Page 8 of Love Me Fierce

Okay. I can do twenty-one miles.

In the backseat, Mateo is munching on dried mango and playing with his transformer, humming to himself. I release a series of slow breaths, letting the last of the adrenaline flow out of me. Back when I worked in critical care, I learned the importance of taking moments to process. To feel the feelings before they get bottled up.

The ambulance overtakes me, its swinging red lights cutting the darkness. When it vanishes into the storm, the sense that I’m completely alone out here sinks through me. It’s like falling throughanother dimension. One dominated by a brutal winter that never ends.

Can I adapt to such a place?

We pass the exit for some town called Pinedale. The off-ramp is a thick sea of white, like it hasn’t been plowed. It must be several feet deep by now.

The white flakes flying past my windshield have a hypnotic effect. Or maybe I’m just exhausted after ten hours on the road, the last two fighting this storm and responding to the accident.

Headlights from the fire truck and the cop fill my rearview. When the fire truck passes, I don’t take my eyes off the road to look up at them, though I have a feeling they’re looking down at me.We’ll take it from here.

The silver SUV doesn’t pass me. I will him to leave me be, but he stays a few car lengths back.

What is he doing? Though I’ve broken no laws in moving across two states to start my life over, he can use “probable cause” to do pretty much anything he wants. Like looking up my license, which will list my old residence in Huntington Park. If he gets really curious, with a few phone calls he could find out more.

In the distance is the soft glow of lights, acting like a tractor beam. With each mile marker, the glow brightens, until I reach the off ramp for Finn River, this one thankfully plowed.

The cop follows me to the T at the end of the ramp. Is he going to follow me all the way to The Meadows? We pass over the highway and descend to the outskirts of town. The streets have been plowed, but I don’t pass any cars.

When a service station comes into view, I flip on my blinker and carefully turn into the lot. My bladder aches so badly my lungs are quivering. And I’m so done with this cop on my ass.

“Quick bathroom break, okay?” I tell Matty, who looks up from his toy when I coast to a stop outside the restroom doors.

The cop continues past the service station.

I release a shaky exhale, folding over my steering wheel.

We’re in the clear. No more hurdles.

While pulling on my coat, the cop turns right at the end of the block. Wait… why isn’t he going back onto the highway?

And then it hits me. The silver sheriff’s badge on his coat and the emblem on his SUV. He’s a county deputy, not a highway patrolman. Finn River is his town.

Which means my chances of never seeing him again are practically zero.

Chapter Three

EVERETT

“Will I have to get a shot?”Logan asks from the passenger seat.

I wince. “Tetanus booster, I think.”

He slumps back against the seat. “Can Uncle Sepp do it?”

“We can ask when we get inside.”

I pull into the parking lot of Finn River Pediatrics and back my SUV into a slot at the end of the row. Though I’m technically not on duty for this hour of family leave for Logan’s annual checkup, readiness is a habit.

Outside, the warm summer air smells of flowers and pinesap from the row of tall trees lining the back of the lot. Logan falls in next to me on the walkway, his shoulders slumped. I push through the glass doors. While I check in with the receptionist, Logan wanders toward the padded chairs lined up against the far wall. Dr. Greely—Ava—and I went to high school together. She took over Dr. Boone’s practice over a year ago, and her touch is everywhere. There’s a new playhouse in the corner for the littles and bean bag chairs with a library of graphic novels and fidget toys for older kids in theother corner, and the walls are now a soft yellow instead of the old stark white.

I drop into a chair next to Logan when his name is called. We both stand, but the woman waiting at the entrance to the patient area in pink scrubs holding a tablet freezes me in my tracks.

It’s the nurse who helped out at that wreck. The one with the attitude.

The one who dropped off five new pairs of insulated work gloves for all our deputies a week later. No note, but based on her description, I’m sure it was her.

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