Page 17 of Redeeming Melodies

The numbers were faded, like no one had bothered to update them in years. Some small town I'd never heard of, probably the kind of place where everyone knew everyone's business but kept it to themselves.

Fields rolled past my windows, the moonlight turning them silver. No skyscrapers here, no paparazzi hiding in bushes. Just farmland and what looked like horse pastures, peaceful in a way my life hadn't been since-

Since when? Since Vanessa started plotting her exit strategy? Since I noticed her recording our arguments on her phone, building her case one fight at a time? Or maybe since I'd first seen my name on a racing contract and thought I could have it all - the career, the family, the American fucking dream.

I should turn back. But my hands stayed steady on the wheel, guiding the car deeper into this town I'd never meant to find. The engine's growl echoed off old brick buildings, probably drawing more attention than this place had seen in years. Yetsomething about it felt right - like maybe I'd driven off my carefully plotted course and found somewhere I could actually breathe.

Main Street unfolded before me like a scene from another era. A diner’s sign glowed warm and inviting despite the late hour, its neon sign reflecting off my hood. An old hardware store stood sentinel on the corner, its windows displaying garden tools and paint cans instead of the latest electronics. Even the damn streetlights seemed gentler here, more like fireflies than the harsh spotlights I'd grown used to.

My car crawled past a bar - The Watering Hole, according to the weathered sign. Fairy lights twinkled across its patio, and through the windows I caught glimpses of what looked like actual conversation happening. No phones in sight, no cameras ready to catch the next viral moment. Just people being people.

A church bell chimed somewhere in the distance - who the fuck still had church bells? - and the sound carried across the quiet streets like a lullaby. I found myself slowing down, drinking in details I would've missed at racing speed. The flower boxes hanging from lamp posts. The intact American flag over the post office. The way the whole town seemed to nestle into the surrounding hills like it had grown there naturally.

Red and blue lights exploded in my rearview mirror.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." The words escaped before I could stop them. Of course. Of-fucking-course this would happen now.

I pulled over, gravel crunching under my tires. The cruiser stopped behind me, its lights painting everything in alternating crimson and sapphire. In my side mirror, I watched a tall figure emerge - all broad shoulders and purposeful stride. Great. Probably some small-town cop ready to throw the book at the fancy car disturbing his peaceful night.

My license and registration sat ready in my hand as boots approached my window. Might as well get this over with. Maybe if I was lucky, this wouldn't end up on news: "Disgraced Racing Star Gets Traffic Ticket in Podunk Town."

The beam of a flashlight swept through my car. I squinted against the glare, making out dark hair and what looked like a permanent serious expression on the approaching officer's face. His badge caught the light - "Sheriff," not just a regular cop. Even better.

"License and registration," a deep voice commanded. No star-struck recognition, no shift in tone at seeing my face. Either this guy had no idea who I was, or he didn't give a shit.

SIRENS AND SPARKS

Night patrol in Oakwood Grove usually meant nothing more exciting than making sure old man Jenkins remembered to lock up the hardware store. The crickets provided better company than my radio most nights, their steady chirping mixing with the soft purr of my cruiser's engine as I made my rounds.

The clock on my dashboard read 11:42 PM.

Another hour until my shift ended, then home to an empty house and whatever leftovers Nina had forced on me earlier. She'd been doing that more lately, claiming I looked too thin. Like anyone could look thin in a sheriff's uniform.

Main Street stretched out before me, peaceful in the way only small towns could be after dark. Sarah's Diner still glowed warm despite being closed, the kitchen lights on while she prepped for tomorrow's breakfast crowd. The Watering Hole hummed with quiet conversation, Nina's fairy lights twinkling like earthbound stars.

My radio crackled, startling a barn owl from its perch on the church steeple. "Sheriff Thompson, we've got reports of a black sports car entering town limits from the south. Speed clocked well above limit."

Well, shit. There went my quiet night.

"Copy that," I responded, already turning my cruiser around. "Any description besides color?"

"High-end vehicle, possibly European. Mrs. Henderson says it's 'the kind of car that belongs in a magazine, not on our streets.'" The dispatcher's voice carried a hint of amusement. Trust Mrs. Henderson to be awake and watching at this hour.

The engine growled as I accelerated toward the south entrance. We didn't get many speeders in Oakwood Grove - mostly just locals who knew better or lost tourists who slowed down the moment they saw town limits. Someone in a sports car burning rubber through our streets? That was different.

My headlights caught the "Welcome to Oakwood Grove" sign, its paint slightly faded but still welcoming. Beyond it, the road curved through farmland before disappearing into darkness. Somewhere out there, someone was treating our quiet town like their personal racetrack.

The radio crackled again. "Vehicle spotted passing Miller's place, heading toward town center."

Perfect. That road had only one way in or out. Whoever our mysterious driver was, they'd have to pass me to leave town. I killed my lights and pulled over, positioning the cruiser where the road narrowed between old oak trees.

The night settled around me, familiar and comfortable. Moths danced in the moonlight, and somewhere in the distance, a dog barked at whatever creatures stirred in the fields. This was my town, my responsibility. Some hotshot in an expensive car wasn't going to disturb its peace.

A low rumble grew in the distance - the unmistakable sound of a high-performance engine being pushed harder than it should be. Headlights appeared around the bend, and even in the darkness, I could tell Mrs. Henderson hadn't exaggerated.The car was definitely magazine-worthy, its black paint gleaming like liquid shadow.

Time to remind someone that speed limits applied even in towns they'd never heard of.

I flipped on my lights, watching the sports car's brake lights flare red in response. At least they had the sense to pull over without making this difficult. The gravel crunched under my boots as I stepped out of the cruiser, flashlight ready.

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