Page 127 of Sinful Like Us

I’m just not used to this unbearable silence with her. It weighs on me the longer we’re stuck together in the sedan. Sun sets behind rolling hills, the Highlands breathtaking but more ominous in the dark. Wind howls outside, trembling the car. I’ve been in plenty of snowstorms in Philly, but this is incomparable. In a blink, the entire road is gone.

Lost to a sea of white.

We’re in a fucking blizzard.

“Thatcher.” She tries to peer through the whiteout, but I hear worry on the tail end of my name.

I force myself not to look fully in her direction.Stay frosty.But in my peripheral, I can tell she has a hand firm on the dashboard, bracing herself.

She asks, “Can you see anything?”

“Less than a meter.” I decelerate to a crawl and turn on the fog lights. “We’re fine. I’m taking it slow.”

No other cars are on the road. Darkness creates a tunnel-like feeling as snow piles on the car.She’s safe.It’s the only thing on my mind.

I lose track of time in the quiet, and I don’t want to look down at the clock. My deltoids ache from sitting upright and tensed. I try to roll out my neck and crack some strain—

Tires skate and the car drifts to the right.

My jaw locks.Correcting immediately, I lift my foot off the gas and strengthen my grip on the wheel. My pulse hammers in my ears.

“What was that?” Jane asks.

“We hit a small patch of ice.” Black ice will ruin us, and if we slide on a larger spot, I won’t be able to course correct.

I weigh the risks.

Without cell service and internet and with no clear view of road signs, I’m not 100% certain of our distance to the house. All I know is that it’s a direct shot. One road. One long stretch. Nothing but land.

I ask Jane for the time.

She tells me and then says, “Why?”

“I’m trying to calculate our distance to the house.”

She does the mental math in one second flat. “Based on our speed and current time, we should have about thirty miles left to go.”

Roughly fifty klicks away.Maybe more. Too far from the house to park on a bank and wait out the storm. If snow buries our car, we’ll need to hike thirty-miles in the morning—which means we’re fucked. We’re not prepared for an eight-hour trek on foot…but we could manage a three-hour walk to the house tomorrow if the weather lets up.

“Here’s the plan.” I speed up the wipers. “We’re going make it as close to the house as possible, and then I’m going to pull off and we’ll wait it out in the car.”

She inhales deeply. “You don’t think we can reach the house tonight?”

“Not with black ic—” I lose control of the car again.Goddammit.Front wheels skid to the left for a full second. Quickly, I counter and right us onto the road.

“Merde,” she curses.

I rip my eyes off the windshield for a split-second, just to check on Jane. She has a hand posted on the door, but her blue eyes are focused pinpoints.

I think she might be scanning for road signs.

Returning my concentration to the street, I exhale through my nose. “If we can make thirty more klicks, we’ll be fine.”

“I’m trying to keep track of our distance,” she tells me. “But it’s quite difficult.” Even now she wants to be my right-hand. I swallow back emotion that surges, constricting my lungs.

And then, just like that, we’re spinning.

It happens faster and swifter than the first two times, and I have zero control over the wheels. Nothing I do will stop tires from skating like four hockey pucks on ice, but I try to right us without causing more problems.