Love Me Like That

by Marie James

  While Rascal Flatts, What Hurts the Most, blares through the sound system I convince myself I’ll allow the duration of this trip for my grief and anger. Once I come to the place I want to settle, I tell myself I have to be over it; I’ll need to move on and begin again. I’m determined, but not hopeful, it will be that easy.

  I begin my self-proclaimed pity party with memories of my parents, their car accident, and the future destroyed after their loss. Gut-wrenching grief washes over me when my mind takes me right back to Keira and how her family was there for me after their deaths. They gave me a place to live and helped me with all the paperwork to get into college.

  Keira, my best friend. In less than a minute, well of what I saw, she managed to turn a lifetime friendship into seething treachery. Don’t get me wrong, I love Trent with each and every atom in my body, but she’s like a sister to me. I can’t decide which betrayal is worse at this point.

  Was. Loved. Past tense.

  I want to cry and grieve for the loss of not only my lover and the man I was certain I’d spend the rest of my life with but also the woman who I was sure would be the godmother to the children Trent and I would have. Now I have no one.

  Rather than giving into the heartache and misery that is trying to creep up I focus on the anger and the hatred at their deception. I try to work my head around the last few years in an attempt to pinpoint where things changed; doing my best not to turn it around on me and give into the self-doubt I’m known to have.

  I have a history of internalizing others mistakes and accepting blame, and historically punishment, for wrongs that altogether were never mine to begin with. With everything that’s rushing and running through my head, I can’t even concentrate on driving.

  My phone has rang no less than a dozen times since leaving Shelby over five hours ago. The trip has been slow going in large part to the snow that has begun to fall; the fact that I’m on a two-lane blacktop doesn’t help either.

  I hit a gas station in Whitefish and decided to head south which will eventually shoot me over to Spokane, Washington. Seems like a place I could set down temporary roots. The population is high enough that work will be easy to find until I can make more permanent plans.

  The goal for the day is to make it there by midnight, and from the looks of the road I should add in-one-piece as well. My Mini was not made for driving in the snow. Not the wisest decision considering I live in Montana. Lived in Montana as it were.

  The roads are cleared pretty quickly in Great Falls, and this is my first winter in this car. It’s becoming apparent very quickly that a vehicle change, although that will be another thing to break my heart, will more than likely be necessary.

  Now Leaving Poison. Population 4,488.

  Poison, Montana. Fitting to see the sign in my rearview, knowing I’m leaving behind more poison than a small town with the name. I grin for the first time since leaving my life behind at the prospect of starting over. That is until my phone chimes with a new voicemail alert. Reception must be bad out here because it didn’t even ring this time.

  Trent has called numerous times throughout the day, but he hasn’t left a message until now. Not once did I want to pick up the phone when he called, but I struggle with indecision knowing he’s left one this time. Unable to resist any longer I use the controls on my front radio display to play the voicemail he’s waited hours to leave.

  “London,” he sighs loudly into the phone. “I…fuck.” I hear papers crinkle, and I know he’s still at the bar, sitting at the same desk he fucked my best friend on earlier. “I wish you’d pick up so I can explain. I’ve just been stressed out lately. I wasn’t even thinking. Please, Kitten. I need you to come home so we can work through this. I love you.”

  “Fuck you!” I scream at the term of endearment that means absolute shit now. I see red at the three words he’s always given so freely. I cut my eyes over to hit the end button, completely done with his ass and when I turn my gaze back to the road, I see the biggest fucking moose in the world, standing directly in my lane.

  Hitting the brakes was the very last thing I should have done but, of course, it was the first thing that I did. Swerving back and forth, the only thing I could think of was my parents’ tragic death. That involved a drunk truck driver, not a moose, but I just knew I’d see them soon, my fate inevitably aligning with theirs.

  The car jumps and bucks, twists and turns, but thankfully never becomes airborne or flips over. I hit the ditch on the side of the road and somehow manage not to die. I watch with wide eyes as the huge moose huffs a breath of frigid air from his nose and walks away from the resulting puff of thick steam, absolutely unfazed by the near death collision he just caused.

  I need to get out and assess the damage, but it’s freezing cold and that oversized mammal may want to eat me. Fat chance of me getting out of this damn car with the hell-beast out there stalking me like prey. I have just over a half a tank of gas, and the functions of the car don’t seem to have been affected.

  I put the car in reverse, planning to get out of the ditch and spend the night in Poison until I can gain my composure and make sure the car isn’t damaged too badly. I gently hit the gas with a shaky foot, not fully calm yet from the near death experience I just had.

  The tires spin and the car doesn’t move. I give it more gas, and the same thing happens. I try to convince myself not to panic but as the tires spin and spin that notion is becoming impossible. I put the car back in park and engage the emergency brake. I turn the hazard lights on for good measure, knowing I’ll need someone to stop and help me.

  I follow my cell phone charger cord and find my cell phone lodged between the passenger seat and the console. This situation will end quickly if I can reach a tow truck. Just my luck, there is not one bar indicating any level of reception. NO SERVICE mocks me from the top left corner of the screen.

  I’m fuming as anger over the entire day hits me. I would ask ‘what’s next?’ but fate or karma or whatever’s been acting against me recently has been one vindictive bitch, and I don’t want to press my luck. The last thing I need is for a logging truck to plow over me while I sit helplessly in my car.

  I crank up the heat and sit back, praying someone happens to be just as crazy as I am and is out driving in this weather. That thought also scares the shit out of me. What kind of person will I encounter out here? All of the sane people are at home, warm in front of the fire.

  Even though this ‘vacation’ has been somewhat forced, I’m grateful to be here. It’s just the push I needed to take that next step; the outcome I’ve been mulling over for months. Not exactly what my uncle and the other guys had in mind when they told me to get out of town and get my shit together.

  It took just over a week, but I have in fact ‘gotten my shit together.’ My condo is clean, the refrigerator empty so there are no nasty surprises for whoever is given the job of taking care of it. More importantly, my will has been updated. Everything is in order.

  I try not to think about my parents, Kegan, and the note left on the dining room table at my condo as I start making a mental list of things to email the guys about as I put away the several weeks’ worth of groceries I bought on my way out here. I don’t know how quickly I will execute my plans, but I don’t want to starve to death before I do; that’s not exactly the way I see things ending out here in this cabin. Well, you can’t really call a nearly four thousand square foot monstrosity a ‘cabin’ but it’s made of logs none the less.

  Weather predictions for the next week include what they are referring to as Iceapalooza. The wind is already whipping around the house and sending howls through the surrounding trees. It won’t be long before the storm hits and leaves the property and roads in and out covered and impassable.

  I pull out my phone and open a new note page as I walk through the house. I’m doing my best to make sure the place will be easy to sell after it’s served my purposes. My interior design people did an excellent job making the house inside look ru
gged and lived in, just like I’d requested. I’ll need a secondary wood holder. The one they put in the main living area looks great, but it’s not practical for anyone who doesn’t want to run outside for wood every few hours. I add it to the list.

  Thinking of the storm and the real possibility that I’ll be on the backup generators before it’s said and done reminds me that I need to make sure the satellite phone is fully charged. I hit the stairs two at a time and dig the phone out of my suitcase, plugging it in to charge. I have no idea why I even worry about it. I have no intentions of calling anyone.

  “Shit,” I grunt out loud as my mental checklist has me realizing I never shut the gate to the property. I cuss myself thoroughly as I make my way back down the stairs and begin layering my flannel and jacket. Even a few minutes of exposed skin out in this weather could lead to frostbite.

  Sliding my gloves on last, I pull the door closed behind me and quickly make my way to my truck. I consider turning back and just saying fuck it, but I know it needs to be closed, if anything, to deter anyone from bothering me over the next several days. Discovering what you’ve done is more like it. My mind once again goes back to my family.

  I’ve only been here an hour or so but my truck has completely cooled down, and the only light around is the porch light and the faint gleam of my headlights as they attempt to slice through the dense layer of snow that is currently falling. I put the truck in gear and roll forward, activating the four wheel drive. I have no intentions of getting stuck in this shit; once again not part of the plan. The mile long hike back up the driveway would sure suck balls. They say freezing to death is very peaceful. This old work truck crunches over the snow and ice like it is made for off-roading.

  The gate comes into view, and I steel myself, preparing to go back out in the freezing cold to close the gate that should be working from a manual button on my cell phone, but the storm has covered the area so thickly, cell phone reception is practically nonexistent.

  I jump out of the truck and quickly shut the door, an attempt to keep the heat inside the cab. Grabbing the edge of the gate, I plant my feet and struggle to pull it closed. Keeping my footing and making progress with the gate is like trying to tow a car through quicksand.

  A faint flashing glow catches my eye about thirty yards away, the gloomy orange glow reflecting off of the heavy snowflakes that have continued to fall. I release the gate and trudge across the road to investigate. The further I walk the easier it is to tell that a small car has slid into the ditch. I look around and wonder how long it’s been there since there’s no sign of skid marks or tracks on the road, having already been covered with a thick layer of snow.

  I can see a steady trail of exhaust heat coming from the back of the car, and I hope that the people who were in it when it slid into the ditch were smart enough to have stayed inside.

  I walk up to the driver’s side door and knock on the fogged up window. No answer. Just as I bend down to put my nose to the glass in an attempt to see if anyone’s inside the window slides down an inch.

  “Yes?” asks a shaky feminine voice.

  Seriously? Like you’re just out here hanging out? Like you’re answering the door after ordering a pizza?

  “Need some help?” I respond.

  The window rolls down further and a woman’s face, lit by the dash lights, comes into view. She has magnificent green eyes.

  She just stares at me, assessing the situation.

  “Can I help you?” Freezing my ass off here lady.

  “Can you pull me out?” I can’t stop the laugh that rushes past my lips. She narrows her eyes at my reaction.

  Fuck this is not how I saw my evening going. It’s the last thing I need considering how I was sure my night was going to end.

  “No way to get this car out of the ditch until the storm passes and they can clear the roads a bit,” I inform her.

  “Can you take me into town?” Her voice is pleading like I just signed her death certificate.

  “We’d never make it. Come on. You can wait out the storm at the cabin,” I offer and attempt to open her door for her. It’s locked.

  “Ummm,” she replies. She’s unsure about getting out of the car, but my patience is fragile seeing as I’ve been standing in the freezing downpour.

  “Listen lady. I’m just trying to be nice here.” I glance inside at the dash. “You have less than an eighth of a tank of gas left. You’re lucky I showed up when I did. If you stay out here, you’ll be dead by morning.” I turn my back to her and begin to make my way across the street.

  “Wait! Please!” I knew that little tidbit of information would get her ass out of that car.

  “Kill the ignition but leave the hazards flashing,” I yell over my shoulder as I reach the still open gate. She walks toward me, her entire body shivering. “Jump in the truck while I get this gate closed.”

  She doesn’t wait another second, leaving me to work the gate closed as she hops in the truck. Just what I need on my forced vacation, playing host to some woman I don’t even know. I need her out of here as soon as humanly possible. I’m an asshole on a good day, but there’s no way I would leave a stranger responsible when I off myself.

  My anger over the change in plans assists in getting the gate closed easier than before. I climb up in the truck and spend a minute with my gloved hands held toward the warm air rushing from the vent.

  “How’d you end up in the ditch?”

  “Moose,” she says through her trembling lips.

  “Elk,” I say.

  “Huh?” she asks in confusion.

  “It was likely an elk. Moose populations have been dwindling recently. Haven’t seen any around here.” I cut my eyes to her and watch her nod her head in acknowledgment. Like she has any damn interest in Montana wildlife trivia.

  Once my fingers are warm enough to actually operate the truck I put it in gear and turn back toward the house. I watch as she pulls out her cell phone and looks at the screen.

  “The storm is too thick right now, and reception out here is spotty on a good day,” I tell her. “I have a satellite phone at the cabin you’re more than welcome to use.”

  She sighs and looks out the window. “I just need to call a tow truck.”

  Who wouldn’t need to call a friend or family member after sliding into a ditch?

  “You can do that, but they won’t be able to get to you any sooner. I can pull you out when it clears up enough.” The minute it’s even a possibility.

  “Thank you,” she whispers softly and peers out the window again.

  I wonder what she thinks because I know she does not see anything but a wall of white as we trudge slowly up the driveway. Not your concern, Kadin. I park with my side near the door.

  “It’d probably be best if you slide over here and get out of my door.” She narrows her eyes at me skeptically. “So you don’t have to walk all the way around the truck.” She scoots a little closer to me but stops just short of our bodies touching. “Ready?” I ask as I turn off the ignition.

  She nods her head, and I open the door against the frigid wind and icy snow that is raging in all directions. I move out of her way and point toward the front door telling her to head that way. She walks past me quickly. Closing the door to the truck, I stay close to her back as we fight our way to the front door.

  The process is slow and arduous, and I’d like nothing more than to pick her up and carry her because it would cut our time out in the cold by at least half; I don’t, however, think she would appreciate a stranger putting his hands on her, especially with the way she looked at me when I suggested something as simple as climbing out of my side of the truck.

  She steps aside for me to open the door as she crests the top of the stairs. Is she trying to determine if I’m a gentleman or does she suspect the door is locked? I stomp my boots on the mat to get the majority of the sludge sticking to them off and open the door, standing out of the way so she can enter first.

  In the light of t
he foyer, I’m able to take her in. She has to be absolutely freezing. She’s wearing a thick coat and gloves, but her legs are only covered in a thin pair of running spandex.

  As much as I want to bawl her out for dressing so scantily during a blizzard in Montana I keep my thoughts to myself. I have no business getting in her business.

  I turn to the left and enter the small mudroom. I shrug my coat off and hang it on a hook just inside the door and kick off my boots.

  “I’m going to light a fire,” I explain to her as she begins to shrug off her outer layer as well. Paired up with her thin pants she’s also wearing a thin Henley type workout top; that’s it.

  I bite my tongue as I head to the den to make a fire. I stop by the thermostat on my way and crank up the heat another five degrees as well.

  I throw several more logs into the already raging fire and jab at it with the poker, making sure all the logs will burn consistently. I feel her presence when she soundlessly enters the room. I frown at the sound of the crackling fire when my heart rate increases slightly in acknowledgment. I cut my eyes briefly to the drawer of the small table across the room that houses my demise, a bottle of pills and a glock; my mood being the only thing to determine which is used.

  I turn to her and watch as she rubs her arms briskly with her hands. I push my tongue to the roof of my mouth to once again keep from chastising her for being out in the middle of a damn blizzard in what would easily be considered less than some people wear to bed.

  “I’ve turned the heat up in the house. It seems you’re stuck here so let me show you where you can sleep.” I say instead. I need to get away from her. The sooner she gets settled, the sooner I can start in on the whiskey. I won’t allow her to derail my plans; this little hiccup is no more than a short postponement. She can sleep, and I can begin my nightly ritual of drinking myself stupid.