Escaping Me

Escaping Me

By

Elizabeth Lee

Copyright
© 2013 Elizabeth Lee

CREDITS:

Mickey Reed, Editor

Regina Wamba – Mae I Designs, Cover Art

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced without written consent from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

Piracy is a crime.  Please support author by purchasing this work from an authorized distributor.

Chapter 1
– Whitney

Move your ass, Whitney!
 

Pushing myself to finish this last mile is going to be a challenge.  I already feel like I have two cement blocks in place of the red Nike running shoes on my feet and my thighs are quivering like hot Jell-O.  I reach deep down, needing something to fuel the fire that started to die out, and summon the last image I saw before I left college for summer vacation—my boyfriend's naked ass pulsating up and down as he drove into the girl he said I, and I quote, “have nothing to worry about.”  Her bony chicken legs were flailing to the sides like he was breaking her in half as she grunted out, “Wes is the best!”

I feel my feet lighten as my second wind kicks up.  I hightail it up the hill I've been dreading since it came into view half a mile ago.  With each step the burning sensation jetting through my legs intensifies.  The country farmhouse that I will be calling home for the next three months appears in the distance.  I dig my feet into the empty stretch of road that leads to my new fortress of solitude.  Well, as solitary as it can get with my mom and my sister sharing the space. It is the same house my mother chose over her marriage when my dad took a new job in the city sixteen years ago.  I take a deep breath and focus on the reason I moved to the middle of nowhere instead of settling back into my father's luxurious suburban home.  I need to escape the fact that my boyfriend of four years went and slept with the first girl who had flashed her tits at him at college.  The majority of my teenage life was wasted on a guy I was sure was going to be my future husband. 
What a joke. 
The cold, dark organ that used to be my heart still beats strong as I eye the gravel lane that signals my homestretch, only now it beats out of rage instead of love.

I try to take in another deep breath, knowing that I probably pushed myself too far on this run.  It is the last week in May and already hotter than Hell out here in the middle of nowhere.  I think the plains are supposed to have sweeping winds.  Not today.  It is stifling. Thanks, global warming! I ditched my water bottle two miles back when I’d sucked the last drop out of it.  I try not to pay attention to the fact that breathing is becoming as difficult as lifting my feet to move.

My parents split when I was four.  Like I said before, my dad had big city dreams and my mom couldn't bear the thought of leaving the only place she knew as home.  My grandparents died before I was born, and the farmhouse and a few grass-covered acres were all my mom had left of them.  After putting me and my little sister, Mallory, in the middle of a horrific divorce, complete with court appearances and forced shared visits, my parents came to an agreement that they would let us choose where we wanted to live.  Mallory chose the country life and I hung on my dad's coattails all the way to the city.  The truth is I haven't been back on the family farm for a very long time.  When I decided to spend my summer here, it wasn't for nostalgia or to spend time with my mom and sister. It was because I needed a place that had zero reminders of the past four years.  I want to forget everything about the city and, more importantly, the ex-boyfriend who ripped my heart out and tossed it aside like a cow pie at the County Fair.

On paper, Wesley is perfect.  He was one of the top students at the prep school we attended and a nationally recognized athlete, earning a full scholarship to a prestigious college as a first string lacrosse player.  To top it off, he is textbook handsome with his jock physique, blue eyes, and perfectly styled chestnut-colored hair.  We were the high school dream couple—Prom King and Queen with a devoted following of friends and enough money and status to have the world handed to us.  Naturally, I followed him to college in hopes of recreating the status we'd achieved together in high school.  It wasn't until I went to surprise him in his dorm room one afternoon that I learned the dreams I'd had for us were nothing but wishful thinking.  The images of him and the whore who ruined my life were burned into my brain and there was no going back after witnessing his betrayal firsthand.  I'd heard rumors that Wes wasn't faithful.  Everything he’d told me about “us” was nothing more than a facade.  He kept me around because, just like him, I look good on paper.  My dad is a successful attorney, my step-mom is a socialite, and we have money.  I was to be Wesley Thorton's trophy wife.  It's too bad I can’t look the other way on infidelity.  My life probably could have been almost perfect. 

The faded letters spelling out my mom's last name—Weldon—are coming into view on the rusty old mailbox that is planted at end of the lane.  I push through the pain, sweat, and tears that are trying to keep me from finishing this run.  I should have listened to my body but the only thing I can focus on is running away from the past... and then nothing.

Chapter 2 – Cole

There was only one way I wanted today to turn out and it didn't involve playing knight in shining armor to the airhead who overheated on her mid-morning run.  I have to give her credit for at least making it to the end of her driveway.  I pull over, step out of my beat up Ford, and let out a sigh.  Maybe I can just act like I didn't see her and drive on by. 
Surely someone would find her.
 

Apparently, my right foot and my conscience are reading the same fucking book, because before I know it I am coming to slow stop just a few feet from her.  As I step out of my truck, I can see the rise and fall of the sorority t-shirt covering her chest and know she is still breathing. 
Get back in the truck, Cole.  You're trying to lay low, remember?
  Just as I am talking myself out of playing Good Samaritan, she whimpers, and like an ant to sugar, I am crouched at her side.

“
It's okay, pretty girl.” I tuck my arm under her knees and wrap the other behind her back, pulling her up with me. “I gotcha.”  She lets her head fall against my chest, and for a moment, I am lost.  She might not be the smartest cookie—out running in this unexpected Spring heat wave—but damn she is beautiful.  Her long ponytail brushes against the tattoo on my right arm as I make my way back to the truck with her.  The sunlight illuminates the light and dark of her hair.  It is somewhere between blond and brown.  It looks a lot my grandma's coffee after she clouds it with French vanilla creamer.  Her sun-kissed skin is flushed and glistening with sweat as she wrinkles her cute little nose in pain, probably wincing from the muscle cramps that come along with heat exhaustion and dehydration.

As soon as I have her loaded in the passenger side, I point the vents of the A/C directly at her and turn it on high.  I shut the door and immediately miss the feel of her in my arms. I shake off the notion and climb in the driver's side door.  I steal one more glance at her before I head up the driveway.  Judging from her fancy running clothes and the fresh manicure on her nails, she isn’t a typical country girl. 

That is just my luck.  I traded my small town for this one to disappear and now I have to help the rich farmer's daughter get back to her house.  I'm sure her folks are going to love seeing my truck driving on their property.  I am definitely not the guy you bring home to Momma.  I'll be quick about this—carry her up the front porch steps, hand her off to whoever opens the door, and be on my way.  I am supposed to meet the lumber yard foreman in twenty minutes to start my new job.  The job my older brother, Finn, found for me before he pushed me out of town and told me never to comeback.  I know he was just trying to protect me, but it kind of felt like he just wanted me out of his life so I couldn't stir up more shit.

Apparently, I have an anger management problem. 
No shit
.  That's what I told the cops and judges who offered up their two cents whenever I got into trouble.  I do have a serious problem managing my anger when assholes push my fucking buttons.  According to Finn, I needed a fresh start in a new place.  Translation: I'd fought my last fight in his jurisdiction.  I'm not gonna lie and say I didn't make some mistakes.  I might have gotten involved with a not-so-nice crowd and made a few bad decisions, but I think his
punishment
was a little extreme.  Finn is a county deputy and the star of our dysfunctional family, and I... I am just another Pritchett screw up.  At least that's what my last girlfriend, Megan, thinks.  She is now expecting her own little Pritchett offspring and it isn’t mine.  She tossed me aside like an empty beer can when my brother came back to town.  I just didn't have my shit together, according to her.  In my defense, the odds were kind of stacked against me.  Our mother is a drug addict and my dad spent the majority of his life in prison.  One of us was bound to be a loser.  While Finn was kicking ass for the good guys, I was mixed up with the bad ones.  Hell, maybe I am a bad guy.

I pull into the circle drive that loops around in front of the porch and throw the truck in park.  I hop out quickly and make my way around to retrieve her.

“Omigod!” a woman's voice calls out from behind me.  I hear the screen door she came out of slam against the door frame.  “What happened?”

I pull the sleeping beauty out of the truck seat and resume the position of having her pressed against my chest. “I think she pushed herself a little too far on her run,” I say, turning to meet who I assume is her mother at the foot of the porch steps. “I found her at the end of the lane like this.”

“Whitney,” she whispers in a soothing tone, stroking her daughter's forehead.  “Are you okay, baby?”  She responds with a quiet sigh and I feel my heart skip a beat. 
What the hell is going on? 
I don’t even know this Whitney. Why am I suddenly concerned with her well-being?  I need to get the hell out of there before I do something stupid
.

“
Follow me.” Her mother shoots out the order and I follow her up the front steps and through the front door without hesitation.  “Put her there.” She points at the brown leather sofa that sits in their living room and runs to retrieve water and a cool rag.

As I gently place her down on the sofa and stand up, I steal one more glance at her pretty face. 
I wonder what color her eyes are. 
I need to go. Now. 

“
Thank you so much for bringing her home…” She waits for me to interject my name.

“
Cole Pritchett, ma'am,” I inform her.  She places the rag across Whitney's forehead and smiles up at me.

“
Well, thank you, Cole Pritchett.”  Her words are full of gratitude and her eyes never once fall on my tattoos or the piercings in my ears.  She looks directly into my eyes.  That never happens.  “I think she'll be okay once I get her cooled down.”

“
I hope so,” I sigh as I back toward the door.  “Glad I could help.”  I don’t give her time to notice that I am leaving.  I don’t want to take the chance that she will offer me sweet tea or cookies or some other warm, welcoming gesture.  I’m not sure if I'd be able to tell her no because apparently something about the women in this house makes me want to do stupid things like say “ma'am” and smile.  I do not have time for shit like that.  I need to get to work and get started on my disappearing act.

Chapter 3 – Whitney

“
Ugh,” I groan.  My head is pounding and I feel like I’ve been beaten up.  My muscles are tense from my calves up through my shoulders.  “What happened to me?” I sit up on the couch and look across the room at my sister, Mallory, who is glued to the screen of her cell phone.

“
Well, well, well,” she smirks, letting her fingers blindly type the text message she is sending. “Looks like Miss I'm-Gonna-Run-When-It's-A-Hundred-Degrees-Outside finally woke up.”

I let my head fall back against the couch with a sigh. Of course I overheated.  I knew I was pushing myself too hard.  “Well, this sucks.  I feel like I got run over by a truck.”

Mallory quickly stands up, tossing her phone on the recliner she vacated, and makes her way over to me.  “Here.” She hands me the bottle of water and two aspirin that were on the coffee table.  She steps beside me, lifts my legs up, and settles on the couch, letting my legs fall across her lap.  “What were you doing out there, Whit?  Didn't you know there was a heat advisory today?” she asks as she begins to massage my calf muscles.

I feel myself tense up at her touch.  I’m not used to having people take care of me.  If I wanted a massage I had to call and schedule it.  My dad and my step-mom were barely around enough to uncomfortably hug.  Physical affection is definitely something we didn't do in the Vandaveer house.