Yeah. That was what he was known for, it seemed. Macy Rodgers’s ex. Since the catastrophe that relegated him to that position in life, he’d married someone else, had kids, divorced, and still, Macy Rodgers hung like a damn thundercloud over his head, forever to rain on his life. He and Macy had been an inseparable unit for so many years, though, with so many people expecting them to be together forever, he supposed that was inevitable.
“Jared Stanton,” he said, if only to prove to himself he had a name. He glanced at Starla again, the colorful hair, the tattoos, the little flash of silver he’d noticed on her tongue when she’d spoken to him outside his truck. “I take it you’re acquainted with…” He trailed off, not wanting to give voice to the guy’s nickname. It sat sour and unsaid on his tongue.
“Ghost,” she supplied. “Yeah. I work with him.”
Jared sat in silence, white-knuckling the steering wheel as the muscles in his chest tightened. It wasn’t that he could really blame Ghost for taking Macy and running. How could he? He’d tried to do the same, not once but twice. It was just that if Ghost hadn’t come along when he did, forever with Macy might have finally happened.
“He’s a good guy, you know,” Starla said, probably sensing his own tension had ratcheted up tenfold. “Don’t let him fool you with the crazy act. That asshole I was with tonight? That’s a bad dude. Ghost, he’s pretty awesome.”
The last thing he needed was to hear the guy’s praises sung in his own truck. But he had to admit it was nice to hear Macy would be okay from a more objective source. She’d promised Jared that herself, but she was biased. Her parents had even promised him, but did they really know that guy? Ghost would be on his best behavior around them. Hearing that a coworker—whose opinions could run good or bad—thought highly of him was slightly more comforting.
“That’s good,” he said, hearing the strain in his words. “So you’re a tattoo artist, then?”
“At Dermamania, yeah.”
“How’d you get into that?”
She cleared her throat and rubbed her palms on her jeans while he wondered what about his question made her nervous. “The guy who owns it, Brian? I’ve known him for…God, so many years. He kind of got me into it because I was always into art. Then he got me the job at Darwin’s old shop, you remember that place? And when he struck out on his own, he took me with him.” She shrugged. “Dermamania put Darwin’s out of business. That was never the intent. But here I am, still with it.” She lapsed into silence for a moment. “Do you have any tattoos?”
Jared chuckled. “No. No inclination either.”
“To each his own.” She sighed at her shattered cell phone, then tossed it to the side. “And I suppose you don’t smoke either.”
“No.”
“Damn. I could really use one. I left my purse in Max’s frigging car.”
“If it’s any consolation, I would’ve asked you not to smoke in my truck anyway. Sorry.”
“Oh. Right.”
He shrugged. “My little girls are in here a lot, you understand.”
“Can I use your phone?” she asked, nearly cutting off his explanation. “I need to call off the dogs. I probably have a posse searching for me after the last text I sent my friend.”
Jared plucked it from his shirt pocket and passed it over, then sat in dumbstruck awe as the strangest one-half of a conversation he’d ever heard played out.
“Jan… Yeah, I’m okay. I got a ride from someone, and I’m on his phone… Hell if I fucking know, or care… I made him let me out of the car… You. Did. Not… No, you did not! Oh my God. Oh, my fucking… I’m gonna cut your ass tomorrow, you realize that, right?… You told him?… No, they should leave it alone… Am I not humiliated enough for you already, you have to do this to me?… Jesus. Just let everyone know to stand the hell down. Bye.”
As she hung up, she dropped her arm in her lap and the back of her blonde head met the seat. She banged it there a few more times with a groan of anguish. He caught himself stealing glances at her shadowed profile as the road allowed. Following the graceful curve of her forehead, down to the straight little nose, and finally the subtle pout of her lips. Sweet and classic, but with an edge.
“Everything okay?” he asked cautiously.
“Can you keep driving? Can we just, like, keep going forever so I never have to face anyone again in my life? Start completely over, no past, no labels, no mistakes to haunt us?”
No Macy Rodgers’s ex. Snickering, Jared adjusted the bill of his cap and gave her another sideways glance. It was a silly thought, of course, but he might as well humor her. “Well, you’d have to face me.”
“Sure, but you aren’t privy to most of my fuckups. Just this one.”
“We all have fuckups.”
“Mine are just more colossal than most, I suppose. At least to me they are. Where would we end up if we kept driving, anyway?”
“If we kept going this way, we’d eventually hit I-35, and that would take us damn near to Canada. My ex-wife has family up in Minnesota, and we’ve driven it before.” He shook his head. “Worst trip ever.”
“The North Pole wouldn’t be far enough. Start with Mars.”
“Aw, it can’t be all that bad.”