Page 1 of Up in Flames

CHAPTER ONE

MAKAYLIE

Thursday – Thanksgiving

Rain pummels my windshield, making it hard to see as I travel toward the Horace Wilkinson Bridge more commonly known as the New Bridge, heading back to my apartment.

Josephine, or Joey as I call my best friend, and I live in the River House Apartments in Baton Rouge, which is perfect for us. Our apartment is small, with two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a living area the size of a teapot, but it doesn’t matter because we both love it. Our place isn’t the tiniest in the world, but for me, it’s quite different, considering I grew up in a spacious manor in Lafayette with my parents, Deanna and Spencer. Spending Thanksgiving at home always gives me a sense of warmth and belonging, but I’ve made my home in Baton Rouge.

It’s where I belong now.

I’m almost at my apartment as I head across the New Bridge in Gertrude, my bright red 1960s Ford Thunderbird convertible, while the rain clouds continue their assault and pour their misery onto the world below. Unfortunately, the top of my convertible is closed because of this relentless rain, but normally in summer, I’d have it open, feeling the sun on my face and the wind blowing my hair. This car is my father’s pride and joy. He’s a mechanic and loves working on older-style vintage muscle cars. I can’t say I blame him—they are amazing to look at and drive, but I dislike the attention I receive when I drive her around.

As I make a left on Terrace Avenue, Gertrude jolts under me and starts to cough and splutter.

“No, no,no… not again, Gertie,” I call out, pulling over to the side of the road and banging my hands on the oversized white steering wheel. “You vintage piece of crap,” I murmur under my breath while shaking my head.

My eyes shift to the rain still drowning the pavement, and I tense at the thought of getting soaking wet. I’ve never been a fan of water, not even rain. I nearly drowned when I was ten, so anything larger than a shower or a glass of water freaks me the hell out. I even detest baths. So standing out in the rain, on a busy road at night, trying to push my stupid, gorgeous, pathetic car to safety, that shit terrifies me.

Exhaling, I moan as I unclip my seat belt and open my door, stepping out. The water slaps me in the face, instantly unsettling me, as I move into position to try and push Gertie off the road. I’m a small, not overly muscular woman, so this is tough, and I can’t help the sense of panic creeping in, considering this is a gargantuan muscle car.

Cars fly past me in a mad dash to get home from their Thanksgiving Day out.

The night sky is dark due to the clouds hanging low in the sky, and the street lamps filter through in a glittery effect between the splattering of the rain. It’s difficult to see anything as the water continues to fall, constant and unforgiving.

“Argh, give me a break, Mother Nature,” I call out, trying to push harder, but Gertie won’t budge as I make some sort of effort to get her off the road. Another car flies past me, causing a cascade of muddy water to splash over my legs. I halt my movement and groan out loud in annoyance as the liquid soaks through my jeans and ballet flats.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” I groan in annoyance. I turn to push Gertie again, but another car rushes by before I start, pelting me with another wave of water. But this time, it shoots into my face and over my entire body, drenching my short blonde bobbed haircut.

I let out a gasp as my arms fall to my sides, and I shake uncontrollably, not only from the cold but from the fright as I try to wipe the water away from my face. “You fucking asshole,” I call out, starting to feel emotional.

Nope!

I won’t cry.

There’s no need for tears.

I am stronger than that.

I am an independent woman who can handle a car breakdown during a torrential downpour.

You can do this, Makaylie.

The problem is I know nothing about mechanics.

I turn back, moving into position to try and steer the car off the road again, but I’m not having any luck. It’s too heavy and waterlogged. I’m starting to wonder if I should get back in the car and wait until I can call someone to rescue me.

That’s when I hear a car pull up behind me.

I turn to a man sliding out of his car and tense. I’m very aware of stranger danger. Even at twenty-six, a woman stranded in the middle of the night is like a direct line for weirdos.

“Can I help you?” the guy calls out, pulling his leather jacket off. I can’t quite make him out in the dark as his broad frame bolts toward me, but when he reaches me, his face comes into view, and my mouth drops open.

He’s tall and has a flawlessly maintained stomach by the looks of his now-drenched black tee. My eyes wander back up to his extremely attractive face. This man is ruggedly handsome, and my chest squeezes when he looks at me and smiles.

Teeth—perfect.

Jaw—chiseled.

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