"It's my house. You didn't expect me to move out? Call my assistant with any problems. Have a nice life, Michelle."
I got in the car without waiting to see if she objected. This wasn't a negotiation. She'd comply or I'd send someone in a week to evict her. I gunned the engine and sped out of the driveway, ready to put as much distance between us as possible.
For about half an hour I just drove mindlessly, doing my best not to think about any part of this day. Driving didn't solve any of my problems, but it felt like it gave me space to breathe and to calm down. After a while my adrenaline subsided just enough for me to start thinking about where I was actually going. I still felt tense, and like I wanted to hit something, so I turned the car in the direction of my gym. I had a gym at home, but I kept my membership to a local place so I could meet up with Scott and play racquetball.
The gym was pretty busy when I got there, but I managed to grab a punching bag in a relatively quiet corner. I put in my earbuds and cranked up the most aggressive playlist I had. I got into a rhythm; it felt good to let my body take over for a while, and it felt great to drive my fists into the punching bag. At first, I got angrier and angrier, and I put all that anger into the workout. Eventually, my rage burnt itself out, and was replaced with exhaustion. I pushed myself until I absolutely had to stop, and then took a long, hot shower.
I grabbed a sandwich at the gym's cafe and ate it in the parking lot, leaning against the car and watching the sun start to set. I checked my watch and realized it was almost eight. I still didn't have any plans for where I would sleep that night. It should be easy enough to get a room at a hotel. Somewhere convenient, where they knew me and what I liked, so I wouldn't be bothered with needless questions. The River Grand downtown, perhaps?
I finished the sandwich and got into the car, checking the map to remind myself which street the hotel was on. As I headed that way, I hit a button on my steering wheel and instructed the car's phone system to call them. A polite voice answered the phone.
"River Grand Hotel, how may I help you?"
I gave them my name and asked for a room.
"Yes, of course, Mr. Reade. We're delighted to have you staying with us again. Any special requests for your room, besides your usual requirements?"
"No, the usual is fine."
"Great, give me just a moment." I could hear faint sounds of typing. "Okay, Mr. Reade, I've got that room reserved for you. Would you also like some chardonnay to be chilled for your arrival?"
"Chardonnay?"
"Yes, we have the kind you usually order when you stay with us."
Damn it. Michelle liked chardonnay. We always stayed in that hotel if we were in the city overnight. She always ordered it. Suddenly that hotel was the last place I wanted to be.
"Actually, sorry. Never mind. I need to cancel the reservation."
"Sir?"
"I've just realized I have to change my plans. My apologies. Thank you."
I hung up before they even got done acknowledging what I'd said. I hit the steering wheel and tried to think where I could go. It occurred to me that I could just go to Scott's. He might be bent out of shape about the firing—god, that seemed like a lifetime ago! But he'd let me stay when he heard what had happened since then. I could crash there and find a hotel tomorrow.
Of course, because nothing was easy today, Scott's place was in the opposite direction from the hotel, and there was no great place to turn around. I wasn't that far from the beltway, after which it was just a few miles to Scott's. But to get there from here involved weaving my way through a bunch of back streets until I was able to change directions.
I was not in the mood for a torturous reroute. I checked for cars, and there was no one around, so I turned the wheel hard, making what was probably an illegal U-turn. I sped back in the direction I had come, aware I was probably speeding, and not really caring. Normally I didn't drive like this unless I was on the open highway, but it was soothing to push the car a bit and feel it respond.
Maybe it was because it was completely dark out now, or maybe it was because I was in a reckless mood, but I didn't see the stop sign until I was blowing past it.
And by the time my headlights illuminated the other car, and I realized it had started through the intersection at the same time as I had, there was no way to avoid impact. All I could do was yank the wheel and try to minimize the damage by sideswiping the car instead of hitting it dead on.
The impact was still brutal. I'd been in a few minor car accidents before, but never one like this. I slammed into my seatbelt, hard. And the noise was horrifying—metal against metal, crunching and screeching and ringing in my ears. Time seemed to both slow down and leap forward, like I was suspended for a moment in the middle of the crash, and then suddenly it was over.
I took a deep breath and analyzed the damage. I felt okay, though my ears were still ringing. The interior of my car was largely unchanged, and I looked out the windshield to see what I could see of the exterior. Nothing seemed too bent out of shape, astonishing for all the noise the crash had caused. Then I turned my head and caught sight of the other car, and my heart sank.
It was some kind of older model jeep, its faded green color just detectable by the light of the street lamps. It seemed we had collided, and the force of it had spun us back away from each other. My car had come to a stop just on the edge of the road, while the jeep had been pushed to the middle of the intersection. I could just see how the driver's side of the car was crunched in, like someone had taken a huge sledgehammer to it.
I unbuckled and got out of the car, feeling slightly lightheaded but able to control it. I walked toward the jeep, the damage looking worse and worse as I got closer. Guilt and shame spread through me. This was entirely my fault. Me and my stupid temper and my need to soothe myself by being reckless. I'd only meant to be reckless with myself.
I could see the driver, or at least a head of blonde hair that seemed to be hanging forward, not moving. My heart stopped, and I rushed forward. The driver appeared to be a young woman, and from outside the car I couldn't tell if she was breathing or not. I tried the door but it was stuck. The driver's side window had basically shattered, though, so I reached in and very gently touched the shoulder closest to me.
"Miss? Ma'am? Can you hear me?" The smallest sound escaped her lips, and her head lolled slightly. I exhaled, and realized I'd been holding my breath.
"Don't move, okay? You've been in a car accident." I remembered that we were in the middle of the intersection, so I stretched my hand past her to turn on her emergency blinkers. Mercifully, they still worked.
"Sir?" a voice behind me asked. I turned to see a man looking at me with concern, and behind him a woman on her cell phone. "Are you okay?" he asked. I glanced past them and realized they had seen the accident and stopped to help. "My wife's calling 911," the man continued. "Maybe you should come sit with us in our car."