Page 3 of Holding Penalty

I hear Crew pound on the divider. “Driver, drive next to her!” he yells.

I huff a laugh. Crew won’t even get outside and follow me on his own two feet.

The limo rolls forward, inching along to match my slow pace.

“You’re seriously not going to let me explain?” Crew asks. There’s reproach in his voice, like I’m the one at fault here.

I don’t answer. I really, really don’t want to cry right now, so I keep my mouth closed tight. I’m not sure whether I’m on the verge of tears or not, but I don’t want to risk it.

“You can’t walk all the way home. You’re being ridiculous.”

I don’t answer.

“You’re making a huge mistake. I told you, what you saw isn’t at all what it looks like. You won’t even let me explain myself.”

Crew keeps trying to get my attention. He keeps urging me to get back in the limo. But I keep my lips pressed shut and my gaze pointed down the long, straight road leading to Austin.

All the while, he doesn’t even get out of the car.

I hear the driver tell Crew inside the limo, “Listen, buddy, my shift’s over in half an hour. I can’t do this forever.”

Crew sighs, exasperated. “Seriously, Piper, you’re not getting in? You’re going to walk all the way home just because you’re freaking out and not letting me explain what happened? You’re acting hysterical.”

My eyes narrow at the word. I still have one good heel left, and Crew’s walking a fine line.

“Whatever’s going on is none of my business,” the driver says over the now rolled-down divider, “but I need to get home. You can either get out or stay in, but I’m driving into the city now.”

“Last chance, Piper.” Crew actually has the audacity to sound angry at me. “Get in right now, or we’re leaving.”

Bye, then.

Crew huffs. “We’ll talk later.” Then he slams the door, and the limo drives away.

Once the glow of the limo’s taillights is about fifty yards down the road, I stop. I take a deep breath and look up at the sky. It’s too overcast and too close to the city for any stars to dot the darkness. I let out a long, weary sigh.

What am I going to do?

I take another deep breath, square my shoulders, and point my eyes down the long, lonesome Texas road. Whatever I do next, I need to get home first.

Home. I live with Crew. I can’t go there.

I have my purse on my shoulder. That’s good. With the state of my mind, I could have easily forgotten it in the limo.

I can text my sister, Hallie, and ask to stay with her tonight. Then I can get an Uber so I don’t have to spend heaven knows how long walking to the city.

I’ll do both of those things soon. Right now, I want to clear my head a bit more, and the warm nighttime Austin air might help.

I hobble forward, one heel intact, one broken and dragging against the asphalt with each step. It’s uncomfortable as hell, but there’s not enough light to see the surface of the roadside, and there are too many things I don’t want to step on to go barefoot.

Yellow headlights flash in front of me. A car coming from the city. As they grow, the car slows down, likely taking note of me. When it gets closer, I realize it’s a pickup truck. I ignore it, but when it passes, it makes a U-turn and pulls up beside me.

Ugh. I really want to be alone right now, even if it is dangerous and painful to walk down the side of the road with my shoes the way they are. I just want to clear my head until I feel ready to order an Uber.

I look at the truck. It’s a well-cared-for vintage Ford. Two-toned paint job, forest green on top, cream on the bottom, with brown trim in between. I’m not a car girl, but it’s an attractive piece of machinery.

The passenger-side door pushes open, and I look up at the driver leaning over the old bench-style seating.

My stomach tilts.