Left On The Highway: Too Late, Ex-Lover

I Waited Three Hours in Line for Them; They Couldn't Wait Three Minutes for Me

In a hundred-and-four-degree heat, I stood in line for three hours just because my boyfriend's new coworker Kenzie wanted reservations for the observation deck.

Sweat glued my shirt to my back; my lips cracked from dehydration.

When I finally inched up to the window, I texted the group chat: "Almost done." No one replied. I turned around-the parking lot was empty.

The sun beat straight down as I stared at the blank chat window, waiting.

Then my boyfriend Easton texted: "You took too long. Kenzie doesn't feel like going anymore. We're resting at the gas station convenience store three miles out. Walk over yourself."

My own brother didn't stop them. Neither did my childhood friend. In thin canvas shoes, I walked the whole three miles, my heels bleeding until the white canvas soaked dark red.

The next day, ignoring my injuries, they insisted on a mountain hike.

That night I ran a 103.5-degree fever and begged for help in the group chat.

My brother replied: "Take some Tylenol. We're all asleep."

My boyfriend twisted the knife: "Stop texting. You'll wake Kenzie."

That second, I woke up. I had already accepted the full scholarship from Imperial College London-the offer I'd been sitting on for six months. There was nothing left to decide.

At 5:30 in the morning, I threw those blood-soaked canvas shoes into the metal trash can, called a taxi, and headed straight for the airport. At the departure gate, I dialed Easton, my voice calm without a trace of a tremble: "We're done."

Chapter 1

Brooke's POV

I stood on the scorching gravel of the parking lot, blood from my rubbed-raw heels seeping through my white sneakers. I stared blankly at the empty parking space.

Heat shimmered off the asphalt, warping the air.

My phone lit up-a new message from Easton. My own brother.

"Kenzie can't wait any longer, so we've decided to drive into town. Walk yourself along the highway to the Shell station three miles out. Don't dawdle."

Three miles. My heart went instantly cold.

He had treated me as his personal errand girl since we were kids.

And my boyfriend in name, Easton, never objected-because every time, he'd tell me: Brooke, you're the most understanding one.

Growing up, only my neighbor Avery would play with me, but he was weak-willed, always a fence-sitter.

Six months ago, Easton brought his coworker Kenzie into our circle.

She was twenty-three, barely over five feet tall, and masterfully weaponized helplessness-three grown men tripped over each other to orbit her and wait on her hand and foot.

If Kenzie had a headache, the whole world had to stop spinning until someone fetched organic peppermint essential oil.

Meanwhile, I could work sixty grueling hours a week and cook dinner for everyone until I dropped, and all I'd get was a breezy "Brooke's always so reliable."

This Grand Canyon road trip-I booked the cabin, planned the route, even packed the first-aid kit.

Kenzie brought three full suitcases of clothes. Five minutes after we picked up the rental Tahoe at Phoenix Sky Harbor, she started complaining that the seatback angle was uncomfortable and needed to recline.

Her seatback shoved hard against my knees; the cooler at her feet dug into my waist. I couldn't stretch my legs all morning.

Worse, Kenzie started whining that her blood sugar was acting up, and Easton immediately dabbed peppermint oil on her temples-never mind how much I hate mint.

My head throbbed in waves; my legs ached too much to lift.

Six hours later, we finally reached the visitor center at the park's south entrance, by the observation deck.

The sun beat savagely on the SUV's roof.

The reservation line stretched from the ticket booth all the way to the parking lot entrance-sixty or seventy people at least. At this pace, it would take three hours minimum.

Kenzie squirmed in the passenger seat-Easton had given it up for her on the grounds that her blood-sugar dips made the back row unbearable.

"Easton, the sun is brutal," Kenzie whined coquettishly, manicured fingers resting on the visor. "Three hours in line? In this heat? I'd never survive standing out there."

Easton glanced at me through the rearview mirror.

"Brooke, get out and queue for the observation deck reservations," he ordered, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Text us when you're near the front and we'll bring Kenzie over. Spare her the sun."

"The line runs from the door to the parking lot," I said, pointing at the endless queue. "It's almost a hundred and four degrees out there! Can't we all just wait in line together?"

"Don't be so selfish, Brooke," Hiram snapped from the middle row. "Kenzie could get heatstroke. You're sturdy. Will three hours of standing kill you? Go. Now."

Before I could argue, Avery had already unlocked the back door.

"Move it, Brooke, you're letting the AC out," Avery urged with a grin.

I stepped onto asphalt so hot it felt close to melting.

The air reeked of diesel fumes and scorched rubber.

Under the vicious sun, I trudged three or four hundred meters to the tail of that endless line. Sixty-some exhausted tourists stood ahead of me.

Within five minutes, sweat had soaked through my shirt, plastering it to my back.

One hour. Two.

The sun hammered down without mercy. My throat ached with dryness; my lips began to peel. One by one, people left the line to buy water at the little store nearby. I didn't dare move-if I left, two hours of waiting would be wasted.

Two and a half hours later, I finally shuffled up to the ticket window.

I pulled out my phone and texted the group: "I'm almost at the front. Bring her over."

No reply.

I called Easton. Straight to voicemail.

I stepped out of line, raised a hand against the glare, and looked back toward the parking lot where the car had been.

Empty.

I stood rooted in place, the sun casting a small shadow at my feet.

Half an hour later, Easton's message finally came: Kenzie couldn't sit still in the car, so they'd decided to skip the observation deck and drive into town to find food.

They hadn't left me a bottle of water.

They hadn't left my bag either-it was still stuffed under the driver's seat.

All I had on me was a phone at sixteen percent battery.

All I could do was walk along the highway, step by step.

It was a two-lane road from the park to town, with a narrow gravel shoulder. Every so often a car roared past, slamming a suffocating wall of heat and dust into my face.

My white canvas shoes had thin soles; every step drove the coarse gravel into the soles of my feet.

A fire-like pain tore at my heels with every stride, excruciating.

After the first mile, my right heel had bled through to a wet, dark-red stain.

Sweat streamed into my eyes, stinging with salt.

I dared not stop-there was a steep slope beside the road, and lingering where there was no shoulder was flirting with death.

When I finally spotted the yellow Shell station sign shimmering in the heat haze, an hour and fifteen minutes had passed.

My legs were shaking too hard to control.

My throat felt like it had been sandpapered.

I limped across the station's cracked, potholed asphalt lot and immediately spotted the black Tahoe parked under the convenience store's awning.

I pushed through the heavy glass door of the Shell store.

The blast of air conditioning froze the clammy sweat on my skin instantly.

In a plastic booth in the corner sat Easton, Hiram, Avery, and Kenzie, the table littered with wrappers and cold-drink cups.

Kenzie cradled a large iced matcha, laughing brightly at something on Avery's phone.

She was bone dry-not a single bead of sweat on her.

I limped up to the table and stopped.

Not one of them looked up right away.

"Finally," Hiram said, checking his watch, impatience dripping from his voice. "What took you so long? It's barely three miles. Don't you walk that much on the treadmill every morning?"

"You left me in the observation deck parking lot," I said.

My voice was a raw, cracked ruin.

Easton took a sip of his energy drink and set the can down gently on the table.

"Brooke, we told you Kenzie couldn't wait. If we'd sat there waiting for you to finish your three hours, the whole afternoon would've been gone. Besides, a little walk never killed anyone."

"I had no water," I said. "My bag's still in the car."

"There's water in the cooler," Avery said carelessly, jerking a thumb toward the SUV's trunk outside the window. "We were gonna save you some chips too, but Kenzie was hungry, so we let her have them."

I looked down at the table.

A half-eaten turkey sandwich, three empty soda cans, and the crumbs of a bag of salt-and-vinegar chips crushed to powder.

Nothing was left for me.

Kenzie looked up at me with big eyes brimming with hurt and apology.

"I'm so sorry, Brooke," she said, sniffling, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. "My blood sugar dropped while I was waiting. Easton said of course you wouldn't mind me eating your sandwich."

"You also took my front seat," I said.

Kenzie's head drooped, wounded.

"My stomach's been queasy ever since the matcha..." she murmured.

"Enough, Brooke, stop picking fights!" Easton cut in sharply, his voice going cold. "Why do you have to start drama every single time you show up? Sweaty and sour-faced, ruining everyone's mood. Go wash your face in the restroom. We're leaving."

Avery snickered and shook his head.

"Brooke's just mad she walked so slow," he teased. "Classic Brooke. Slow and dramatic."

I couldn't remember the last time one of his jokes had made me laugh.

I stood under the store's buzzing fluorescent lights.

My heel spasmed with pain, blood soaking through my sock, crusting stiff on the canvas.

I looked at Easton-the man who swore at my college graduation he'd love me for a lifetime.

I looked at Hiram-who shared my blood, who once swore when Dad walked out that he'd protect this family forever.

I looked at Avery-the playmate who used to ride bikes with me until the streetlights came on.

And now all three of them were sheltering Kenzie, terrified that my petty little grievance might offend her.

A strange, deathly clarity washed over me.

The rage didn't erupt. It froze solid instead.

"Hiram." I said quietly.

"What now?" Hiram grunted.

"Get my bag from under the front seat."

"We're leaving in two minutes. Just get in the car," Hiram said, grabbing the keys off the table. "Sort your stuff at the next stop."

"Give me my bag." I repeated it.

My voice didn't tremble an ounce.

Hiram rolled his eyes, got up, fetched the bag from the car, and slammed it onto the plastic table.

"Take out the trash on your way out," he tossed over his shoulder, heading for the door. "We've got a schedule."

I looked at the greasy wrappers and empty cups covering the table.

"No," I said.

Hiram stopped mid-step and turned around. "What did you say?"

"I'm not cleaning up after you." I picked up my bag. "And I will never get in your car again."