Chapter 2 - THE RECKLESS ESCAPE
Emily did not look back at the white steeple,
or the frantic figures emerging from the side door,
instead,
she lunged toward the idling black pickup truck.
Her hands,
still clutching the crushed stems of her bouquet,
fumbled with the heavy metal handle of the passenger door.
The dress was a cage of silk and lace,
snagging on the running board as she hauled herself upward.
She tumbled into the seat,
a cloud of white tulle filling the small cabin,
the scent of expensive perfume clashing with the smell of old leather and cedarwood.
"Drive,"
she wheezed,
her lungs burning with the sudden intake of air.
The driver did not move at first,
his hands gripped tight on the steering wheel,
his knuckles white against the dark leather.
"Emily?"
The voice was low,
gravelly,
and carried a resonance that made her heart stop for a completely different reason than fear.
She snapped her head to the left,
the pins in her hair digging into her scalp as her veil shifted.
She expected a stranger,
a confused delivery driver,
or perhaps a kind elderly man from the parish.
Instead,
she was looking at Jaxson Thorne.
The man who had left Bellwood ten years ago without a single goodbye.
The man Ryan never mentioned,
except to refer to him as "my brother’s greatest mistake."
Jaxson’s eyes were the color of a stormy sea,
sharp and intelligent,
currently narrowed in utter disbelief.
He was wearing a faded denim shirt,
his dark hair messy and windswept,
looking like a jagged rock in a garden of manicured roses.
"Jax?"
she whispered,
the name feeling like a secret she had forgotten she knew.
"What are you doing here?"
Jaxson looked out the windshield,
where the first few guests were beginning to spill into the parking lot.
He saw Claire,
Emily’s mother,
pointing toward the truck and screaming.
He saw the white-clad figure of the maid of honor frozen in the doorway.
"I came to watch the train wreck from a distance,"
Jaxson muttered,
his voice vibrating through the cramped space.
"I didn't think I’d be the one providing the getaway car."
The engine roared as he shifted into gear,
the truck lurching forward before Emily could even pull her long train into the cabin.
"The door,
Emily!"
he shouted,
braking just enough for her to slam it shut.
The latch clicked,
and the world outside began to blur into a streak of green and brown.
Gravel sprayed against the wheel wells,
a rhythmic drumming that sounded like applause for her betrayal.
She saw her father in the rearview mirror,
looking small and confused,
holding the shoe she had lost.
Then the trees swallowed the church,
and the silence of the road took over.
Emily stared at the dashboard,
watching a small bobblehead dog bounce with the rhythm of the tires.
She was a bride in a five-thousand-dollar dress,
sitting in a mud-splattered truck,
fleeing a good man with a man the world had labeled dangerous.
The weight of it hit her all at once,
not as a panic,
but as a sudden,
sharp clarity.
She wasn't going back.
She wasn't going to fix the chicken piccata or the cruise.
"Where are we going?"
she asked,
her voice finally steadying.
Jaxson didn't look at her,
his eyes fixed on the winding mountain road ahead.
"As far as this tank of gas takes us,"
he replied,
"which,
May you like
knowing my luck,
is exactly far enough to make you a legend and me a criminal."
