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Back Where I End and You Begin Save as PDF
Chapters (37)
  1. COVER
  2. DEDICATION
  3. ONE
  4. TWO
  5. THREE
  6. FOUR
  7. FIVE
  8. SIX
  9. SEVEN
  10. EIGHT
  11. NINE
  12. TEN
  13. ELEVEN
  14. TWELVE
  15. THIRTEEN
  16. FOURTEEN
  17. FIFTEEN
  18. ONE MONTH LATER
  19. SIXTEEN
  20. SEVENTEEN
  21. EIGHTEEN
  22. NINETEEN
  23. TWENTY
  24. TWENTY-ONE
  25. TWENTY-TWO
  26. SEVEN YEARS AGO
  27. TWENTY-THREE
  28. THE PRESENT
  29. TWENTY-FOUR
  30. TWENTY-FIVE
  31. TWENTY-SIX
  32. TWENTY-SEVEN
  33. TWENTY-EIGHT
  34. TWENTY-NINE
  35. THIRTY
  36. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  37. DISCOVER MORE

I stalled at three stop signs and two lights—at one of which I stalled multiple times in a row. I almost stalled all the way through a green light. Everyone behind me moved to the other lane, passing me indignantly, until there was no one left behind me. It was only at the very end, when it started to turn yellow, that I finally made it through. Getting going again after a complete stop was always the hardest part for me—that balance between letting off the clutch and putting on the gas. But that incident successfully got me flipped off by three separate people. The last middle finger came from a truck with two college-age guys. The driver slowed, and the guy in the passenger seat rolled his window down.

“Fucking bitches,” said the guy in the passenger seat. “I told you. Fucking bitches never know how to drive.”

He then offered me the finger, and the driver punched the gas.

I wondered what Wynonna would have said or done in that situation. Even though I knew Wynonna would never stall like that, the potential scenarios made me smile.

Then I thought: What would Sebastian have done in that situation?

Probably follow them home from an inconspicuous distance, go to a costume shop, dress up like Freddy Krueger, and let his imagination run wild from there.

That scenario made me laugh—even if it was just to myself in a car I could barely drive.

I laughed until I glanced in my rearview mirror.

The black Malibu was still behind me.

Every hair follicle on my body spiked in an upward wave—from my toes to the nape of my neck.

How could he still be behind me? He should have passed me at the last light. Everyone passed me at that light. Was he following me?

He.

It was a he—a man in a ball cap, aviators, and rocking a full beard like it was part of the disguise.

Of course, the moment he seemed to notice me noticing him, he turned. Vanished down an empty neighborhood street.

I blinked several times, wondering if I had imagined the whole thing.

I spent the rest of the drive glancing at my rearview mirror, neurotically. The Malibu never reappeared.

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