Page 130 of Burn

Middle. Of. Nowhere.

“Adrian, we’re lost. There’s nothing outhere.”

Right on cue, the GPS chimes in, “Recalculating.”

I give him a smug look.

“Don’t say a word,” he says, shaking his head.

I lean back, smiling, and watch the lilacs fly by in the most beautiful blur of colors, not minding being lost with him. The roads are lined with quaint houses on large pieces of land. I can’t imagine having this much space after spending my entire adult life in apartments. It’s such a foreign concept, and I wonder what it’s like. Do these people feel lonely? Do they miss other humans?

I’m deep in thought when my stomach growls loud enough to grab Adrian’s attention. “Hungry?”

“Famished, actually. Think I can eat some of these lilacs?”

“Not sure about that, but there’s a pizza shop in the town up ahead, or a cafe.” He squeezes my hand gently. “Think you can wait for real food, or should I pull over here for you to grab a few branches?”

I pull his hand up to my mouth, gently kissing it before breathing against his skin, “Alternatively, I could just eat you.” I nibble at the edge of his thick thumb.

This has been life for the last year. It’s been sweet, playful, and fun — unless we’re in the bedroom, which has continued to be the place where we take out every dark, chaotic emotion on each other. It never ceases to amaze me how this man can go from gently cupping my face, telling me how lucky he is to have me, how beautiful and perfect I am, to calling me his little whore while driving into me like he’s trying to ruin me for anyone else.

I love both versions. I live for the softness, needing it like I need air, but I crave the brutality of him, crave that dark, possessed look he gets in his eyes when I’m splayed out beforehim. He builds me up all day, every day, to wreck me at night. Somehow, the balance has become our version of harmony.

It’s home, and it’s wherever I’m with him.

A couple of weeks ago, he told me he’s planning to leave theBeavers. It floored me. He loves hockey, and when I asked him why, he said his priorities have shifted. He wanted to make space for someone who would prioritize the team like the guys deserve — someone who wouldn’t hate every single away game or spending late nights at clubs surrounded by women. There was no arguing with him. I tried to tell him I didn’t mind and trusted and supported him. He had laughed and said, “Can’t I just want to be with you and Millie more?”

I suppose the timing couldn’t be better, but I worry he’ll miss it and feel trapped.

He’s so lost.

I’m about to tease him again for his sense of direction when the tops of buildings come into view as we descend a hill. The town is small. I can see the beginning and the end of it as we approach, and it’s filled with old century homes. We pass a farm store, a red building with a vibrant patio, and travel across a short bridge. It’s so pretty; the streets are filled with people strolling along, smiling and laughing.

There are no streetlights, and the area is devoid of traffic. The streets are lined with a mixture of old and new cars. The main corridor is lined with beautiful shops: a pantry, a pastry shop, a cafe, and an apothecary; all look freshly painted and incredibly well-maintained. I’ve never seen a small townthisbeautiful.

“God, this is so different from Torhaven,” I say as I take it in.

He laughs again and says, “Well, yeah. Torhaven houses millions of people. I think this town has a whopping eight hundred or so.”

He parks the truck on the side of Main Street, directly in front of a shop. The shop’s exterior is painted black, and the door shimmers in the morning light, a beautiful gold color. In the windows, I can see shelves lined with crystals.

“Oh! Look at that shop! It’s so pretty,” I exclaim as I open the door and climb out.

He steps in behind me as I peer in the window and wraps his arms around my waist, pressing soft kisses into my neck. Inside, the shop owner smiles. She’s young, beautiful, and covered in nearly as many tattoos as I am. When she waves, I wave back.

“The town witch,” Adrian says against my neck. “Let’s grab lunch and then check out the shops.”

We decide on pizza and walk back the way we came. Each person we pass smiles and says ‘hello,’ and we step into the red building just over the bridge. It smells incredible, and loud music drifts from the back. A male voice, somewhere behind a wall, yells, “Scarlett! Customers!” and seconds later, a pretty, red-haired woman emerges, flour on her cheeks and smiling brightly.

She wipes her hands on her apron as she approaches the counter. “Hi! What can I get ya?”

I turn to the wall, where the menu is meticulously drawn out. The pizzas have quirky names like ‘Sad Pepperoni’ and ‘Beach Dreamin’, and all sound amazing, so I ask, “What do you recommend?”

She considers her answer for a minute, and from behind her, the same male voice shouts, “All of it.” She rolls her eyes as theguy steps out of the back. “We recommend all of it,” he reiterates.

Adrian’s eyebrow quirks up as he asks, “That good, huh?”

The guy on the other side of the counter is shorter, with dark blonde hair and blue eyes. His tone is sarcastic when he says, “Award-winning, brother.”

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