AN: My first cover, yay! @honeydaydreams has sent the cover I'm using now. In a few days I'll create a chapter for alternate covers and fan art and put it in, crediting her, you all know the drill by now. Please send them if you make them, I can't use them if you don't lol! 
Now, let's see how things are going wrong for our MCs...

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Reed fell asleep feeling better than she had when she woke up in the hospital bed. She'd been concerned about how much an overnight stay in the hospital would cost, but after the amazing Duncan Browne had shown up to tell her the cost was none of her concern, she'd been able to relax. And knowing that in the morning there would be a car waiting to take her home and that she wouldn't have to call for a very expensive Uber was another worry off her mind. Now all she had to do was worry about how she'd drive and type with her messed up arm.

Life was almost okay again.

Early the following morning, she was duly discharged, and emerged into a world that already seemed a little too bright, a world whose edges seemed a little too sharp, after only one day in the bubble of her hospital room.

The driver held the door and helped her into the car, laying her things next to her and giving her a smile as he closed the door.

Reed smiled back gratefully and sank into the leather seat, prepared to enjoy her ride back to her apartment.

The ride was over all too soon, as far as she was concerned, for she had enjoyed seeing sunny Los Angeles glide by through the tinted windows. People were out shopping and enjoying the nice weather, roller blading, tops down on their cars, walking their dogs, doing their LA thing like in no other place in the world. Even her seedy little corner of La Cienega was comforting, until she turned the corner at the liquor store and saw the upstairs.

Oh. My. God.

There was a fire truck still spraying water through one of the broken windows, which was smoking a little. Many of her pitiful belongings were out in the street; her colorful sofa, now a soggy ruin, her TV, smashed to bits, her cheap, thrift store bookcase with her cherished, secondhand paperbacks a smoldering mess. But worst of all, sitting amid the carnage, her laptop was a charred chunk black metal, recognizable only by the apple on the front.

Oh no. She was pretty sure her novel had stopped backing up to the cloud long ago because it was mysteriously full, and she had no idea what that meant.

Suddenly she thought of Waldo, whose apartment was right next to hers and looked almost as bad. Then she saw him, standing almost next to the car, spindly legs sticking out of his Bermuda shorts, sandy blond hair going every which way as he surveyed the damage. Thank god.

"Waldo!" she called, from her rolled down window, still too shocked to even get out of the car.

He turned around and walked over to where she was, looking mournful.

"What happened?"

"At first it was just people throwing stuff, I think," he began, scratching his sizable stomach. "That's what it sounded like, anyway. I heard your windows breaking and all, you know? I called to see if you were okay, and I could hear the phone ringing, but you didn't answer, so I figured you weren't home. So I thought maybe someone was trying to break in, so I called 911, but by the time they got here, it was on fire, so they rousted me out of my place, and got the fire department out to try to put it out."

"When did this happen?" Reed asked, aghast.

"About three or four this morning?" Waldo shrugged. "I figure it was one of them girls.
"One of what girls?"

"There were girls here most of yesterday afternoon and last night, watching your apartment and yelling stuff. They'd go up and pound on the door and yell stuff, too, shouting mean things about you. I thought you were inside and just ignoring them, you know?" Waldo looked at her, and at the car. "Where in the hell you been?"

"It's a long story," Reed answered in an exhausted voice.

At that moment a group of young girls came around the corner carrying Starbucks cups and holding cellphones. One of them looked up and saw Waldo talking to Reed, and spoke to the girl next to her.

"I think that's her!"

"Oh my god, you're right!"

The girls started running toward the car, dropping their cups and holding their cellphones up like they were recording Reed and Waldo talking.

"You stupid bitch, you ran over Duncan!"

"Why didn't you watch where you were going?"

"He's the kindest, gentlest person in the world, how could you hurt him?"

"Now your alkie drinking den is gone, what are you gonna do?"

They were almost abreast of the car, and still screaming about how she'd hurt "precious Duncan," and some of them looked seriously deranged.

Oh my god.

"Uh, could you drive, please?" she asked the driver as she rolled her window up.

"Sure, miss, where to?"

"I don't know, just hit it, please."

The driver gassed the car just as the fastest girl began pounding on the trunk of the car, and he pulled smoothly away, eluding her fists.

They entered traffic on northbound La Cienega, leaving the crazy, screaming girls behind.

"Close one, huh, miss?" the driver asked.

"Yes."

"So, uh, you know where you want to go?"

"Yes."

The driver looked at her in the rearview mirror, too polite to press her immediately. After about five minutes of aimless driving, though, he ventured a courteous, "Miss? Do we have a location in mind?"

She locked eyes with him. "Do you know where Duncan Browne lives?"

The driver let out a breath. "Well, yeah, but I'm not supposed to take anyone there, you know?"

"This is exigent circumstances," she looked at the name on his license, "Ramon, do you know what that means?"

Ramon nodded and wiped his forehead with a snowy white handkerchief. "Yes, miss, I do, but I can't take you there, I just can't."

"You can, and you will." Reed gave him a steely glare. "Weren't you supposed to take me wherever I told you to take me?"

Ramon nodded. "But I was supposed to take you home, that was understood and you know it. Please don't put me in this position, miss, I could lose my job."

Reed thought for a moment, and something occurred to her. "Fine. Please take me north on the PCH, Ramon."

Ramon brightened for a moment, then his face clouded over. "Oh no, miss, please."

"You heard me. North on Highway One, please."

Ramon swallowed and continued north toward Interstate 10, which would take him west to the Pacific Coast Highway. "Any particular place, miss?"

"No, Ramon, just some place in Malibu," Reed responded. "I'll know it when I see it, though, no worries. I was in an accident there just yesterday, I'm sure I can find it."

She settled back in the car for the ride, debating whether or not to take some of the pain pills which had been prescribed to her for her elbow and wrist. She decided that taking them wouldn't be awful. Her wrist was really throbbing, and she thought that dulling the pain might make it possible to focus on other things, including the conversation she was going to have with one Duncan Browne. She couldn't even enjoy the view of the ocean to her left, the clean waves breaking, one after the other, on the sandy beach. It was a bit too windy today for there to be too many beach goers, though there were plenty of surfers, not like yesterday, which had been picture perfect in every way.

Reed was a big girl, and she knew from experience that the recommended dosage of anything was never enough for her, so she swallowed two of the yellow pills and closed her eyes for a few minutes, knowing she had time. It was at least half an hour away to the place where her life had changed so terribly. She went over her options as she sat in the back of the comfortable SUV.

The money she was using to subsidize her year away from Oklahoma, her year off the grid, as she liked to think of it, had come her way from an accident which killed both of her parents. With careful hoarding, she knew she could make it last a year, even in a place as extravagant as Hollywood. Finding a dive over a liquor store to live in had been a stroke of very good luck, she knew.

Having a bunch of crazy girls set fire to the place four months before her time was up had not. Everything she owned had been in that tiny apartment; all of her clothes, what meager possessions she owned. She'd even done her marketing for the week, so her refrigerator had been full as well. And of course, her precious WIP, Hearts of Heaven, was gone, fried to a crisp and fused into her melted computer.

She could, she supposed, just end her experiment four months early and return to Oklahoma, and Sam, now. Just call it quits? She'd been blocked for nearly three weeks, truth be told. Her characters weren't doing what she wanted, the plot was royally fucked, and she had no idea how she was going to end it anyway.

And yet.

When Reed thought about returning to Ryedale, OK, population 15,032 (15,031 with one Reed Halliwell gone for the year) with her novel unfinished, something in her just clenched up. She had to finish, just had to.

That was all.

Maybe her words had actually been saved to the mysterious cloud, backed up in some magical way unbeknownst to her, even though the computer told her the cloud was "full." She wouldn't know until she asked someone more knowledgable than herself, right?

She opened her eyes and looked around. The scenery was looking familiar, she was fairly certain they were getting close to the place where she'd run over the idiot Duncan Browne.

Yes, there was the curve, there was the steep grade, so steep she hadn't seen him until the last, horrifying second, and there were the skid marks she'd left as she'd hopelessly tried to avoid hitting him. She felt a little woozy just looking at it, and wondered if the pain pills were taking effect.

There was only one driveway snaking away toward the ocean on the west side of the highway, with a substantial looking wrought iron gate about half way down between the turn-off and the huge house.

"Ramon?" she called briskly to the front of the car. "Please turn in to this driveway here."

"How did you—" He stopped himself and merely did what he was told. He drove down the smooth drive, all the way up to the gate and rolled to a stop. There was an intercom set into the high wall that surrounded the property. Ramon rolled down the window to announce their presence.

"Oh no, that won't be necessary," Reed told him with a confidence she didn't feel. "You can just drop me off and go."

"What?" Ramon seemed to think he'd misheard her. "I mean, I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me, Ramon," Reed assured him. "Just let me out, and you may go. I've got this from here, no worries."

"But miss, are you sure?" He gestured at long driveway. "I mean, shouldn't I stay, just in case? I mean, what if no one's home?"

"Then I'll wait."

"But it's a long walk from here, even if he—I mean, even if whoever lives here does let you in," Ramon said uneasily. "Maybe I should just, you know, hang out and drive you up?"

"No," Reed said firmly. "You may go. I'm sure."

So Ramon got out and opened the door for her, tipped his cap and got back in and drove away after making a smart three point turn.

Reed watched to make sure he actually made a right turn back onto the PCH, then pushed the button on the intercom.

There was no answer, so she pushed again, firmly, and pushed once more without waiting, just for good measure.

"Yeah? I mean, yes?" And she could hear the irritation in the speaker's voice, even through the crackling of the intercom. "You sure you have the right address? I'm not expecting any deliveries today."

"Oh, yes, Mr. Browne, I'm sure," Reed responded. "This is Reed Halliwell, we met yesterday, out there on the Highway, when I hit you with my car? And then again at the hospital? You offered to cover my medical bills and buy me a new car, do you remember me?"

There was silence, then the voice again, cautious this time. "Yes, Ms. Halliwell, I remember you. How did you find where I live, if I might ask?"

"Oh, that was easy, Mr. Browne. You told me. But I'd rather not stand out here at your gate and talk through the intercom like this. I have a broken wrist, if you'll recall. May I come in?"

More silence. Then, "Of course, of course. You did come in a car, did you not? Ramon brought you? You're not going to walk up to the house, are you?"

"Yes, Ramon was kind enough to bring me here, but I dismissed him. No need to make him wait. I'll be fine, if you'd be good enough to open the gate?"

Silence. "Certainly, Ms. Halliwell. Shall I come fetch you in the golf cart?"

"No, that won't be necessary, honestly."

There was a buzzing sound and the gate rolled slowly open.