The Breaks Between You and Me


 
 Contents
 
 
 
 
 1. PROLOGUE
 
 
 
 
 2. CHAPTER ONE
 
 
 
 
 3. CHAPTER TWO
 
 
 
 
 4. CHAPTER THREE
 
 
 
 
 5. CHAPTER FOUR
 
 
 
 
 6. CHAPTER FIVE
 
 
 
 
 7. CHAPTER SIX
 
 
 
 
 8. CHAPTER SEVEN
 
 
 
 
 9. CHAPTER EIGHT
 
 
 
 
 10. CHAPTER NINE
 
 
 
 
 11. CHAPTER TEN
 
 
 
 
 12. CHAPTER ELEVEN
 
 
 
 
 13. CHAPTER TWELVE
 
 
 
 
 14. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
 
 
 
 
 15. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
 
 
 
 
 16. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
 
 
 
 
 17. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
 
 
 
 
 18. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
 
 
 
 
 19. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
 
 
 
 
 20. CHAPTER NINETEEN
 
 
 
 
 21. CHAPTER TWENTY
 
 
 
 
 22. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
 
 
 
 
 23. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
 
 
 
 
 24. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Taiya Collier
 The Breaks Between You And Me
 
 
 
 
 
 Copyright © 2022 by Taiya Collier
 
 
 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
 
 This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
 
 
 
 
 
 First edition
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy
 Find out more at reedsy.com
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 1
 
 
 PROLOGUE
 
 
 
 
 
 On a night that’s so damn dark my eyes have to squint to find the lines on the road, I yawn for so long that my entire face sighs in relief when my mouth eventually closes and my face un-strains. I let my foot press a little harder than it should on the pedal, and I turn up the radio with my chipped-polish fingers. 
 “Hands on ten and two,” Mom chimes from my memories. “Like a clock!”
 And I chime back, “You can’t force me to drive us across state borders when I’ve never driven before!”
 The memory’s clearer than the darkness outside the car, and I can’t help but envision her flipping her reddish wild hair over her shoulders. “I did this when I was your age. Same route: Montana to California. And you know what? All I needed was a map and my hands on the wheel, and all was fine, as it will be with you. Now: keep your left foot on the left side, and let your right foot do the work…”
 Lil pokes my arm, jolting me out of my head as she looks up at me with big eyes. “Harper, harper!” She yells so shrilly that I can’t help but jump and focus the entirety of my attention on her (this is her calling card for me, saying my name so high-pitched that every muscle in my body tenses attentively). 
 “What, what?”
 “Police!” She screams. “Police, police!” And I realize I was so caught up in my reminiscing of the past I didn’t even hear the sirens or see the flashing lights that fire up the night in red and blue. My eyes widen so large that I feel my eyebrows reach my hairline. I swerve to the side and pull the gear down. “Oh, Jesus Christ,” I murmur under my breath. 
 “Bad words,” Lil murmurs worriedly under hers.
 I look into the mirror and see the cop approaching the side of our car. He wears glasses that seem a bit too reminiscent of the seventies and has ginger hair and an accompanying, orange-tinted mustache. “Do you know why you’ve been pulled over today?”
 I clear my throat and sit up straight. Then I give my best smile. “No, sir, I don’t.”
 “You’re driving awfully recklessly.”
 I shrug, sigh, and then clasp my hands together. “Sorry about that. I’m just a bit tired. You know how it is on Montanan roads in the nighttime: dark as hell and tired eyes have a hard time differentiating things.” 
 And let me tell you, he is not in the slightest convinced by the smile I’m so dearly plastering to my apologetic face. He shifts his weight to his right hip and swings the beam of his flashlight toward the inside of our car, which is so messy it actually hurts. Then he glances back at me. “How old are you?”
 “Sixteen, sir. And my sister over here is—”
 Lil holds out six fingers and yells shrilly, yet again. “Six years old!”
 And do you know what? He’s not even impressed by Lil’s exuding cuteness! All he says is: “Parents?”
 I cock my head. “Driving without an adult in the car is not a crime, if I can remember.”
 “Can I see your license?”
 I pause for a long while. “Um, I don’t…”
 “Driving without a license is a crime, if I can remember.”
 I swallow. “Well— that’s just what everyone does down here. You know, country roads, small towns.”
 He swings his flashlight to the back of the car instead of the front this time, spotlighting the mess that’s even worse now that we’re all paying it the attention it has yet to receive. There are piles and piles of blankets Mom would wrap Lil and I up in on the chilly Californian nights, and push into the trunk on the sweltering Californian days. There are candy wrappers and fast-food bags and schoolbooks and all of it is so random