Forever & Always: The Ever Trilogy (Book 1) by Jasinda Wilder Page A

the route to Wyoming instead.  
    I-94 west, then take I-294/I-80 west toward Iowa. I-80 all the way to Cheyenne. I-25 north toward Casper. Take the 220 past the fairgrounds, then SW Wyoming Boulevard toward Casper Mountain. The M-Line Ranch would be about twenty miles down an unnamed dirt road off Wyoming Boulevard, deep in the wilderness south of Casper, Wyoming.  
    I could do this. I could do this. I pictured the ranch, hundreds of square miles, thousands of acres of rolling hills and knee-high grass and foothills spiking the sky in the distance, waiting to be crossed and begging to be climbed.  
    I put the Jeep in drive and checked my mirrors, waited for traffic to clear, and then accelerated down the shoulder until I was at speed and pulled into the right-most lane. I waited a few minutes before I turned the radio on, settling into a comfortable seventy-five miles per hour. Mom’s Jeep—now my Jeep—had satellite radio, which was probably the most awesome thing I could ever imagine. I scanned the stations until I caught something with a good groove to it. Chugging guitars and distinctive vocals met me; the information readout told me it was Volbeat playing “The Sinner Is You,” a song I’d never heard before. The lyrics swept me away from the very beginning: “What’s life without a little pain…”
    It was a philosophy I wanted to hold on to. But I’d take life without so much pain, if I could. I’d heard all the bullshit, of course: what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, and how the hard times make you appreciate the good times more. I didn’t buy it. Hard times were hard, and no amount of thinking about the good times supposedly to come would make them suck any less. What good could come from losing my mom to breast cancer? What was I supposed to appreciate about that? I’d survive it, and be stronger for it? Well…I wasn’t going to curl up and die, so yeah, I’d survive it. But I also knew I’d never be the same. I felt the scars on my heart and in my mind. I’d been cut deep, and the wounds would never really heal. You didn’t watch your mother die and your father simply give up without being changed for the worse.  
    I’d been painted by pain. Several coats of it, a deep, thick varnish that wouldn’t ever fade.  
    Miles passed, hours passed. I slipped south of Chicago, cutting around the metropolis through the industrial forest of smokestacks and gouting pyres of flame. I was somewhere between Joliet and Davenport, Illinois, when I stopped for Burger King and to call Gramps. Another four hours saw me between Des Moines, Iowa, and Omaha, Nebraska. There were hours that passed slower than a lecture on economics, and others that zipped by so fast I couldn’t believe how far I’d gone. Iowa and Nebraska were endless and flat, and only the constant blare of music kept me from going insane from boredom. I would feel myself getting drowsy, and I’d roll all the windows down, turn the music up so loud it hurt my ears, and sing along at the top of my lungs.  
    The road never ended. It was always unfurling just beyond my hood, always another mile to go, another hour more. Just another hour. Another hour. I talked to myself. I talked to Ever. I talked to Mom.
    I didn’t talk to Dad.  
    Sunset found me parked underneath a light in a rest stop outside of Lincoln, the doors locked as I slept fitfully. I’d driven twelve hours straight, stopping only for food, gas, and to call Gramps every four hours. When I woke up, I was hit by fear. It was pitch black beyond the pale orange circle of light underneath which I was parked. There were semis idling at the far edge of the rest stop, and a faint white glow of fluorescent lights from the rest stop building itself. I exited my car, locked it behind me, and used the restroom. Graffiti stained the walls and the dividers, gouged and scribbled swear words, names, and other randomness.
    I bought a Coke from the vending machine, checked in with Gramps,