Page 3 of The Only Road Back

BETH

The car sputters, lurches, then dies with a guttural gasp. I steer onto the dusty shoulder of an empty Kansas highway while the dashboard flickers its tiny, useless warnings. Smoke leaks from beneath the hood, curling into the summer air.

“No, no, no.” My hands strangle the steering wheel as if that alone could keep me moving. When the engine goes silent, I sag forward, my forehead pressing against the wheel’s worn leather.

Perfect. Just perfect.

As if running out on my wedding wasn’t catastrophic enough, now I’m marooned somewhere between cornfields and nowhere, without a plan.

Breathe, Beth.

I sit upright and try to calm the pounding in my chest.

My phone is still off. I killed it an hour ago after the barrage of messages—my parents needing an explanation, my ex-fiancé demanding I come back, and my cousin indirectly blaming me, like I owed them anything after what Clark did, after what Stephanie did.

I thumb the phone back on, flinching as it buzzes in my hand with dozens of missed calls and texts. Clark’s name flashes across the top. My stomach clenches.

Nope.

I swipe it all away and open Maps. The nearest town: fifteen miles.

In these heels? Not likely.

Hitchhiking? That’s a horror movie waiting to happen.

I toss the phone into my bag and collapse back into the seat, every muscle trembling from exhaustion and adrenaline. Reality hits, heavier than the Kansas summer: betrayal, humiliation, and my family whispering behind my back. Somewhere, Clark and Stephanie are probably celebrating.

Tears burn my eyes, and I try to force them back, but they come anyway, in choking sobs, one after another, until I’m a mess of mascara and regret.

A sharp rap at my window jolts me. Heart hammering, I lurch upright and see a man standing outside. Tall, broad-shouldered, dark blue work shirt. Stubble shadows his jaw, and faded tattoos snake down his forearms.

My hand finds my phone, thumb hovering over 911.

He raises his palms. “Sorry, ma’am. Didn’t mean to scare you. But I got a call that a car had broken down. I’m here to help.”

Behind him, a tow truck idles, engine humming.

Relief rushes in, mingling with embarrassment.

I swipe at my tears and nod.

He points at the hood. “Mind popping it? I’ll take a look.”

I scramble for the latch. The hood pops open, and he walks around to check the engine, exuding a practiced calm.

I flip the visor. My face is a disaster. Smeared mascara, puffy eyes, hair knotted like I’ve been through a tornado. Great.

With a halfhearted brush at my cheeks, I step out.

He’s already deep under the hood, hands skilled and steady. When he stands, he wipes his hands on a rag. “Your radiator hose is busted.”

I try to process. “That’s... not fixable right now, is it?”

He shakes his head. “Not unless you’ve got a spare hose in your purse.”

A weak laugh escapes me. “Sorry. Fresh out.”

He smiles—a hint, barely there. “You’re not driving anywhere until it’s replaced.”

Of course.

I grip the door frame as a headache pulses. “So, what now?”

He gestures toward the truck. “I’ll tow your car back to my family’s shop. Can get the part, but it’ll take a day or two.”

The words settle—heavy, but not impossible.

“Okay. Fine,” I manage. What else am I supposed to do?

He studies me. “You hurt, or just stranded?”

“Both,” I admit, voice rough.

He grins. “Fair enough.”

After a pause, he points to the open truck door. “Want to get out of this heat?”

I hesitate only a second before sliding inside.

He slips in behind the wheel, moves the truck around, and lines it up with my car. “I’m Jack, by the way,” he says.

“Beth.”

We share a brief, awkward silence.

He glances at me, unreadable. “Don’t worry. You’re not the worst breakdown I’ve seen this month.”

I almost smile.

He jumps out to finish attaching my car. I look down the endless ribbon of highway, heart still racing, but a sense of safety takes hold.

Maybe this is a turning point, not an ending.

Eventually, he gets back in the truck, looks at me, and smiles. “You ready?”

“Let’s go.”

***

The garage is pure small town: an open, concrete-floored space, thick with the tang of motor oil and heat. Tools line the walls; a battered neon sign hums over the office door.

Jack pulls the truck to a stop and hops out to unhook my car. Almost instantly, another figure steps from the shadowy bay—older than Jack, the same dark hair, his smile confident and sharp.

“Well, well,” he calls, wiping grease from his hands.

Jack ignores the theatrics, focusing on lowering my car from the truck bed.

The newcomer leans against the passenger side of the tow truck. “You must be the unlucky one Jack just found on the highway.”

I nod. “That’s me.”

He grins. “I’m Henry, Jack’s older, better-looking brother.”

Jack snorts. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Henry winks at me. “Don’t listen to him. Jack’s a genius with cars, but he can’t boil water.”

Somehow, I laugh, a shaky but genuine laugh that surprises me after weeks of misery.

Jack finishes up and dusts off his hands. “We’ll order the part first thing tomorrow. Shouldn’t be too long.”

Reality nips at my heels again. Where am I even supposed to go?

Henry leans in on his elbows. “Need a place to stay? Closest motel’s technically still standing, but unless you like mysterious stains and a front desk guy named Red who collects skulls, I’d pass.”

My eyebrows rise. “That bad?”

Henry deadpans, “Worse.”

Jack’s gaze finds mine—steady, a little hesitant. “I’ve got a guest room. You’re welcome to stay until your car’s fixed.”

“I couldn’t—” I start, but Henry cuts me off.

“Trust me. You want a door that locks.”

Jack shrugs. “It’s no trouble.”

Henry grins. “Translation: he’d hate it if you wandered off.”

I hesitate, then nod. “All right. Yes. Thank you.”

Jack nods back, and his expression softens just a fraction. He heads for my car. “I’ll get your bag.”

As I follow him past the humming neon and oil scent, something lifts inside me. It’s not quite hope, but close. And that’s got to be worth something.