Page 10 of Protective

The small-town life up here is just as charming, but it’s all surrounded by a world that’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. Stones and boulders with craggy cliffs and winding mountain roads. Waterfalls pouring into ravines. White-capped mountain tops climbing higher and higher into the sky. All of it with a thick blanket of pine covering the forest floor.

It's heaven.

I chew the inside of my cheek as the woman parks the ATV and waves me goodbye. For some reason, climbing down onto the parking lot shifts me back into reality. A reality where the mountains are there, right alongside my rude ex that sent me another shitty voicemail this afternoon.

I climb into my car and lean forward against the steering wheel as I contemplate my life. Tomorrow is the worst day ever to start dating in these cabins. Not only do I have three meetings in the morning. I also have to head to the police station to draw up this order of protection.

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I’m not ready to move on yet. Maybe I should properly dispose of the first boyfriend before I go jerking off with another one.

God, what’s wrong with me? Why do I insist on living in this space of indecision?

I swallow hard and start up my car, putting it into drive before leaning into the gas, but I barely move an inch. Maybe not even half an inch.

What the fuck?

I push down harder on the gas, thinking I must be caught in a rut. The engine revs but the wheels go nowhere as a red light blinks on the dash.

How the hell are all four tires flat?

I climb from my car, my heart beating wildly. I have no idea what to do with a flat tire. I don’t think I’ve ever actually had one and definitely not out in the wild like this. Besides that, who gets four flat tires at once?

Someone did this. Someone slashed my tires! The idea of anyone going out of their way to render me immobile has my stomach turning with anxiety.

People don’t talk enough about how a terrible relationship ruins your self-esteem. There’s a part of your brain that breaks. The part where you trusted your own judgment. The part where you believed this person was your future when, in reality, they only ever wanted to hurt you. When a thing like that happens, it’s hard to trust your own judgment again.

Staring down at my phone, I send a text over to the first tow company within two miles. They have good reviews, and they say they’ll be here within thirty minutes. Which, judging by the snow and clouds moving in, is thirty minutes past the time I should already be on the road.

I’m still not used to driving mountain roads. Mountain roads mid-snow storm are even worse. Some of them up here don’t even have guardrails. That works fine on the valley floor, but up over ten thousand feet, guardrails are kind of a necessity.

My phone buzzes, and while I’m expecting a return message back from the tow guy, I notice an email from the ranch looking to confirm my decision to attend the weeklong getaway with Chevy.

A few minutes ago, I’d been convinced, but now I’m not so sure. The last thing I need is to get wrapped up with another psycho, and clearly, I’m not good at detecting them.

Not only that, but if he’s not psycho, who am I to get him wrapped up in all the crazy surrounding me? I need to officially get rid of Bryan and fix myself before I go any further with Chevy. Truly, before I go further with anyone.

That said, I don’t make any official declarations. Instead, I lean back the seat of my car, close my eyes, and try to make sense of where the hell life is taking me. Maybe that’s the problem. I keep letting life take me places, when really, it’s time formeto takelifesomewhere instead.

I’m only a minute into future proofing when a knock hits my window, and I jump, flashing my gaze open to see a man standing outside the window in the falling snow. He wears a long-sleeved shirt and a Carhartt vest. I’d guess he’s six foot something with a short gray beard, salt and pepper hair, kind brown eyes, and a baseball cap with a tractor on the front.

I blow out a breath and check the parking lot for a tow truck before I roll my window down a tiny crack. “Hi. What’s up?” I’m not sure what it is about looking helpless that draws weirdos in, but it’s a special move of mine.

“Oh.” The man clears his throat and deepens his voice as he says, “I, ugh, I saw your tires were flat, so I thought I’d offer some help.” My heart drops the second I hear his voice. Does he sound like Chevy? It’s hard to tell. I’ve only heard Chevy’s voice through the speaker in the cabin, which isn’t as crisp as I wish it was.

“It’s okay. I’ve called for a tow.”

“That’s great.” The man looks down and flexes his broad shoulders without thought. “Just thought I’d check.” He nods and walks away, tucking his hands into his pocket before heading back toward a red pickup truck that’s on idle on the other side of the lot. I didn’t even see that truck pull in. He definitely can’t be Chevy. Chevy would’ve gone to the other parking lot. Maybe this guy is one of the ranchers that work here. They use this place for the dates, but it’s also a working ranch with horses, those fuzzy little cows, goats, and chickens. I’m sure there are other animals tucked away as well, but I haven’t taken an official tour.

I lean forward and look for cameras. Not only would it explain how this guy knew I was struggling out here, but it’d also help with proof of who slashed my tires when I’m trying to get that restraining order. When I don’t see any cameras right away, I lean back and check my phone for an update from the tow company, but there’s nothing. It’s getting darker and darker, and the snow is really picking up now. I really don’t want to be driving home in weather any worse than this, so I decide to call.

A gruff sounding man answers the phone. “G&J Towing. This is Mick.”

“Hey, Mick. This is Heather. I ordered a tow and I’m wondering if you have an approximate time when you’ll be here. My ex sliced all four ti—”

“It’s gonna be at least three hours. We’ve got a lot of tows today due to the snowstorm overnight.”

My chest tightens with worry. “Your text said thirty minutes.”

“Don’t know what to tell ya. It’s automated. The real time is three hours,” the curt man replies.

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