Rough Ride: A Small Town Bad Boy Romance

“Desperate times call for desperate measures, my friend.”

“Okay, enough with the theatrics.” I rake my hands through my hair. “Tell me what it is you think I’ve got to know.”

“I can’t.” Emily’s eyes never leave the road in front of her, but that purse-lipped smile of hers is back in place. “I have to show you.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” I mumble, rolling my eyes. “This is ridiculous.”

“Maybe, but you’ll thank me.”

“I doubt that.” I don’t even turn to look at her, instead focusing my gaze on the darkness out the passenger window, longing for my night of Netflix and beer. “Can you at least tell me where the hell we’re going?”

“The Point.”

That catches my attention, and I whirl around to face her. “What? Why the hell are we going there?” I hadn’t been to The Point in years. Its actual name is Barlow’s Lookout, but teenagers have always used it as a place to go to make out, smoke up, and do all the things that parents warned them against. It happens to hold a little more significance for me than just a make-out spot, however.

“You’ll see.”

I’m silent as Emily drives beyond the town limit and turns onto Barlow Road, a winding, gravel road with a steep uphill slope. It may have been years since I was out here, but the path that leads to that spot hasn’t changed a bit, and it’s conjuring up ghosts of memories that are better left buried.

She turns the car into the clearing at the top of the hill. It’s wide open, just as it’s always been, and the lights on the water tower on the other side of town seem to cascade out over the town’s expanse. Only two other cars are parked there, and one’s not actually a car at all. It’s a truck.

A familiar truck.

“Emily, turn the car around.”

“Not a fucking chance, Izzy.” She parks her car away from the other two vehicles—it’s customary to try to give other attendees of The Point as much privacy as possible. “Sorry, but this is for your own good.”

My mind is spinning, a confusing mix of anger and shock that she’d do such a thing. “Tell me you didn’t just bring me here because he asked you to.” I’m glaring at her with every ounce of fury I can muster, but it doesn’t begin to express the turmoil rolling inside me.

She kills the ignition, and the resulting silence is deafening. “I told you, there’s something you need to know.”

“Then fucking tell me, Em.”

She shakes her head. “I didn’t say you were going to hear it from me,” she says apologetically. “Now, put your big girl panties on and get out of the car.”

“Emily—”

“I know, I know. You should hate me, blah blah blah. But you won’t.” She reaches across in front of me, first unbuckling my seatbelt, then pushing the car door open. “You’ll thank me. Go.”

I feel like I should argue with her, tell her this was underhanded and uncalled for. But I make the mistake of glancing out the window, and I can see Jace standing there, hands in his pockets, about fifteen feet from the car. He’s waiting for me, and he looks nervous.

Good, I’m glad I’m not the only one. Because I know that Emily would’ve never agreed to deceive me like this if that something I’m about to find out isn’t big. “Son of a bitch,” I breathe out as I clamber out of the vehicle.

“Love you, too,” Emily calls out right before I slam the door.

She’s started the car and is peeling out of that clearing before I even have time to register the way Jace’s eyes are set firmly on me.

“Remind me to rip her a new one for this later,” I say. I’m trying for a dash of humor, but the shakiness of my voice betrays me. I clear my throat and shove my hands into my denim jacket pockets, matching Jace’s stance. “Tell me why I’m here.”

“I can do better than that, Izzy,” he says gently. “I can show you.”

“I’m getting really tired of hearing that.”

A glint of confusion shadows his features, but Jace doesn’t say anything more. Instead, he chooses to pull his phone from his pocket.

My first inclination is to notice how banged up the damn thing is, with its screen cracked and the case held together by a strip of duct tape, but the fact that he holds it out to me prevents me from commenting on its state of disrepair. “I don’t want your phone, Jace.”

“Yes, you do.” His arm stays extended, the phone held out toward me. “Take it. I need you to see something.”