Chapter 4

The rain is a wall. Wipers thrash uselessly, smearing water across the windshield instead of clearing it. Headlights stretch into long, blinding comets. The world outside the truck is just black and white and violent. His hand finds mine on the bench seat. Warm. Callused. Too familiar for a stranger. “Em.” His voice is steady, but his knuckles are white on the steering wheel. “Look at me.” “I am,” I try to say, but my throat won’t work. My heart is pounding so hard it hurts....