soaks through my tennis shoes as I trek to the back of the house. I struggle to keep my balance on the slick path. The wind whips my frozen hair against my face. I’d consider myself a hot mess ifhotwasn’t so ironic.

I inch the back door open without a sound. Down the hallway, light comes from under the door to Dad’s office. His voice startles me until I realize he’s yelling at someone on the phone.

My shoes squelch against the tile, so I slip them off, leaving wet footprints as I scurry up the stairs.

My bedroom door stands wide open. My heart skips a beat. It’s okay. He’s downstairs and occupied, so even though he knows I’m gone, I consider this a win.

Stuffing a few necessities into an oversized bag, I stare at my wardrobe and cringe at the thought of leaving so much behind. But the concern over how much it will cost to replace items is put to rest by my dad’s voice booming through the house.

“Naomi, get down here.”

Not a chance. Rushing into the bathroom, I dump the contents of my treasure chest into the bag. The keychains are a tiny comfort. The real goal is to get the money envelope in as fast as possible. Zipping the bag shut, I stop in the doorway to the bathroom.

My gaze darts between the option of my bedroom door, which will surely land me face to face with my father, or the window. Climbing down a snow-covered tree carries less risk.

The window won’t open. Looking over my shoulder to confirm Dad’s not in my room yet, I set my bag and purse down and try again. Stuck.

Did it freeze?

No. The asshole nailed it shut.

Breaking the glass seems too dangerous. If I move fast enough, I can use momentum to blow past my dad. My keychains jingle inside my bag as I grab my stuff.

Focus on the plan. Get downstairs and out the front door.

I edge toward my bedroom door. Thankfully, my dad is nowhere in sight in the small area I can see.

I lunge out, making my break, but my dad comes from the side and shoves me back. My purse falls from my hands, landing in the doorway. Dad kicks it out of the way and slams the door as I stumble backward.

The metal click of the lock secures my fate. Another escape. Another capture. Why are these the moments of my life on repeat?

“Your timing is impeccable.” His sinister tone pierces through the wood.

My bag slides from my shoulder, hitting the floor with a dull thud. I hold my hands over my heart, trying to calm myself.

“Someone’s coming to pick me up.” My voice cracks. “They’ll worry if I’m not outside.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve arranged a ride.” His footsteps retreat down the hall.

The situation can’t get any worse, and even though I still don’t understand why the men my father wanted to give me to would buy me at the auction, I try to disrupt my father’s thinking. “You can’t sell my virginity. I got rid of it at the Christmas Cherry Auction.”

His footsteps stop. “I didn’t sell your virginity. I soldyou.”

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