The Protective Storm Chaser - Page 1

Chapter 1

Edie

I crank the volume on the car stereo, drum the steering wheel with my palms, and belt out the lyrics to Holding Out for a Hero. “He’s gotta be this and he’s sure to be that and he’s gonna be fresh for the night!”

Okay, so maybe I don’t know the lyrics. But it doesn’t matter. Some songs demand to be sung at the top of your lungs whether you know the words or not. Bohemian Rhapsody. Margaritaville. Hey, Jude. Sweet Caroline. Billie Jean. Shake It Off. The list goes on and on—and Holding Out for a Hero is definitely on it.

I pause for breath during the instrumental break and glance at my best friend, Pepper, in the passenger seat. “Who needs a job, a man, or a plan when you’ve got good tunes and full tank of gas?”

Pepper yawns noisily. Then she begins licking her toes.

Did I mention that Pepper’s a dog? She’s a black chihuahua mix and the only living creature that’s never let me down.

I reach over to pet her. “When we get to Florida, we’ll run on the beach, play in the surf, and eat lots of tacos. How does that sound?”

Pepper lifts her head to stare at me with her tongue lolling out. If dogs could talk, I’m pretty sure I know what she’d say. Sure, Edie. Then what? You may want to start working on that unemployment thing. Bitches need to eat.

I wave a hand dismissively. “Stop being a worrywart,” I tell her. “Everything is peachy keen, jellybean.”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret saying them. I know better than to tempt fate. As if on cue, a bolt of lightning streaks across the sky. A low rumble of thunder follows.

I lean forward in my seat to look up at the sky. In the distance, there’s a gnarly looking wall of storm clouds. Are we headed into that? I’m driving on a winding country road in the middle of nowhere surrounded by mountains. By the looks of it, I’m actually driving through a mountain right now. There are towering cliffs on either side of the narrow road where construction crews sliced through rock to build a road.

Where am I?

I’m pretty sure I’ve left Tennessee and entered North Carolina, but I couldn’t say for sure. Somewhere in Kentucky, there was an accident on I-75, and the map app on my phone rerouted me through back roads. It made for a much nicer drive, so I decided to click the option to avoid interstates and freeways. I’m not in a hurry to get where we’re going, so there’s no harm in taking the scenic route.

The truth is I have no idea where Pepper and I will end up. I needed a change of scenery and decided the beach is as good a place as any for a fresh start. So, I started driving toward Florida without a final destination in mind. When we get closer, I’ll narrow it down to a specific town.

Pepper huffs, as if reading my thoughts.

“I hear you, Pep. I’ll look for a job first thing. It shouldn’t be too hard to find a place looking for waitresses. Restaurants are always hiring.”

Little girls never say, “I want to grow up to be a waitress.” I certainly didn’t. But here I am, twenty-three with a GED, a string of terrible exes, a few hundred dollars in the bank, and zero job experience outside of the food industry. Waitressing is my destiny.

And, truthfully, I’m just fine with that—if I can find a nice little diner that treats its customers and its employees right.

Big, fat raindrops splash onto the windshield, and I turn on the wipers. They’re old, worn, and in dire need of replacement, smearing the water across the windshield instead of removing it.

I swear under my breath. When I got my last oil change, they told me I needed new wipers. I should have bought them then, while I still had a job. I turn the dial to the wipers up as high as it’ll go.

I still can’t believe my prick of a boss fired me.

Until yesterday, I’d been working at the same greasy diner in Cincinnati since I was a teenager. I built a reputation for being punctual, polite, and efficient. I’d earned the Employee of the Month parking spot numerous times.

But you punch one customer in the face, and they can you. It hardly seems fair, does it?

And it wasn’t my fault. I was refilling croutons container at the salad bar when a customer decided to get handsy. He cupped my ass in his hands and said, “I sure would like to butter those biscuits.” I know… ick. So, I reacted as any self-respecting woman would: I clenched my fist and clocked him.

Who knew watching a few episodes of Cobra Kai is all it takes to be a master of karate? I felt his nose break with a satisfying crunch.

And there was blood, my friends. Lots and lots of blood. It gushed from his nose like a geyser, spilling onto the salad bar and dripping down the sides to the floor.

Turns out the dude has some sort of platelet disorder. His blood doesn’t clot properly. But how in the hell was I supposed to know that? And honestly, if you bleed like a stuck pig, you ought to know better than to grab a woman’s ass, right? He practically begged for a broken nose.

A police officer happened to be dining at the restaurant and witnessed the whole thing. So, I wasn’t charged with assault or sued for medical expenses. Not that it would make a difference if he sues me. Can’t squeeze blood from a turnip, as my grandma used to say.

In the eyes of the law, my reaction was acceptable. To my boss, it wasn’t. He fired me on the spot.