The drive home

Emily gripped the wheel so hard her knuckles whitened. She was topless, her ruined sports bra stuffed deep into the bathroom trash can back at the park, hidden under a mound of paper towels. She’d abandoned it there like evidence of a crime. Now every bump of the road made her bare breasts sway and ache, her nipples raw and sensitive, brushing against the rough seat belt no matter how she tried to adjust it.

Terror sat heavy in her chest. At each stoplight, her arms folded automatically across her chest, trying to hide herself from the drivers on either side. Every second felt like an eternity, the weight of unseen eyes burning into her skin. If anyone glanced over, they’d see her flushed face, her tear-reddened eyes, her bare shoulders above the belt.

What if she got pulled over? The thought made her stomach flip. A cop leaning into the window, flashlight catching the streaks on her thighs, the exposed swell of her breasts, the damp cling of her shorts. She wouldn’t be able to explain, wouldn’t be able to breathe.

Her heart hammered so hard she thought it might split her ribs.

When she finally reached her street, relief hit like a wave—but it was short-lived. Tasha’s car was parked in the driveway.

Emily didn’t normally use the garage. That was Jason’s space. Her car usually sat on the street or in the open drive. But the thought of stepping out here—half-naked, shorts damp, body reeking of Michael—made her stomach twist.

She clicked the opener and pulled straight into the garage. The door rattled down behind her, sealing her into dim concrete quiet.

Her breath came fast, ragged, as she clutched her bag across her chest. She scanned the space frantically—boxes stacked high, Jason’s tools hung in neat rows, old holiday bins shoved into corners. Somewhere, anything she could throw on before Tasha got curious and came looking.

Her skin itched with the thought of Tasha opening the door, seeing her like this. Seeing everything.

Emily’s pulse slammed faster. She had to find something—now.