Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“All right, brother. I guess I’ll see you later this week.”
“See you then.” I end the call, and even though I want another beer, I pass instead and detour to my bedroom to start packing.
“I’ll be sure to bring your suit,” Mom tells me. “Oh, and here.” She hands me a cooler.
“What’s this?”
“Snacks for the trip as promised. There’s another one in the back seat. I had Dad load it when you got here.”
“How did I miss that?” I ask with a shake of my head. This woman never ceases to amaze me.
“I have my ways. If there is anything you forgot, just call me, and I’ll make sure to bring it with us on Wednesday.”
“I think I’m good but will let you know.” I pull her into a hug and kiss her cheek. “See you in a few days.” With a handshake for Dad and another hug from Mom, I’m pulling out of their driveway for my impromptu road trip.
The sky is gray, and from the looks of it, it could bring a winter storm. I’m kicking myself in the ass for not driving my truck. The weather wasn’t even a factor, and it should have been.
“Perfect. Here comes the snow,” I murmur to myself a little more than three hours into the trip. Huge flakes are falling from the sky, and from the temperatures and the size, I know it’s going to stick. I just hope I can make it to the cabin before the roads are too treacherous to drive on.
“Damn.” In a matter of minutes, I’ve driven into an all-out snowstorm. Both hands grip the wheel so tightly my knuckles are white. Reaching over, I turn down the radio and can’t help but laugh. My mom used to do the same thing when I was a kid like it was going to make her a better driver or something. We would always give her a hard time, and here I am acting just like her. I don’t want the music to be a distraction. I need to stay focused on the road. I also keep my eyes peeled for Aspen’s SUV. I’m not sure what time she was leaving. I hope she missed this or at least caught the tail end of it before arriving at the cabin.
“Maybe I should call her,” I say to myself as I go to reach for my phone. My car spins, and in my haste to put both hands back on the wheel, I drop my phone. Thankfully, I have Bluetooth. I hit the button on my steering wheel, and it pops up on my screen that there’s no phone connected. Damn it. My phone battery has been draining quickly, and I’ve been turning off my Bluetooth to save battery life. I didn’t even realize it wasn’t connected when I started out earlier.
The snow is falling so hard I can hardly see the road, and I’m worried that if I pull off, I won’t be getting back on the interstate. The GPS on the dash says I’m about thirty minutes away from the cabin. I can’t really tell from this whiteout I’m driving through. I just hope Aspen is there and she’s safe.
Thirty minutes turns into an hour, but I’m finally pulling into the driveway of my family’s cabin. Aspen’s silver SUV is parked in the drive. Her window is covered in snow, and there are no tire tracks, which tells me that she’s been here for a while. I feel my shoulders ease from the knowledge and the fact that my drive is over. We are definitely hunkering down for the evening.
Pulling the hood of my sweatshirt up to ward off the cold, I climb out and feel around on the floorboard for my cell phone. I find it wedged up under the seat. Slamming the door, I start to head to the front porch when I remember Mom saying she packed extra snacks. I don’t know how prepared Aspen is, but we’re definitely not going back out in this mess tonight. Retracing my steps, I grab my suitcase, as well as my laptop bag. I’ll have to make a second trip for the cooler. It’s just one suitcase, but this cooler is a full-size cooler, and it’s heavy as hell. It’s hard to tell what Mom has sent with me. One thing’s for sure; I know it’s going to be good, and I’m starving. The small bag of snacks she sent disappeared an hour into the trip.
Arms loaded down, I make my way up the steps of the porch and manage to open the door without setting anything down. My feet haven’t even passed the threshold when a blood-curdling scream pierces my ears. I stand frozen, letting the cold air and snow seep into the heated cabin. My legs are frozen in place, but it has nothing to do with the cold.