The deer was standing right there, in the middle of the road, idly staring at my vehicle as I approached at an escalating speed.
I didn’t flash my headlights. I didn’t pump the brakes.
The deer continued staring as I floored it, my knuckles white as I choked the steering wheel.
The car zipped through the ice so fast it shook from the speed, skidding forward. I could no longer control it. The wheel was not in sync with the tires.
Come on, come on, come on.
I squeezed my eyes shut and let it happen, my teeth slamming together.
The car began to cough, slowing down, even as I pressed my foot harder onto the gas pedal. I popped my eyes open.
No.
The car was decelerating, each inch it ate slower than the previous one.
No, no, no, no, no.
The pickup died three feet away from the deer, coming to a full stop.
The dumb animal finally decided to blink and amble away from the road, its hooves snapping against the ice with gentle clicks.
Stupid fucking deer.
Stupid fucking car.
Stupid fucking me, for not hurling myself out of the goddamn pickup when I still had the chance, right off the cliff.
It was quiet for a few minutes. Just me and the deceased pickup and my beating heart, before a scream tore from my throat.
“Fuckkkkkk!”
I punched the steering wheel. Once, twice . . . three times before my knuckles started bleeding. I braced my foot over the console and ripped the steering wheel out of the pickup, dumping it on the passenger seat and raking my fingers down my face.
My lungs burned and my blood dripped all over the seats as I tore everything inside the pickup. I ripped the radio from its hub, throwing it out the window. I smashed the windshield with my foot. Broke the glove compartment. I wrecked the pickup like the deer couldn’t.
And yet, I was still alive.
My heart was still beating.
My phone rang, its cheerful tune taunting me.
It rang again and again and fucking again.
I tore it from my pocket and checked who it was. A miracle? A heavenly intervention? An unlikely savior who actually gave a fuck? Who could it be?
Scam Likely
Of course.
No one gave half a fuck, even when they said they did. I boomeranged my cell into the woods then got out of the vehicle and started my ten-mile walk back to my parents’ farm.
Truly fucking hoping I’d bump into a bear and let it finish the goddamn job.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
L.J. Shen is a Wall Street Journal, USA Today, Washington Post, and #1 Amazon bestselling author of contemporary, new adult, and young adult romance. Her books have been sold in twenty different countries, and she hopes to visit all of them.
She lives in Florida with her husband, rowdy sons, and rowdier pets and enjoys good wine, bad reality TV shows, and reading to her heart’s content. Connect with her on her website at www.authorljshen.com or on Instagram （@authorljshen）， or join her Facebook group at http://goo.gl/QZJ0NC. Sign up for her newsletter at https://bit.ly/3LhsIrb, and text SHEN to 313131 to get new release alerts （United States only）。