The Back Seat Novels & Stories

“Do you really want me to go sit way in the back and leave you alone up here?” I glanced at him. “Sorry, Zane. It is just… fairer for you and your brothers.” He pouted hard with lips pushed out, but finally gave in. His big frame shifted to the very back seat. The whole SUV rocked a little when he sat down. Now I was in the middle row. Hunter was driving. Seth sat on my right because Hunter asked him to watch Zane. Zane was in the back, but close enough that I could still feel the heat radiating off him behind my head.

All the contradictions. The backseat smells like leather and expensive cologne and sex. He's prepared for this—there's a black blanket spread across the seats, the windows are heavily tinted, and there's a small privacy screen between the front and back. He's thought of everything. He always does. I slide across the leather, and he follows, his body taking up space in a way that makes the backseat suddenly feel impossibly small. We're pressed together, breathing the same recycled air, and when he reaches for me, I let him.

An hour later, I was regretting every decision I had made in life up to this point. Sebastian’s car was waiting in front of the house like a sin wrapped in glossy black paint. Long, expensive, quiet, and very clearly bought by a man who considered other people’s comfort a basic human right, as long as that person was him. The back door was already open. And there, neatly installed on the back of the passenger seat, was a kid seat. I stopped on the last step.

I'm already calculating where to sit as we approach it, reaching for the back door handle, when Cole steps ahead of me and opens the front passenger door. He looks at me expectantly. I look at the open door. I look at the back seat. "I'll sit in the back," I say. "Stella—" "Cole." "It's a bumpy drive. The front is more comfortable—" "The back is fine." He holds the door open and looks at me with an expression that is trying very hard to be neutral and not quite getting there. "It's just a seat." "Then it won't matter which one I take." I reach past him and pull the back door open.

It was a perfect escape for anyone who had been glued to their computers for too long, with fingers aching and backs stiff from endless typing. At long last, we stepped onto the bus, a dull murmur of conversations and engine noise vibrating in the air. We found our seats nestled in the middle section, and exhaustion had already taken over even when Isabella shoved me away just for her to take the window seat. “Don’t disturb me. I’m going to take a nap,” she said as we settled on our seats. The seats were narrower than they looked, clearly designed by someone who enjoyed watching grown adults suffer in silence. “My back burns like hell, who the f*ck designed this punishment chair?!”

Up front, a thick, mesh iron partition separated the driver and front passenger seats from the back cabin, designed for privacy, so whoever sat in the front couldn't easily see or hear what was happening in the wide leather seats behind them. My mother happily slid into the front passenger seat next to George, who took the wheel with a stormy, frustrated expression on his face. I climbed into the spacious back cabin, sliding all the way to the far corner near the window. A second later, the rear door opened, and Julian slid in right beside me. He smelled like expensive cologne, wearing a casual fitted polo that stretched over his broad chest. George started the engine, pulling out of the dri

CHAPTER 18: BACKSEAT WARFARE The heavy door of the SUV shut with a quiet click, blocking out the flashes from the press, the roar of car engines, and the loud noise of the crowd. Inside the dark backseat, everything was quiet and tight. Soft orange lights lit up the leather seats and the dark glass partition that separated us from the driver. Outside, the rain was coming down hard again, running down the dark windows as the heavy car moved onto the highway.

"Half of this stuff isn't going to fit." ​"We need all of it!" she insisted, shoving the last cooler into the trunk and slamming it shut. "Just put the rest of the bags in the front seat." ​"If I put these in the front passenger seat, where am I supposed to sit?" I asked, entirely annoyed. ​"In the back, obviously," she said, completely waving off my concern as she opened the driver's side door. ​I opened the back door and completely froze. ​The entire backseat was crammed full of sleeping bags, folded lawn chairs, and firewood. There was only one single seat left open behind the driver.

However, I recalled her chatting and laughing with Tracey in the back seat while munching on a bag of chips. Ben rolled down the car window, his voice tender. “Just take the back seat, Kaycee. There’s more room back there anyway. You can kick back and relax.” Without a word, I withdrew my arm and opened the door to the back seat. It was cramped in the back. Cory, Tracey, and I were squeezed in the back row. Tracey edged forward, wrapping her arms around Mikayla, while Cory kept reaching to hand her tissues. Shoved into the corner by the window, I was basically stuck against the frigid car door.

On the way to the hospital in my daughter's car, my legs felt cramped, so I adjusted the angle of the passenger seat. A second later, I heard a soft snap from beneath the seat. A toothpick had broken. I jumped in fright as my daughter, Marissa Langford, slammed on the brakes, her face turning pale. "Why would you touch that? Tyler set that seat to a specific position on purpose. He uses it to check whether another man has been sitting in the passenger seat. How am I supposed to explain this now?" Realizing I'd caused trouble for her marriage, I immediately sent Tyler Ashford, my son-in-law, an apology. Hours passed without a reply. Eventually, all I received was a cold laughing emoji.