Chapter 1: Roadside recovery
The rain hammered down in great, relentless sheets, turning the motorway into a blur of red tail-lights and headlight beams slicing through the downpour. Jane sat rigid in the passenger seat of their white Audi RS6, her fingers white-knuckled around the armrest as Jack fought the wheel, wrestling the car against the storm’s brutal push. The wedding had been beautiful—a whirl of champagne and laughter, the bride’s dress a delicate shade of blush that had made Jane sigh, thinking of the dresses she’d never worn again after the kids left home.
The reception had sprawled into hours, the dance floor alive with guests who had somehow grown younger as the night wore on. By the time they’d stumbled out to the car park, rain had started, a light patter at first, then thickening as they’d pulled onto the motorway.
Now, the RS6 bucked in the high winds, tyres struggling for grip on the slick tarmac. Jack’s jaw was set, his knuckles tight on the wheel. Jane kept stealing glances at him—his silver-streaked hair, still thick despite the years, the way he gripped the gearstick like it owed him money.
“You alright?” he asked, voice steady despite the chaos outside.
Jane exhaled sharply.
“Of course I’m alright. It’s just rain.”
Jack smirked, flicking a glance her way before his eyes returned to the road. “Just rain? Jane, the windscreen wipers are moving faster than my heartbeat right now.”
She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t stop a small laugh from escaping. “Fine, it’s terrifying. Happy?”
“Ecstatic,” he deadpanned, adjusting his grip as the car skidded slightly on the wet road. “But we’ll be home in an hour. Maybe.”
Jane huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, her fingers brushing against the soft fabric of her blouse.
The rain hammered against the roof, so loud inside the cabin that it drowned out the radio’s faint hum. She hated storms. Hated how they made her feel small—not just in the car, but in her own skin. The wedding dress she’d worn had been a deep emerald, the colour clinging to her curves like it belonged there, but now, in the dim glow of the dashboard lights, she felt her body betraying her—soft where she wanted to feel firm, jiggling where she wanted to feel contained.
"You okay over there?" Jack glanced at her again, his eyes flickering between the road and her before he reached over, his hand brushing against her thigh.
She stiffened, then relaxed into it, leaning into the warmth of his palm. His fingers traced idle circles before giving a gentle squeeze. "You're overthinking."
Jane raised an eyebrow at the comment. "Excuse me?"
Jack glanced at her once more, his smirk returning. "You always do when it's raining hard. Especially when we're cooped up like this. Like a cat in a thunderstorm."
Jane exhaled through her nose, trying not to smile. "I'm not overthinking. I'm just... assessing the situation."
"Uh huh." Jack's smirk deepened.
"Assessing? Or obsessing?"
His fingers slid higher, teasing the hem of her blouse, making her squirm in ways that had nothing to do with the car’s precarious position on the road.
"Jack," she warned, swatting at his hand playfully. "Focus on the road before we end up in a ditch."
"Too late for that," he chuckled, nodding toward the windscreen where the rain blurred everything into streaks of light and shadow. The motorway had vanished beyond the wipers’ arc. The car groaned as Jack fought the slipstream, tyres skidding sideways for a heart-stopping second before the traction control kicked in, steadying them again.
Jane’s breath hitched, but she forced her shoulders to relax, pressing her thighs together as Jack’s fingers traced idle circles higher on her thigh. The warmth of his touch did little to calm the storm in her chest, though. The wedding had been full of gawking, of sideways glances from men who thought they could hide their hunger behind polite smiles. She’d caught reflections in the champagne flutes, the way fabric stretched over broad shoulders, the way dark eyes lingered a second too long on her cleavage. It wasn’t just the rain making her skin flush now—it was the memory of being looked at again, after years of surrendering to the quiet comfort of motherhood and partnership.
Jane’s fingers curled into the seatbelt across her chest as the Audi shuddered under another gust, this one violent enough to tilt the car dangerously toward the central reservation. Jack’s grip tightened, knuckles white again, but his voice remained calm, laced with dark amusement.
“You’re doing that thing again,” he said, glancing at her with a sideways grin that made her stomach flip.
“Doing what thing?” she asked, though she already knew—her knee bouncing, her eyes darting to the side like she could see through the rain to the unseen road ahead.
“That thing where you look like you’re trying to decide whether to scream or set something on fire.”
Jane exhaled through her teeth.
“I’m assessing the odds, that’s all. We’re skidding on a motorway in a storm. That’s not exactly ‘business as usual’.”
Jack’s smirk softened into something warmer, his thumb pressing just a little harder into the soft flesh of her inner thigh. “Business as usual? Jane, when has anything we do ever been ‘business as usual’?”
She shot him a look. “Oh, I don’t know, Jack—like every Tuesday? Like when we order the same curry? Like every time we say ‘I love you’ without blinking an eye?”
Jack laughed, low and warm, the sound cutting through the drum of rain. “You’re right. We’re predictable as hell.
And I love you for it.” He squeezed her thigh again, his fingers inching upward with deliberate slowness. “But you’re also the woman who once flashed the entire family barbecue because you thought the bikini top made you look like a mermaid.”
Jane groaned, half-laughing. “I was thirty-five and had just had two glasses of rosé. Not my finest moment.”
“No,” Jack agreed, nodding solemnly. “Your finest moment was the one where you convinced me to try anal for the first time in the back of a Premier Inn after a conference in Milton Keynes.”
Jane’s cheeks burned despite herself. “That was different.
That was…” She hesitated, searching for the words as the wipers continued their relentless rhythm. The car wobbled again, this time threatening to drift toward the barrier, and Jane instinctively braced herself against the dashboard, her breath catching.
“Different from what?” Jack asked, his voice calm, almost amused, as he wrestled the wheel back into line. His hand never left her thigh, fingers idly tracing patterns against the thin fabric of her dress.
“Different from this,” she said, gesturing vaguely at the storm outside. “Different from skidding on a motorway in a borrowed tuxedo.”
Jack chuckled, low and knowing.
His thumb grazed higher again, just beneath the hem of her dress, and Jane caught her breath. The Audi shuddered once more, this time lurching sideways as Jack yanked the wheel hard against the slide, tyres screeching in protest. The motion sent Jane sliding toward him, her shoulder bumping against his. She didn’t pull away.
“You’re not scared,” he murmured, eyeing her sideways. “You’re just overthinking.”
“Excuse me?” she snapped, though there was no real heat in it. The adrenaline was thinning her patience. Or maybe that was just Jack’s touch—warm, persistent, like the rain on the roof—drowning out everything else.
The car fishtailed again, this time harder, the rear end spinning toward the barrier with a grinding crunch of metal and a sickening lurch that pinned Jane to the seat, her stomach rising into her throat. Jack cursed under his breath, both hands on the wheel now, muscles straining as he fought the skid. The RS6 slewed sideways, tyres scraping against the tarmac, before the traction control finally reasserted control and steadied them.
Jane’s hands clutched at the dashboard, knuckles white, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The storm raged on, the wind howling like a living thing against the car’s frame.
Jane’s fingers dug into the dashboard, her pulse hammering in her throat as the RS6 juddered back onto all four wheels, only for another gust to shove it sideways once more. The tyres shrieked in protest, the sound cutting through the drum of rain like a blade.
Jack’s jaw was set, his knuckles white around the wheel, but his voice remained steady, almost infuriatingly so. “We’re okay,” he said, as if that were a fact rather than a gamble. “Just gonna take this slow.”
Jane shot him a look. “Slow?
*Slow?*” Jane snapped, voice sharp as the windshield wiper blades. “Jack, we’re spinning like a top in a hurricane. That’s not slow—that’s a controlled crash.”
Jack exhaled through his nose, a sound that was half-laugh, half-surrender. His fingers never left her thigh—they just pressed a little firmer, grounding her.
“Fine. A controlled skid.” He adjusted his grip on the wheel, knuckles whitening again as the car shuddered under another violent gust. “But we’re still moving. And we’re still alive.”
Jane swallowed hard, her chest tight.
The motorway was now just a blur of blurred headlights and rain—no more road, no more sky, just chaos framed by glass and steel, the RS6 groaning like a wounded beast under the storm’s assault.
“You’re doing that thing again,” Jack murmured, glancing at her with a quick, knowing smirk.
“Doing what thing?” she snapped, voice trembling more than she wanted it to.
“That thing where you look like you’re mentally packing your bags for a one-way trip to Regret Town.”
Jane exhaled sharply through her nose, her fingers clawing at the dashboard.
The Audi bucked violently as another crosswind slammed into the car, sending it spinning halfway across the motorway. The sound of scraping metal and shrieking tyres filled the cabin, drowning out the radio’s dying hum. The storm outside had become a living thing, howling like a beast against the roof, the windows rattling in their frames.
Jack’s knuckles were bone-white on the wheel, his jaw clenched so tight it looked painful. He didn’t speak for a long moment, didn’t joke, didn’t tease—he just fought the wheel, muscles straining as he wrestled the skidding beast back onto the tarmac.
Jane’s breath came in short, sharp gasps, her body rigid with the kind of fear that made her stomach clench and her fingers ache from gripping the dashboard.then it happened another car slammed into the side of the Audi sending it sideways into the barrier and up onto its roof before slamming back down and spinning like a spinning top. The world flipped upside down and for a moment everything went silent.
Jane’s scream tore through the cabin, high and raw, as the car crashed onto its roof, the world outside now a chaotic kaleidoscope of rain, metal, and sparks. The airbags deployed with a sharp *pop*, blooming like white ghosts between them and the shattered windscreen. The car rocked violently, the roof groaning under the impact, rainwater now trickling in through the fractured glass, cold and relentless.
Jane’s body was pinned against the ceiling by the seatbelt, her hair a wild tangle around her shoulders, her dress riding up her thighs as she gasped for air.
The world had flipped—literally. The rain was now a thin curtain falling from the broken windscreen, cold and relentless, splashing against her neck and bare arms. The smell of burnt rubber and ozone filled the cabin.
Jack was still in his seat, albeit upside down, his face a mask of controlled panic. He twisted in his harness, his voice strained but steady.
“Jane—you alright?”
She let out a shaky laugh, half-relief, half-hysteria.
“Alright? Jack, I’m *glued* to the roof of a car.
That feels like a hard no on the ‘alright’ scale.”
Jane’s words came out breathless, fragmented between the sharp *tick-tick-tick* of the rain tapping against the inside of the windscreen. Water dripped from the cracked glass onto her forehead, cold and insistent. She blinked up at the upside-down world outside the shattered windscreen—trees whipping past in the storm like they were being whipped by some cosmic hand, headlights cutting through the rain in streaks of gold and red, the motorway now a river of light and shadow.
Jack let out a low, disbelieving chuckle, the sound cutting through the chaos.
His hand found hers, fingers twisting around her wrist until their palms pressed together, grounding him as much as her. The upside-down world made her head spin, but his grip didn’t waver.
“Well, Jane,” he said, voice calm despite the storm raging outside, “this is one way to break up the monotony of the drive home.”
Jane groaned, her laugh mingling with the drum of rain on metal. “Oh my God, you’re *insufferable*. We’ve just been in a crash, Jack. A *crash*.”
“And yet,” he drawled, tilting his head just enough to meet her eyes, “we’re still alive. Still breathing. At that point other drivers started to prise open the cars doors, the scene was a mess. Police arrived and blue flashing lights lit up the screen. Other cars were mangled in the torn up mess, the dark, cold, wet scene was a real mess. Jack prised open the boot and got his go bag out, med kit in hand he started to tend to the cuts and bruises to Jane and others. A short while later a AA recovery truck among others and ambulances turned up. The recovery driver collected the batters RS6 and dragged it onto his trailer. Both Jane and Jack were OK just both in Shock and a few scrapes and bruises. The recovery driver offered to drop them somewhere local. Jack suggested the local Hilton at the NEC. The recovery driver, a burly man with a thick Brummie accent and a face like a disappointed bulldog, had shrugged when Jack mentioned the hotel.
"Penthouse free, mate. Only room left. Someone cancelled last minute. Lucky bastards, eh?" the driver had said, wiping rainwater from his brow with the back of his hand.
Jane had shot Jack a look as they were bundled into the recovery truck’s cab, her dress still damp, her hair a tangled mess around her shoulders. The storm outside was a dark wall of rain, the headlights of the recovery truck cutting through it like twin swords.
Through the smeared windscreen, Jane watched the blur of blue and red lights receding as the emergency vehicles peeled away, leaving them in the steady rhythm of wipers and the rumble of the engine. The driver, a broad-shouldered Brummie with a voice like gravel under tyres, glanced at them in the rear-view mirror more than once, his expression a mix of curiosity and mild disdain.
“You two alright back there?” he asked, the question carrying the weight of someone who had seen too much to be truly concerned. Within a few minutes they were at the Hilton. The recovery driver gave Jack details of how to get the car back as they retrieved the overnight bags from the crumpled boot. Both bags seemed to be untouched.
Jack checked in whist Jane stood shivering beside him. The only room available was the penthouse suite. A pair of kingsized rooms with a separate Lounge and bar area. They booked it for the night. At that point Jane suggested that they call Marcus as he was also on the way back from the same wedding but left a few hours after they did and that he may be able to give them a lift back to Aylesbury? Jack considered this for a moment before turning and smiling at Jane, wondering if she had an ulterior motive.
Soon they would find out…