Words failed her so, with unsteady hands, she gave the papers to her friend and closed her shaky fingers around the key, letting the metal dig into her palm. She welcomed the discomfort, hoping it pulled her back to reality.
Chrissie’s eyes widened. “Savannah! Oh, my!”
She nodded. Exactly.
“He’s given you his house. Savannah, this is unbelievable. He deeded you his house!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
HE MIGHT NOT be home, Savannah told herself for the hundredth time since she’d taken off toward Nashville. It was a Thursday morning. He was probably working. Or he could be out of town. Or it could be his day off work and he could be out with someone.
That made her pause.
It had been a month. Had he moved on? Started dating someone else? When she showed up at his house, would he have another woman there?
Had deeding his house to her made him feel absolved from his obligations to her and their child?
Ha, she was going to give him a piece of her mind over his high-handedness. She didn’t want his house or his money or anything material from him.
She didn’t want anything from him, period. Not anymore.
She was on her way to tell him that and to throw his deed and key in his handsome face. He couldn’t just do something like that. It wasn’t okay and a big gift, a huge gift, didn’t make it okay that he’d walked away from their child.
She was going to tell him that. And more. And...she didn’t know what, exactly. Just that since the night before she’d been burning inside, had woken with that burn still present and, before she’d made a conscious decision, she’d been on her way to Nashville rather than the grocery store, as she’d originally set out to.
He would likely be at work, so she’d go there first. But, if not, she knew right where Charlie’s apartment was. Sure, the weather had been better two months ago when she’d gone with him to Nashville than the cold drizzly rain that was falling today, but that was okay. The weather matched her mood.
No, if the weather matched her mood the wind would be howling and the sky would be blood-red, not a dreary gray.
She clung to her anger. Anger was better than sadness and loss. She’d experienced enough of that over the past few months. No more.
How dare he?
That was the question she asked herself over and over as she headed north on I-24 toward Nashville. Just inside the city limits, the traffic slowed to a sudden stop in all four lanes.
Savannah’s heart thudded like crazy as she applied her brakes, hoping they didn’t lock, hoping she’d keep from slamming into the large black vehicle in front of her.
The next few seconds drew out in slow motion, with her heartbeat doing overtime. Her sweat glands too as her skin was drenched with clammy stickiness. Despite the rain-slick road, she somehow got her sedan stopped just inches before crashing into the sports utility vehicle in front of her.
Heart pounding, she let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
In the next second she cried out as the impact from whatever had been behind her crashed into her with great force, ramming her car into the SUV.
Her body jerked forward against her seatbelt, digging painfully into her chest and shoulder. What breath she had remaining inside her gushed out in a hard whoosh. Her neck snapped forward, then whipped back. The sound of metal crunching into metal deafened her ears.
The
second she thought it was over, another impact hit as another vehicle failed to stop in time. She jerked forward and back again, this time not as hard as the previous, but pain ripped through her body all the same.
Tensing, she prepared herself for yet another hit and another as no doubt more cars would join into the interstate pile-up, but none came. Just the sound of the rain still falling around her and nothing more.
Trying not to panic, she began to take stock of the damage. To her and to her car.
She hurt. Her neck. Her shoulder. Her belly. She took a tentative breath. Pain shock-waved through her. Not good.
She wiggled her fingers and her toes. Everything seemed to be moving as it should. Maybe. Odd, but she really wasn’t sure if she’d moved at all. She tried to raise her arm, but doing so hurt too much so she quit trying. She must have bit her tongue or the inside of her cheek as the strong metallic taste of blood filled her senses. Or maybe it was her nose, she thought as a drop of blood fell from her nostril. Despite the pain, she wiped at her face, registered the red liquid on her hand. She wasn’t sure why her nose was bleeding as she’d had her seatbelt on, but it definitely was.
Or maybe the blood came from somewhere else on her face? She wasn’t sure. Did it even matter where the blood was coming from?