Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 43540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
But days turned into weeks, then months, and eventually, Easton Cruz was a part of my past. I’d moved on. Started to date again and rebuild what he had broken. And I’ve been a ray of sunshine ever since.
“Maybe they’re the problem,” I suggest out loud since I’m the only one in the vehicle or anywhere else because everyone has taken Grant’s advice. What’s done is done. I agreed to this stupid life timeout. I just need to make the best of it. Get to the cabin, crack open a bottle of wine, light a fire, and watch the beautiful snowflakes fall. It will be peaceful and quiet. . . and I’ll probably want to blow my brains out because I hate the quiet!
“Ugh!” That’s it. Hate texts wait for no one. I grab my phone, but it slips between the seats. “Dammit,” I grunt, trying to keep my eye on however much of the road I can see, and bend to grab my phone. “Come on.” It’s at the tip of my fingers. I shimmy it between my thumb and index finger when I hit a patch of ice. My tires skid, and I grip the steering as I slide across the road.
My car does an impressive three-sixty spin, once, twice, three times—Jesus, there’s a reason I don’t do rollercoasters—until I bash into a large snowbank. It takes me a minute to gather myself. I’m in one piece, so that’s good. I turn the ignition, but my car doesn’t start. “Oh, don’t you dare.” I turn it again but nothing.
“Why, why, why?” I yell. I kick my feet and slap my steering wheel. When I gather a sliver of normalcy, I go for my phone and click on my roadside app, realizing I have no service. Waving my hand in all directions, I wait for a bar to appear. “Come on, baby. Give me one. . .” When that doesn’t work, I try to roll down my window, but nothing happens since the car is off. “This seriously cannot be happening to me right now.” I throw myself back in my seat. What the hell do I do now?
The directions show the cabin’s only a mile away. But I am not walking a mile in a blizzard. Someone will drive by. They’ll see my car and help me. I just have to wait.
Only a few minutes pass when I start to see my breath. My windows are frosting over, and I decide that my only two options are to freeze to death in my car or out there attempting to walk a mile through all this.
“Tory and Ashley, you two are dead to me!” I curse my best friends. I gather my purse, laptop bag, and a bottle of wine from my bag of groceries. A gust of wind slaps my face when I open my car door. I quickly shut it. “Yep. I’ll just freeze in here. There’s no way I’ll make it. I’m too short. Not enough meat on my bones to keep me warm. And I have zero survival skills.”
But I also know that if I die here, I won’t be able to make it home and murder the two people who put me in this predicament. If that doesn’t give me the drive to succeed, I don’t know what else will. I grab my thick scarf and slip on two sweaters under my winter coat. A mile isn’t that far. I was able to run it in under nine minutes in high school. I can walk it in a snowstorm just as quickly. Taking one last look at my directions, I memorize the streets. Left on Tucker Trail. Over the bridge, take a left on Weber Way. The cabin should be just over the bend. I got this. Tucking my phone into my jacket pocket, I wish myself luck and venture into the storm.
By the time I hit the bend, I can’t feel my body and probably resemble the abominable snowman. I’ve debated giving up over a dozen times. Popping that wine bottle and drinking until I turn into an icicle. Good thing my rage keeps me going. When I think my legs are about to snap off, the cabin comes into view. Smoke pours from the chimney, and lights shine from the windows.
“Oh, thank God,” I praise, pushing my legs to walk faster. The second I get inside, I’m going to strip naked and soak in the heat from the fire. I cry out in relief when I hit the porch. My thighs burn with each step I take, and I make it to the door, reaching for my phone to get the code for the lockbox. I dig into my pocket. My now empty pocket. “No. . .” I search them thoroughly, but they’re both empty. Maybe I put it in a different pocket. It’s possible. My brain is kind of frozen. I unzip my jacket and search my inner pockets, but nothing. “You have to be kidding me!” I yell. Seriously, this day cannot get any worse.