Page 117 of Waves of Fury

Was he devastated reading the letter?

Of course he was. I was gutted writing it. I can almost see the pained look on his face as he read my words.

I told him Ilovedhim.

Past tense.

It was a lie because Ilovehim.

Present tense.

I’ll always love him. He woke up parts of me I didn’t know existed. Somehow, the mouthy food deliveryman worked his way inside my heart and set up camp.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and then wince in pain, remembering the whack to the face I took earlier. More tears leak out and I blame the stupid sign for hurting me.

It was you who hurt you, stupid.

Go back!

I sit up and contemplate doing just that. Maybe it’s not too late. Maybe I can find Tyler, grab him in my arms, and beg him to take me back. This whole journey is stupid. Yes, I want to see my brother, but most likely I’ll show up to a destroyed farm devoid of people. One heartache after another. It’ll all be for nothing.

Headlights suddenly shine through the windows at me. I throw myself back down to the floor of the vehicle, silently cursing myself for sitting up in the first place. The road isn’t safe to begin with, but at night, you’re just asking for trouble being out here alone.

I should slip out of here while I can.

What if the traveler stops to take my supplies?

Before I can locate my shoes to throw them on, the lights suddenly cut off. I freeze, heart beating rapidly in my throat, and wonder what I could use for a weapon. Too bad the Goodland people didn’t include a Glock in their guest welcome backpacks.

I lift my head enough to peek out the windows to look for the newcomer. Since it’s pouring down rain now, it’s beyond dark and I can barely see past the van. Quickly, I toss my sweatshirt into my backpack and throw back on my athletic shoes. Once my backpack is on, I suck in a deep breath as I take hold of the inner hatch handle.

I’m going to have to run for it.

The rain drowns out the audible click of the handle. Slowly, I lift the hatch and then pounce to the asphalt, pebbles crunching underfoot. Without preamble, I take off in a sprint, heading in the opposite direction of my stalker.

Someone yells from the inky darkness behind me. Male. Angry. And now chasing after me since I gave up my location. Hoping against all hope he doesn’t have a gun, I ignore his calls, racing for the safety of the downpour.

If I can make it to there, I’m confident I can lose him.

I’ll get drenched, but at least I’ll still have my pack.

Behind me, the footsteps get louder and closer. Gritting my teeth together, I bear down and run harder, my long legs eating up the distance to my saving rain.

The cold curtain of water waiting for me is a shock to my system. I let out a yelp as every single dry part of me is immediately soaked through. My shoes splash through thick puddles as I continue to bolt from the man following me.

“Stop running!” he bellows from behind me—close, too close.

I can’t stop.

I refuse to.

That is, until I’mmadeto.

The man crashes into me, tackling me to the road. Every part of my body that impacts the pavement explodes with sharp pain. I cry out, struggling to crawl out from beneath my captor. With superhuman strength, the man rips my backpack off me and then rolls me onto my back.

I jerk at his hold, trying to free an arm to punch him, but all fight leaves me when I lock eyes on the person on top of me.

Even in the murky darkness, I recognize him.

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