Page 87 of Middle Ground

My brows shoot up. “You’re letting me drive your car?” I ask. But I’m already unbuckling my seatbelt, ready to exit this hunk of junk.

Jackson steps back and opens the door for me. From his pocket, he produces his key fob, dangling it in front of me like tempting forbidden fruit.

When I grasp it, he doesn’t let go. Instead, he sets his free hand on my hip and guides me backwards until I hit the driver’s side of his car, conveniently parked next to mine. The black metal is warm at my back.

“I’m letting you drive my car,” he says, “on one condition.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

With the press of his body against mine, I prepare to agree to any number of sexual favours so I can spend the afternoon in the sleek Audi. But, as he often does, Jackson surprises me.

“Take the rest of the day off.”

My lips part. “But?—”

He shakes his head. “No buts. Go enjoy the day with your mom and her eccentric friends. We’ve got everything covered here.” He smirks. “If you’re a good girl, I might even take you to dinner later.”

“At Papa’s Pizza Emporium?” I ask, fluttering my lashes. “You really do know how to treat a woman.”

He pinches my hip. “Meyer.”

“Fine. I promise to take the day off.”

“Thank you.”

With a quick kiss on my lips, Jackson relinquishes the keys. I grin as I unlock the car.

“You should be careful what strange woman you lend your car to, Hotshot. She might not give it back,” I tease.

He laughs. “It would hardly be the firstthing she’s stolen,” he replies. That makes my breath hitch, but Jackson doesn’t notice. He gives my ass a light tap, urging me into the driver’s seat. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Tonight.”

“Text me when you get there,” he adds, his expression shifting to one of concern.

After everything, concern has become our default. But there’s been no movement in our case, so I’m all for putting things behind us. Jackson isn’t as quick to forget.

“I will, I promise.”

I wave as I pull out of his parking spot, and then I leave the inn feeling lighter than I have in a while. Despite everything bad that’s happened in the last few months, the good far outweighs it. Jackson outweighs it.

As I cruise along the highway, I fiddle with the controls on the dash. Jackson’s car has a slew of features my Fiesta could only dream of, and I want to try them all. Blessedly, the air conditioning is on full blast, cooling me down despite the sticky humidity outside.

Up ahead, a line of cars slows. A pickup truck at the front is holding them up, waiting to make a left turn onto a dirt backroad. I take my foot off the accelerator and press on the brake.

When the car doesn’t slow, I press a little harder. Still nothing.

My hands tighten on the steering wheel as I try the brake again. I grit my teeth, my gaze switching from the pedals at my feet to the windshield, where I can clearly see the vehicle I’m running the risk of rear-ending. Panic tries to take hold, but I shove it down.

Abandoning the pedal, I try the emergency brake. This is, after all, quickly becoming an emergency. Sweat begins to bead on my temple when that, too, doesn’t want to function.

Everything feels like it’s happening in slow motion, dragging on for endless minutes, but I know it’s only been a matter of seconds. The bumper in front of me is getting closer and closer, and the emergency brake stillwon’t fucking work.

With a muffled scream, I turn the wheel, steering the car away from the vehicles in front of me. I hit the dirt shoulder roughly, but the car keeps going. Tears slip down my cheeks unbidden as I desperately try the brakes again.

Finally, the car rolls down into the ditch, and a scream works its way loose when I crash into the trunk of a tree. My body slams forward on impact, but my seatbelt keeps me locked in place as the airbag inflates.

Shock descends as everything that just happened threatens to sweep me under. A numbness slides over my skin, dulling any pain I’m supposed to be feeling right now.