Page 112 of Fixing to Be Mine

Part of me wants to go online and search, but it’s best if I wait, as it might lead me down a spiral. It will do me no good tonight, and I need a clear mind tomorrow so I can come up with a plan.

I follow Colt down the hallway, the sound of our footsteps soft against the old wood floors. I break away from him and wash my hands in the bathroom, staring at my reflection.

I dry my hands slowly, bracing myself. Then I step out of the bathroom.

Colt’s waiting in the hallway, barefoot, backlit by the light leaking from our bedroom. He holds out his hand without a word. I take it. And this time, I don’t let go.

Tomorrow, we’ll pack, and then we’ll leave early on Saturday.

Whatever’s waiting for me on the other side of that city skyline, I’ll face it head-on. But tonight, I let myself rest. Not because everything’s okay or that my problems are fixed. But because, for once, I don’t have to face it alone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

COLT

Stormy sits cross-legged on the floor, folding clothes that I didn’t even realize she owned.

There’s a duffel bag open beside her, half packed, the zipper yawning, like it already knows this isn’t a vacation.

I’m on the bed, leaning back on my elbows, watching her steal glances at me every few minutes, like she’s trying to memorize my face before we get on that plane.

“Have you ever visited New York?” she asks, holding one of her rolled-up tank tops in both hands.

“Nope. Never had a desire,” I say. “It’ll be an adventure for sure. Cowboy in the city.”

That earns me a soft laugh. She drops the shirt into the bag and sits back on her hands, hair slipping over her shoulder. She’s not wearing makeup. Her toenail polish is chipped. And she’s never looked more like herself than she does right now.

“I’m growing nervous,” she says after a beat. “It’s not something I’m used to.”

“It will be over before you know it.” I sit up fully, crossing to where she’s sitting. “I’m proud of you for wanting to confront the past. It’s not easy.”

Her eyes are steady. “You don’t think I’m crazy?”

“I think you’re brave.”

That makes her smile.

I stand, then dip down and kiss her when I hear tires on gravel and an engine.

Stormy goes still. “Expecting someone?”

“Nope.” I freeze, listening for a familiar engine rumble, and she rises to her feet to join me.

Out the front window from the living room, I see a slick black car I don’t recognize, idling next to the Camaro. It’s shiny and out of place. A suit-and-tie kind of vehicle with the AC humming loud enough to hear from inside.

The driver’s door opens, and a dark-haired man steps out. Stormy gasps.

“My fucking car!” he screams as he walks around the Camaro. “What the fuck?!”

I hold back a laugh, watching him lose his shit.

Stormy’s half tucked against my shoulder like she’s bracing for impact.

Her ex circles the Camaro like it personally betrayed him. His hands are flailing, his voice rising with every step. “Are you kidding me?!” he shouts, crouching to inspect the dent in the passenger door. “My baby! The side mirrors are gone. Fucking gone! Destroyed.”

He kicks one of the front tires, then yelps when his foot bounces off it the wrong way. He staggers back, holding his foot like the car bit him.

Stormy snorts next to me, then quickly claps a hand over her mouth.

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