Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

BARON

It's official: today has been the worst Sunday in the history of Sundays. To start with, I woke up to a barrage of missed calls and texts from a client who demanded that I fix some issues in the programming on their end because one of their IT team changed the code and couldn't reverse it. I should have been able to log in remotely, but the same moron managed to lock me out of my own system and, short of hacking my way in, it became clear that I needed to attend the site in person.

Could it wait until tomorrow? No. Of course not.

So much for a relaxing weekend. All I wanted to do was lie in bed and daydream about Vince. Last night felt magical, and being brought back down to earth sucked. Especially because it meant having to focus on being Big while I was out in the real world.

My next issue hit when I tried to organize an Uber to my client's offices. See, I don't drive. I get way too overwhelmed with other vehicles on the road, and I get stressed-out with traffic being unpredictable. It's easier to manage my anxiety as a passenger. So, I'd opened my app and balked at the rates being charged today. They were at least double what they'd usually be! A quick Google told me why: apparently, today of all days, there were a bunch of different events happening around the city, including sports events and a music festival.

It felt like they'd conspired to fuck Sunday up.

Checking my bank account had made my stomach roil unpleasantly. If I took an Uber, I would only have fifty dollars left in my account until my next clients paid their invoices, assuming they paid them on time. I was usually a lot better at keeping a stash of emergency funds set aside, but a chest infection three weeks ago meant that most of that money went on doctor's visits and medicine, even with my self-funded health insurance covering most of the cost.

So, I decided to ride my bike and catch a bus. Neither of those things were appealing, but I'd had no other choice.

And that all leads me to right now. Fixing the IT issue took way longer than I would have liked it to, and then I missed the last bus heading out to the suburbs, so it's getting dark as I pedal down the road which leads from the city to my apartment.

There's an almost eerie absence of traffic. I choose this road for that reason, even though it takes longer to get home this way, because it usually feels safer. Fewer cars means less likelihood of getting hit by one. But now, with the light quickly fading and the stretch of road seeming to extend on forever in front of me, it's a bit creepy. Especially because this stretch of road is framed by old farmland, no longer in use but not developed into suburbia, either. It's empty, silent, and scary.

Why the hell hasn't the city put streetlights out here?

Then the rain starts. It's just spitting at first, the odd droplet hitting me here and there, but I groan as the spitting turns into a drizzle and dark clouds roll overhead, dimming the already fading sunlight further.

I didn't pack anything to protect me from the rain, because I didn't think I needed to.

I have all the regrets.

I hope this is the end of my bad luck, but just as I'm squinting into the encroaching darkness, bent forward over the handlebars and trying to blink raindrops from my eyes, there's a metallic snap and my foot slips off the pedal as it spins uncontrollably. In my shock, my steering wobbles and I lose balance. Then the tires hit a greasy wet patch on the side of the road and I skid sideways.

Crying out as the bike topples over, I hit the ground painfully. My bike lands on top of me, and the pedal digs into my thigh. I lie there, stunned for a moment, before the pain kicks in.

I'm wearing jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, but my skin still stings from grazing my arms when I fell. I'm going to bruise, too. And, when I push the weight of my bike off my leg, I whimper as I look down and see a dark patch on my jeans from where the pedal tore a hole in the material.

Blood .

I feel dizzy and sick. My heart hammers and tears spring to my eyes. Panic makes it harder to breathe.

Then I realize that I'm sitting in the middle of the road in the dark and rain. My clothes are wet from the downpour, smeared with grease and dirt from my crash. Scrambling to my feet, I drag my bike onto the shoulder of the road. Sniffling, I whine as every movement tugs at my injuries, and sharp bursts of pain shoot along my skin.

At least I didn't break a bone or twist an ankle or anything, I think, then groan at my own stupidity. Just invite more bad luck, why don't you, Bear?

To distract myself from panicking more, I look at my bike.

Big mistake.

The chain has snapped and it must have gotten twisted in the spokes of the rear wheel because they're all bent and mangled, and the rear tire is flat. I don't have enough supplies in my backpack to fix problems of this magnitude.

I might need to abandon my bike and get an Uber or something home. My heart sinks, but that seems the most reasonable choice at this point, assuming I can order an Uber to a random spot on a back road outside of the city.

Reaching into my front pocket, I frown when my hand comes up empty. I pat down my other pocket, then my rear pockets, but my phone is nowhere to be found. Pulling my backpack off, I rummage through it, unsurprised when it's not in there. I never put it in my backpack. It's always in my pocket.

Headlights illuminate the road as a car speeds toward me. Stepping backward into the grass, my gaze catches on something glinting on the asphalt's dark surface.

My phone , I realize only seconds before the car whizzes past with a whoosh of air and water. I don't hear the crunch or smash, but I can see the debris of my phone littered across the road, tiny pieces of glass and plastic reflecting the red from the car's taillights.

My heart thuds in my chest and there's a rushing sound in my ears as I process what's just happened.

Denial hits me hard.

"No, no, no, no, no!" I cry. Tears flood my vision, mingling with the rain which is now pelting down overhead.

My grazes sting, my bruises ache, and my last bit of hope is literally lying shattered across the road.

Tilting my head back, I scream into the darkness. I wail until the effort leaves me feeling exhausted and wrung-out.

Then a horn blasts as headlights rush in my direction and I fling myself all the way into the grassy ditch in terror. Warmth trickling down the insides of my thighs makes my cheeks burn in shame. At least the rain and darkness hide the evidence of peeing my pants, but I have never had an accident like this before. Not without a diaper, and not without being in my deepest Little headspace. It's humiliating, even if there's nobody here to witness it. Tears clog my throat again and I can feel my hold on acting like a grown-up slipping away.

Standing up, I try to wipe the mud from my hands on my equally filthy clothes, feeling completely disgusting. Then I force my way back onto the shoulder of the road and look left and right, frowning when I realize that I've lost my sense of direction. I don't know which way leads to home. Both sides of the road are identically bland, not that I can see far in the darkness and the rain. Going with my gut, I start walking, shrugging my backpack over my shoulders as I trudge.

The sound of tires on the wet road surface makes me hesitate before I stick my thumb out.

My parents always scoffed at hitchhikers, saying they were all bums, while stories on the news always made me think they might be axe-murderers. But now that I am hitchhiking, I feel bad for ever believing either stereotype.

It was a series of super unlucky events which got me to this point, and I'm sure the same kind of thing has happened to others, too.

The car zooms past me, not bothering to even slow down. It throws up a wall of water as it passes, but I'm drenched anyway. Shivering, I try to stay optimistic, limping my way down the road as the aches and pains from my crash set in. More cars pass by, traveling in the opposite direction, but I stick my thumb out anyway. Right now, going anywhere would be preferable to walking for hours in this state.

But who would want someone so wet and dirty in their car?

I swallow another whimper.

If I give in to panic and hopelessness, I'll never get home.

So I keep slowly trudging, keeping my ears focused for any approaching cars. I lose track of time as three more sail past; two in the direction I'm traveling and one going the other way.

My lower lip quivers after the third one disappears into the darkness. I hurt all over. My legs and feet are sore from walking, and the wet material of my clothes is chafing my skin. I'm cold, too. Shivering and scared in the dark, jumping as things seem to rustle in the grass and flying creatures—bats? birds?—beat their wings overhead.

Oncoming headlights startle me again. Even though I know this one will pass by, too, I stick my thumb out anyway. My hand trembles. The truck slows but keeps going, and I fight back an anguished sob.

One more step , I tell myself firmly. Just like Dory, but on land. Just keep walking, just keep walking. I try to hum it as a happy tune, but I hear another car just as I register the light coming up behind me.

I stick out my thumb again, turning my head to look at the car, frowning when I realize that it's the truck that just passed me. It slowly drives around me, then pulls over on the side of the road, the light inside switching on when the driver's door whips open and the driver jumps out of the cab.

I squint, trying to make out features, but all I can see is the man's silhouette.

He's big and tall. I think he's bearded. Hell, he could be a serial killer or something but, at this point, I'm willing to take that risk.

I take a tentative step forward at the same time as the man walks toward me.

"Baron?" he asks, raising his voice against the rain still pouring down.

I stop in my tracks, then try to squint at him again. "Vince?" My voice comes out uncertain and trembling, and I can't believe my luck has turned so significantly. "D-daddy?" Not only do I know my potential savior, but it's Daddy . If anyone can make me feel better, it's him, right? That's how Daddies work.

"Jesus Christ, Bear, what happened?" He rushes over, seemingly unconcerned that he's getting drenched in the rain.

Relief washes over me. My knees wobble, and I lurch into Daddy's arms, bawling about my bad day.

"Hey, hey, shh, it's okay," he soothes while I cling to him. "I don't…Baby Bear, you need to slow down. I don't understand what you're saying."

Taking deep, shuddering gulps of air, I try to calm down. Most of my story comes out in a rush as I try to explain it again, but I think I make more sense.

"…t-then my b-bike chain broke, and…and…" I pause to heave a breath, "I hit a slippery spot, a-and I skidded, and I crashed…" Just saying it out loud reminds me of all my ouchies and I start to cry again. "It hurt , Daddy. An' my phone smashed so I couldn't call for help."

"Oh, baby. I'm sorry. Let's check you over." He gently leads me toward the truck. He opens the passenger door and pulls a red first aid kit out from under the seat. "Hop up," he instructs, patting the seat.

Biting my lip, I look down at myself. I'm drenched, dripping, and covered in mud. At least I'm confident the rain has washed away all traces of my accident. "I'll make your seats gross."

He shakes his head. "They're heavy-duty seat covers. Waterproof and everything. Plus"—he grins, as though he's not at all bothered by the rain cascading over us both—"I'm wet now, too."

"I'm sorry." I swallow roughly. "That's my fault. You got out for me, and?—"

"You needed help, Bear. It's alright. Besides, it's just rain. A shower will make me good as new." He pats the seat again. "Now, up. I want to check you over."

I climb into the cab of his truck, dropping my sodden backpack in the footwell, and he frowns as he looks me over in the dim light, carefully lifting my shirt and sleeves to get a good look at my grazes. He hisses in sympathy when he sees them.

"I don't like the look of some of these." His voice is soft. "There's mud in them, and I don't want them to get infected. But"—he sighs—"we can't do much right now."

"I don't live very far away," I tell him, then I frown. "I think. I don't know if I was even walking the right way. I got mixed up."

With a small smile, Vince tilts his head. "You were heading the right way…if your address is the same one I ordered the Uber for last night. For all I know, you moved house today, too. It sounds like it was that eventful!"

I giggle at that. "I didn't move, silly. That's still where I live."

"Alright." He nods, gently turning me to face forward. Then he reaches for the seat belt and pulls it across my body, leaning over to click the buckle into the socket. It's such a Daddy move that my heart flutters.

Oblivious, Vince moves back and shuts the door, jogging around the front of the truck, the headlights bringing him into vivid focus as he passes them. When he climbs into the driver's seat, he gives his head a shake like a dog, throwing droplets of water from his dark hair and beard. Then he smiles at me and, before he puts the truck into gear, he hands me a Tupperware container from his dashboard. "Want a cookie?"