Page 10 of Wrecked for Love
Shuffling around in the backseat, I tried to stretch out, but every limb felt bent at the wrong angle in this cramped space. It wasn’t my first time sleeping in a car, but tonight, it seemed to press down harder. Stubbornness kept me warm—or almost.
The cold crept in, seeping through the car’s metal frame. As if invited, it burrowed straight into my bones. Every gust of wind felt like a dare, testing me to see how long I’d last before I gave up and surrendered to the storm.
But I knew I’d get through this. I’d been through tougher.
The temperature plummeted. I pulled the blanket tighter, but it barely held back the chill. I should’ve known. Even in summer, this part of the country could whip up vicious storms and brutal winds. Now, rain hammered the windshield.
Sheesh!
After surviving the road for days, nature’s fury was starting to make me feel hopeless. The kind of hopelessness that pricked you, sinking deeper when you’re too worn out to fight it anymore.
Why hadn’t I followed him? I could be sitting next to a fire right now. Maybe with a glass of wine or, hell, even a cup of hot tea. I wasn’t picky.
Or…maybe a cuddle.
Seriously? Was I really thinking about a cuddle? With a man that I had just threatened with my gun?
I paused, taking stock of what was really on my mind.
Dang.I did want that cuddle, just a little. From that taut frame? Sure, maybe. To be fair, I hadn’t been close to anyone since leaving New York. A little longing was normal, right? Something about being seen, being held? A woman had the right to imagine. Did wanting that make me weak, or just…human?
Biting my lip, I convinced myself it was harmless—a simple coping mechanism to help me survive the miserable night as long as it stayed in my head.
The storm rattled the car like it was trying to knock some sense into me. Now, the idea of warmth—of human connection—didn’t seem so ridiculous anymore.
Suddenly, headlights appeared in the distance, cutting through the downpour. It was him with a rain jacket on but no dog in sight. I guess even dogs had more sense than to be out in this mess.
He knocked on my window, rain dripping from his fringe. “You’re coming with me, like it or not!” He jiggled the doorhandle, and with a reluctant sigh, I unlocked it. “Come on, Miss Chili!”
This time, I gave him a sign that I’d follow him. But first, I scrambled for my bag. The last thing I wanted was to imagine sharing a toothbrush with him. How had I even gotten to that thought?
Dragging myself out of the car, I was drenched within seconds.
“Why do you care, anyway? Aren’t I your danger?” I reminded him.
“Because I don’t want to deal with a dead body on my property,” he shot back, rain and wind slapping against his face.
I rolled my eyes but barely made it a few steps before stumbling, my bag dangling awkwardly. My legs just weren’t cooperating anymore.
“For real? You’re dying already?” he mocked.
I muttered something that could’ve been a curse, but before I knew it, he grabbed my hand, steadying me. Despite the taunt, his grip was firm—careful. He took the bag from me and practically half-carried me to his truck.
We rushed in, the storm still raging outside, and as soon as I was seated, he cranked up the heat. His driving was calm and steady, even with the wind howling and rain hammering the windshield. It reminded me of something Cody used to say.You can always spot a bad guy by the way he drives—either too fast or way too slow. Criminals don’t know what moderation is.
But this guy? Completely in control, no jerky movements. Just smooth, focused driving.
We arrived at his house in one piece. It was very country—a large, cozy farmhouse that looked big enough for a family, though I had a feeling it was just him living here.
As soon as we stepped inside, his dog trotted up to greet me, leaning against my leg like we were old friends.
“You’re lucky my dog likes you,” he said, “otherwise I might’ve taken a shot at you as soon as you opened your car door.”
“Guess I owe your dog a treat, then.” I stroked the collie’s fluffy coat, his tail wagging like it was powered by a motor.
My host flashed a beguiling smile, but it vanished before I could really take it in—like he didn’t want me to notice. “I’m Elia,” he introduced himself.
Elia.The name tugged at a memory, something from Sunday school. My mom used to drag me there every Sunday, trying to convince me there was a special kind of hell reserved for misbehaving kids. I vaguely remember learning about a few prophets. Elia had been one of them, and the name meant something like “an answer from God.” Maybe he was my answer. Or at least the answer I needed tonight.
