Resisting my Roommate (Sycamore Falls #3)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

ABBEY

Taylor Swift’s voice blares from the speakers, and I sing along at the top of my lungs to “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together”. It seems like the perfect anthem for the day I’ve had.

I have no idea where I am or where I’m going. I can’t worry about that right now, though. If I do, reality might come crashing back down on me. I’m not ready to face that just yet.

Instead, I do what I have been since I sped away from Carson a few hours ago —drive aimlessly while listening to a curated playlist of breakup songs to scream in the car, continuing to ignore Carson’s frequent calls and texts demanding I return and go through with our planned wedding.

I wish I could say I’m upset he hasn’t been faithful.

I’m not.

As horrible as it sounds, I’m more upset about all the plans for my future going up in smoke. I had an idea of what my life would look like by the time I turned thirty —a husband, a house, kids.

A place to belong.

Now I have to start all over again from scratch.

The mere idea has my throat closing up in frustration, but I quickly push it down, especially as the song changes to yet another appropriate breakup song —“Flowers” by Miley Cyrus. I’m so immersed in the song, I barely pay attention to anything else.

Until I register the bleep of a siren.

I look into the rearview mirror, dread tightening my stomach when I see flashing lights behind me. Was I speeding? Did I blow through a stop sign?

I can’t be sure of anything right now.

Putting my blinker on, I pull off the main road of what looks like a historic downtown area, certain this day can’t get any worse.

But as I come to a stop on a side street and lower the volume of my music, I learn just how wrong I am.

Again.

Instead of a cop casually strolling up to the car and asking for my license and registration, he jumps out of his cruiser, demanding I place my hands on the steering wheel.

Too confused to do anything else, I follow his command. My heart pounds as I watch him cautiously move toward my SUV through the side mirror.

When he draws near and peeks into the car, his brow furrows, obviously surprised to find a woman wearing a wedding dress.

While I’m sure he’s encountered his fair share of strange situations in his line of work, I doubt he’s ever pulled over a runaway bride.

Or maybe he has.

“How can I help you, Officer?” I tilt my head back to meet his gaze.

He looks to be in his thirties, his attractive face clean shaven, his brown hair well-groomed with a few tattoos peeking out from the arms of his shirt.

“I’m Sergeant Chapman of the county sheriff’s department,” he states in an authoritative voice. “Can I please see your license and registration?”

“Of course.”I’m about to reach for my bag, but hesitate. “Can I take my hands off the steering wheel?”

He gives a curt nod, and I rummage through my bag, grateful I had the wherewithal to grab it in my mad dash to escape my wedding. After retrieving the registration from the glove box, I hand both to the officer.

“I didn’t mean to speed. If I was speeding. This is probably more information than you want, but if you can’t tell, I’ve had a pretty rough day,” I ramble nervously, unable to stop the word vomit from spilling out of my mouth.

“I walked in on my fiancé in a compromising position with my best friend ten minutes before we were supposed to get married. Me and my fiancé. Not me and my best friend. Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” I add quickly, which earns me a small quirk of his lips. “Anyway, I made a run for it. Since then, I’ve sort of been blasting breakup songs to help me feel better about this entire fucked up — I mean, messed up situation.”

He looks between me and my license, probably trying to make sure it’s me, considering my face is now covered with more makeup than I’ve ever worn and my hair is styled in an intricate updo.

“I didn’t pull you over for speeding,” he finally announces.

My brows knit together. “Did I run a red light or stop sign?”

“No.”

“Then—”

“A few hours ago, this car was reported stolen.”

My eyes widen as my heart drops to the pit of my stomach. “S-stolen?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I… There must be some mistake. My fiancé bought me this car last year.” My expression falls. “Or, I suppose, ex -fiancé now.”

A flash of something genuine flickers in his eyes before he shifts his attention to the car registration. “His name is Carson Dabney?”

“Yes. Which proves this car isn’t stolen.”

“But it’s not yours, either. Since your name isn’t on the registration and it’s been reported stolen, I can’t let you continue driving it unless you have some other proof of ownership.”

“I don’t think I do.” I swallow hard through the ball of frustration tightening in my throat.

Would Carson really do something like this? Would he report the car he bought me as stolen just to spite me for running off on our wedding?

I guess I’m finally seeing his true colors, in all their ugly shades.

“He said it wouldn’t matter once we were married.”

With a sympathetic look, Sergeant Chapman returns my license. “Unfortunately, without any proof of shared ownership, I’ll need to impound it.”

“Even if I had permission to use it? Although, I’m not sure he could have anticipated I’d use it to run out on our wedding, but I also didn’t anticipate learning he’s been cheating on me.”

“Listen,” he begins, his voice softening. “It’s obvious you’ve had a…difficult day. In my line of work, you learn to determine when someone’s lying pretty quickly. I get a feeling you’re being honest with me. Unfortunately, I can’t let you take off with a car that’s been reported stolen by the rightful owner, regardless of how repulsive I think his actions are, given the circumstances. There’s nothing I can do about it. I have to impound this car.”

I close my eyes, drawing in a deep breath. This entire situation is the icing on an already shitty cake. But if Carson thinks I’ll crawl back to him just because he took away my mode of transportation, he’d better think again. I’m stronger than this.

“I’m happy to drive you somewhere if you’d like.”

“That’s not necessary.” Grabbing my bag, I open the door and step onto the pavement, my dress spilling out around me.

“If you change your mind, give me a call.” He reaches into the pocket of his uniform and hands me a card. “Just tell dispatch it’s an emergency and they’ll radio me right away.”

“I appreciate it, but I’ll be okay. This is all a blessing in disguise. The universe’s way of telling me to cut ties with Carson entirely.”

“Based on what you’ve told me, I’d tend to agree. Good luck, Ms. Rhodes.”

“Thanks.” I give him one last smile, then collect my skirt in my hands to prevent it from dragging as I start up the sidewalk.

As I do, people stop and stare. I can only imagine how ridiculous I look right now in this dress, but I hold my head high, determined to remain positive. I don’t need his car. I’ll figure out some other way to get to wherever I’m going.

Although, I’m not quite sure where that is. I’m not quite sure where I can go, considering I’ve been living with Carson for the past few years.

In an apartment he owns.

Not only do I not have a car, I also don’t have a job or a place to live.

I’m not going to worry about it, though.

I’ll figure something out. I always do.

I scan the storefronts of the quaint downtown area that looks like something straight out of a movie, right down to the people happily greeting each other and stopping for a chat. The streets are lined with picturesque lampposts, adding a warm glow to the darkening sky. The scent of sugar and vanilla wafts in the air, and I spy a diner advertising the best chocolate cake in the state.

I’m about to head in its direction before something else catches my attention. A neon sign advertising beer.

Chocolate cake can wait.

Right now, I need something stronger.