"Did the guy say anything to you? Do you have any idea what he wanted?"

I flip my windshield wipers to high. The storm is terrible, and they can hardly keep up.

We're also getting blasted with tornado and flood warnings. I shouldn't even be on the road right now.

"He wanted Quinn's ring," Taryn answers while peeking at her bloody fingers. "When I said I didn't have it, he said, bullshit, and grabbed me."

"But you did have it on you?"

Taryn said the ring was in a safe place, accessible if she needed it, and I left it at that. I honestly want nothing to do with it. It's just asking for trouble. We shouldn't even have it here with us for reasons that are now obvious. There's at least one person willing to fight for it, almost to the death.

"I still do. It's sewed into the tongue of my sneaker." She stamps her left foot to show me which one. "You'd need scissors or a lot of patience to remove it."

Or a sharp knife...

I nod once. "And you didn't even consider giving it to him?"

"He wasn't willing to negotiate. You said so yourself, don't hand it over to just anyone. It may be the only thing we have to trade for Quinn's life."

I check again to see if my wipers go up any higher, and they don't. There's nothing I can do to make going faster any safer. "What about your own life?"

"I didn't think he was going to kill me," she responds after a long pause for thought. "Not until he had what he wanted anyway."

"Taryn..." I come to a stop at a red light, and I'm grateful for the chance to close my eyes. "If you do anything like that again, I swear to God, I will..."

I blow out an exhale and hit the gas. The light is already green. It's one of the few things I can see out here.

"You'll what? Kill me?"

She scoffs for a second, and then emits a nervous giggle that I find offensive.

I shouldn't have said it like that, but I wish she thought a little more of me. I was worried. Terrified. I'd lose my shit if anything happened to her. That's all I wanted to get across.

"It's not a joke," my bruised ego strikes back. "I hope you realize I would have shot the bastard, even after he dropped the knife. And it wouldn't have ended our problems. It would have multiplied them."

"I'm sorry." Her voice is smaller, sadder. She peeks at her wound again, and then corrects the fabric and makes a fist. From the looks of it, she hasn't yet curbed the bleeding. "I understand. I just don't respond well to threats."

There's a lot to unpack there, but we don't currently have the opportunity. We come to the bright lights of a Walgreens, and I don't hesitate to make the turn. It's a stop we shouldn't avoid, even if we're being tracked.

I leave Taryn in the truck, telling her to drive away at any sign of danger. Then I dart across the parking lot, through quite the deluge.

The pharmacy is eerily empty inside. Everyone in Dallas is wisely elsewhere. I don't care, as long as there's a clerk and no boogeyman.

Clown-face was injured and sped off in the opposite direction. In the storm, I figure we have at least a few minutes before he or his crew, assuming he has one, is able to pinpoint our location, through whatever means they're able.

It must be digital. I'm almost positive that I wasn't being followed on the interstate this morning. Unless the gardener gave him the same lead, which I suppose is possible, I can see no other way we'd end up in the same place at the same time.

I pretty much grab one of everything in the bandage aisle, making sure to also include the rubbing alcohol, saline rinse, and ointment. I duck into the kitchen aisle, throw a roll of paper towels into my basket, and then head to the refrigerators. I take two large water bottles and pluck a few snacks from the nearest display on my way to the register.

There's no line, I pay in cash, and return to the truck. It took no more than a few minutes, and I'm glad to see it's still idling in the same parking spot.

Taryn clicks open the locks for me with perfect timing. I didn't park far away, and yet I'm soaked from hair to boots. It's still warm and muggy out, though, and the situation is beyond tense. I could probably be in a bucket of ice and still feel more hot than cold.

"Did I miss anything?" I place the big shopping bag on the console between us.

I turn the windshield wipers on high again. They're not faring any better than before, and I shut them off. I may as well take a moment to help Taryn with her hand.

"Knox called." While she's unraveling the blouse-bundle from her hand, she alludes to my phone in the cup holder with a slight nod.

This is now the third time he's called me today. He's probably pissed about Monday, Taryn, and the fact that I have permission to be here with her. And who knows what else he knows by now...

I should have brought my phone in with me, but I was distracted, to put it mildly, and must have forgotten. I wouldn't have answered the call, regardless. He's the least of my concerns right now and has been all day. I have yet to answer any of his correspondence, and I'm in no hurry, even if he keeps at it with the same pain-in-the-ass persistence.

"And you didn't answer?" I start with the paper towels and set the bag on the floor in the back. "I assure you, he'd rather talk to you than to me." I unroll about ten small sheets worth and make a mat for us on the console.

She rolls her eyes. It's the amused kind, though. Not the annoyed or disgusted version. Maybe there's hope for Knox after all.

"I'm not gonna answer your phone," she responds to the question and evades the insinuation, unsurprisingly.

She flattens her hand on the paper towels as much as she can while I douse it in a stream of saline. I sterilize my hands with the alcohol and then blot her fingers dry with a wad of gauze pads.

"He's into you, you know." I may as well get that out there. I'm still free and clear of any merrymaking, and if she's going to make a decision, it should be an informed one.

Her eyes dart to mine, like she's trying to read me. The look is more direct than I was prepared for. If it had been some kind of fight, she just knocked me for a loop. We both end up looking back down at her hand, but I certainly got there first.

She shrugs a shoulder. "What does it matter?" While we let her hand air-dry the rest of the way, she gazes through the windshield, into the continuous stream of rain. "He's taken. I'm only forty percent single myself."

"What do you mean forty percent?" This is the first I've heard about someone else from her, and I'm . . . well . . . I think my tone says it all. "How does that work?"

She is not deaf or dense, and my change in temperament does not slip by her. "You're teasing me about some other guy, and now you're getting hostile?"

This silences me.

"I said forty percent for a reason!" she hits me again.

"That reason being?" I should shut up, but I guess I'm not capable.

"I've got this." She shoos me away from her hand just as I'm about to get started again. "Drive," she tells me.

I crank up the wipers and the air conditioning, throw the truck into gear, and pound on the gas a little harder than I should. Visibility still sucks, but nothing is safe right now, not even the climate in this car. I may as well follow her orders.

"You want to know? Fine..." she starts but she doesn't immediately continue. Instead, she unbuckles her seatbelt and practically bends over backwards to get her right hand in the bag behind her.

The motion looks painful and excessive in her situation. She could have let me finish the job I started. I don't think we're in that much of a hurry.

I have to remind myself that she's more agile and flexible than I am. It could be nothing personal. Maybe she's just more nervous about "wasting time" than I am.

With all the necessary supplies in her lap, she puts her seatbelt back on with a sigh that isn't one of relief. "I'm supposed to be playing house in Washington D.C. right now with a boy I've been with for over a year. Who loves me..."

With her teeth and her right hand, she manages to unscrew the cap of the antibiotic ointment and peel off the protective foil.

"Who's smart and hardworking and decent..."

She squeezes the tube like it's the villain here, and a whole snake of ointment bursts out. At least it's well-aimed.

"To me. To everyone. He has no bad habits to speak of..."

Of course he doesn't.

Then there's me. And I have like thirty...

"And what did I do to him?" She unwraps four gauze pads and staggers them along her fingers. "I took off in the wrong direction without telling him, and when I got the frantic phone call, it was a lot of I'm sorry, I'm not sure, we'll see, maybe..." She stops fiddling with her hand while she mocks her own voice. "And I haven't found the nerve to reply to him since..."

She opens the box of bandages, gets the roll started with her teeth, and goes around her hand a few times.

It's an adequate attempt, but I certainly would have done a better job...

The good news is, we're a few miles further on. We have a decision to make soon. There's more than one way to Idaho, and we may want to avoid the most obvious route.

"Even if I decide I want to join him," she goes on while tidying up the supplies. "I can't exactly come up with the thousands of dollars I'd need to get there or pay that ridiculous security deposit and first month of rent. If he needs that kind of money, he can just ask his parents or get a loan. I never brought up the fact that I can't. I don't see how it could work without him solving these problems for me. I know he would, but I'm not gonna ask..."

She unbuckles her seatbelt again and returns all the boxes and garbage to the bag.

"I know it's complicated..." She puts one bottled water in my cup holder with her right hand and then goes back for the other. "But is the math mathing for you now?"

She squeezes the bottle against her chest on her bad side to get it open and then takes a long drink when she finally manages to do so without help.

I think this is the most she's told me since she arrived in Texas. It's no wonder she's thirsty. I can't say it was anything I liked hearing, though.

"Sure." At a yellow light, I decide to slow down and wait through the cycle, which is likely to be a long one.

I grab my phone and pull up radar. The storm clears up about fifty miles to the west. Any other direction and it's a big blob of nasty, and that settles things for me, but not without pause. If I really intend to go through with this Idaho endeavor, it's going to be a long haul, and I have to be back at work on Thursday. I didn't shoot anyone—yet—so I guess that's still a consideration.

Heading north, we can't really avoid Denver, but we can take a detour through Albuquerque, New Mexico. We'd lose a few hours, but we'd avoid some of the bad weather and hopefully throw off our pursuers.

"After all that, we're giving one-word answers?" she asks me once I ease my foot down on the gas pedal and set the phone down with a bit of a delay.

At least she realized I was doing something important.

What was the last thing I said? Oh, right. It was "sure." And I'm sure that sounded insensitive, but in my defense, there are more pressing matters at hand, like surviving. Without that, who's sleeping with who doesn't mean shit.

"I'm just surprised, is all."

At that, she slumps in her seat and turns her head toward the passenger side window. "That I had a life outside of Quinn's orbit? I know. It's so very hard to believe..."

"That's not what I meant." I nudge her lightly with my elbow. "I just don't know why you didn't say something sooner."

"Well, now you know." She shifts back toward me and gives me her full attention. "My whole life story. From my controlling, narcissistic stepfather in Idaho to my heartbroken, unexpectedly long-distance boyfriend in D.C. Maybe at some point you'll do some talking and stop accusing me of holding things back."

"Yeah, maybe." I use a tone to suggest it'll never happen. If she's only partially available, there's no sense talking about it. I have no respect for cheaters, and being the other guy can't be that much better than cheating or being cheated on. No matter what, it's an emotional burden I'm unwilling to carry. The guilt, jealousy, fear, insecurity, resentment...

Just, no, all around. It's not for me. I have enough of that shit already for things I can't change, prevent, or make peace with.

"You know, you can't keep Quinn in your heart and me on hold, in case that ever changes," she digs right back in, needing that final word. "I won't be anyone's fifty percent. And right now, I wouldn't even give myself that much. You may flirt a little, but you probably do that with everyone."

"You're wrong about a lot of that," I feel the need to inform her.

She leans on the windowsill with her good arm and returns her gaze to the storm. "Yeah, which part?"

She is so much better at this arguing thing than I am, and it's infuriating. Even Quinn would have waved the white flag and told me what I wanted to hear by now.

And goddammit, I should stop comparing! Except for maybe their eyes and skin tone, and to some degree, their hair color, they are nothing alike.

I bottle all that up and emit a measly sigh. If we're talking math, it only vents out about one percent. "Let's just drive," I blurt out. "You're angry. I'm angry..."

I've never been more relieved in my life to pull into a gas station.

I park, pump the gas, and check in on her while I'm standing there, to see what she's doing.

She's on her phone, and it hits me with something on that long list of things that I don't need right now. Jealousy.

What if she's texting him? What if she goes back to him after all this?

What if I tell her how I feel, and she goes back to him anyway?

Yep, there's the insecurity, coming in at a close second.

Third place is our actual security. It should have been my first concern, but I'm not just some robo-cop.

This hurts. A lot. More than I ever would have thought possible. I should be able to get past it and see clearly, but it's a struggle, I admit.

"Phones off," I bark at her coming back into my seat. "We don't know exactly how that guy found us."

As far as I can tell at a glance, she's just looking at maps. Maybe there wasn't anything for me to get all bent out of shape about. Regardless, she closes out of the app without argument, exaggeratedly turns it off at an angle I can't miss, and drops it in the center console.

"What about you?" she reminds me. "It could be your phone."

I consider that less likely, but she has a point. So, without any complaints on my end either, I hold down the off button and slide right as well.

Looks like, for the time being, we'll only have each other for company. Makes me wish we were in better moods.

Then, out of some stupid, pigheaded need to make things worse, I say, "You can check in with your boyfriend in Denver. It's a big enough place. You can probably get away with it."

"I'll be sure to do that, then."

On that note, our road trip from hell starts off in excruciating silence. And what's worse, I know I deserve it. 

Luke Combs - Hurricane

https://youtu.be/BixwVsiDdZM