3. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
And… this was a dumb idea.
I make it about three miles down the road until I discover most of the roads are closed again. Traffic lights are out, leaving cars to navigate for themselves. Everyone is in a rush to get out of the rain, forcing their place into traffic.
I manage to find a road that's not as flooded, driving slow as my windshield wipers go for gold. The fastest setting still isn't enough to see clearly in front of me, the world a glossy blur of wetness.
Taking higher ground, I catch a good view of St. Devil's Creek — the actual creek that the town is named after, and watch as trees are engulfed by the rising water. It's murky, making my fear of thalassophobia send shivers down my spine. Rationally, I know there's no sea monster lurking behind the waters. But I bet there's bull sharks.
I stupidly watched Jaws on repeat as a child, equally fascinated and traumatized by the movies. I curse my parents for not intervening and realizing it's not appropriate for a six year old to watch horror movies about very real animals, but I guess times were different. We were expected to be stronger, less compassionate. The solution to every single problem was to compartmentalize your issues and "suck it up."
I probably should have chosen a career in psychology. Our entire generation seems to need one now and I don't blame them. Between generational evolution, the cost of living crisis, and climate change, we're pretty much in a constant state of survival.
Instead I spend my days with a power-tripping asshole, packing plastic bouquets and centerpieces. At least, it's never too late for change.
Turning onto Saint View Road, the only remaining open street that will get me home, I frown at the height of the water on the road. It doesn't look too bad, but looks can be deceiving.
Pulling off to the side of the road, I look at the other cars passing through, checking if they make it safely. It's my best bet, and if they are keen to give it a try first, then I'm happy to wait and watch.
Several larger SUVs make it through with no problem, sending small ripples and waves into nearby yards. A semi-truck passes through slowly, splashing my car with muddy water. I wait for the windscreen to clear slightly and watch a slightly smaller car attempt the passage. It makes it — but barely.
Realizing I have no choice and seeing the rain starting to get heavier, I clench my ass cheeks and say a silent prayer to whatever deity wants to listen to a heartbroken millennial.
Taking it slow, water surrounds the car as I drive through, the sound making my heart race even more as I curse repeatedly under my breath. There's a small dip in the road, and I optimistically tell myself that once we get past that, it's smooth sailing to my shower and Disney Plus subscription.
As soon as I hit the dip, my foot presses on the gas a little firmer, the Suzuki revving with gusto.
We're nearly there… we're nearly there!
It takes me about three whole seconds to recognize that the street is now moving sideways rather than coming at me straight on. Panicking, I hit the gas again, hearing the tires spin aimlessly, the car floating.
"Oh, fuck. Oh, FUCK!" I yell to myself, looking out the driver's window and smashing my forehead into it by accident. The water is too high, lifting my tiny car and carrying it weightlessly through the water.
There's a barrier on the side of the road, the metal grinding as my car connects with it.
I'm now literally a floating duck. A floating, fucking duck. Why did I have to choose a yellow car?!
Stupidly, I reach for the door handle without thinking. It cracks open an inch, icy water pouring into the car and drenching my feet. The pressure slams the door shut again, my feet flailing as I splash water all up my legs.
"FUCK!" I say again, looking around. Some larger cars are still passing through, ignoring the pathetic girl in her yellow submarine. Their superior vehicles smash water into me, making the car shake on the tiny waves.
I slam my hands onto the steering wheel, contemplating my options. I usually work well under pressure — but presently, my brain has decided to exit the vehicle and leave me alone. Self-preservation and all…
Grabbing my cell, I try to dial my dad's number. He'd know what to do in this situation. There's a sing-song tune in my ear and when I rip it from my head and examine the screen, my face deadpans at the non-existent signal bar.
"I'm going to fucking die…" I mutter, putting my head on the steering wheel. Tears well up in my eyes, panic consuming me as I freeze in fear.
I should have listened to Blaise and told Marco to go fuck himself, which I'm sure he does on a nightly basis anyway. Now, I'm stranded, about to become one with St. Devil's Creek, covered in tiny ass specks of glitter from wedding dresses, and not enough money in my bank account to even give myself a decent funeral!
I'm hyperventilating when someone beeps their horn, scaring the life out of me. If the flood doesn't kill me, then this might just do the trick.
My body jolts violently, my elbow hitting the door, making me yelp. I cradle it, finally peering through the foggy window to find the blurry figure of a large car pulled up beside me. I stare at them, squinting until I see their window down, waiting for me to respond.
My gaze slowly turns to the window button, embarrassment coursing through me. Why didn't I think of the window?
Slowly, I press it, the buzz of the window being drowned out by the sound of rain as drops slap me in the face for my stupidity.
"Are you okay?" a masculine voice calls out. I can barely see through the heavy rain, so I lift my hand, holding it above my eyes.
Staring back at me is a young guy in a black Dodge Durango, his dark brown eyes watching me with concern.
"I'm stuck," I answer back sheepishly.
He gives me a warm sympathetic smile. "I can see that. Do you need help?"
I give a small nod, my cheeks flushing despite the freezing rain. "Yes, please."
Unclasping his seatbelt, he climbs over into his passenger seat, hanging his head out the window. "You're going to have to climb out your window into my car. Think you can do that?"
Nodding again, I take my seatbelt off, shoving my cell down my bra along with my car key. As I squeeze through the window, he reaches out, grabbing me under the arms to help guide me. Thankfully, our cars are close, but I still have to balance on the window frame. His car is much higher than mine, and when I'm firmly balanced on the edge of my Suzuki, he counts to three, pulling me upwards as I use my foot to push off from the dashboard.
It has to be the most hilarious visual for him, watching me enter his car by the window head first, my legs following suit like wet spaghetti.
"My window," I mutter, looking at my car.
"I think water getting inside your car is the least of your worries," he says, amused.
I take the key out of my bra, locking the car. He lets out an uncontrollable laugh, covering his mouth in an attempt to stop himself.
Bewildered, I glance at him, my cheeks turning even redder. "Better safe than sorry," I say with a shrug, playing it cool.
"Sure," he replies with a grin, winding the window up. "Because if they can't fit inside the window to steal the car, the water won't be a deterrent at all."
"It's just an automatic reaction," I mutter, shoving the key inside my top again.
He nods, turning his attention to the road, flicking his blinker on. "Good strategy."
I stay quiet, scared that I'll incriminate myself even further if I open my mouth. We drive away from my abandoned car, my body shivering from receiving three month's worth of rain on it.
The guy reaches for the temperature controls, turning the heating up as far as possible. "You must be freezing. Here, take this too," he says, grabbing a zip-up hoodie from the backseat. With one hand, he lays it over my lap, leaving me to cover my torso and upper chest.
"Thank you," I say genuinely, wrapping myself in the warm black fabric. There's a faint smell of wood and spice lingering in the fibers, giving an almost homely type of feeling.
"Let's get you warmed up. You don't want to get sick."
I watch as he pulls into the drive-thru of Starbucks, looking at me expectedly. "What type of coffee do you drink? Assuming you drink coffee? We can do hot chocolate?"
"Chai latte with a shot of espresso, almond milk," I answer with a smile. I'm not one to rely on people usually, but it's nice to know that strangers can be good Samaritans.
When I open up my banking app on my cell to access my digital card, he waves his hand at me. "I've got it. Don't worry about it."
"Are you sure? I'm happy to get it. It's the least I can do."
"Yeah," he shoots back. "After the day you've had, I'm sure you need it."
If only he knew the day I had. The submarine ducky issue was just the icing on the cake. He leans out the window, relaying our order to the cashier, before heading to the next window. I notice he orders the same as me, and I can't help but wonder if he's being polite or if we genuinely have the same coffee order.
"I really appreciate it," I tell him while we wait for the coffees at the window. "It really has been the day from Hell."
"Except Hell isn't usually wet," he says, pausing on the last word. "Damp, I mean."
My eyebrows shoot up as I catch a small moment of panic on his face, a smile crossing my face when I realize he's embarrassed now too. I ignore the accidental double innuendo meaning, taking the coffee from him as they are passed through the window.
The first sip is like Heaven — warmth spreading through my stomach. I let out a little groan of appreciation, tipping my back against the headrest. "Coffee doesn't fix everything, but man it makes me feel good."
"Feeling good is important," he agrees, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as we pull out of Starbucks. "Where are you heading?"
I open my eyes to scan the surroundings, happy to see we should make it to my place without drama. "2505 Sinfonia Way. It's a little white house with an unruly rosebush in the front garden. You can't miss it."
He nods, pulling out into the line of traffic as he heads towards my house. "So, since I rescued you and all, do I get to know your name?" he asks playfully, making conversation.
"Skylar," I respond.
"Skylar?" he pauses briefly. "Beautiful name for a beautiful woman."
Warmth swirls in my stomach again, but this time it's not from the coffee. If I'm being honest, it's been a long time since someone made me feel seen. Jake and I were content with each other, but sometimes, it was torture trying to get the bare minimum from him. Asking for help, or even just a check-in text message sometimes, was the equivalent of asking him to donate a kidney to me. And every time I expressed my needs, he made me feel like I was asking for too much. But still, I was comfortable. For the most part, things were great. Our sex life was good, we had dinner dates, and when I wasn't fighting for his attention, I loved the relationship.
I watch as he stops the Durango in front of my house, my eyes immediately spotting the rosebush I had mentioned. Blaise and I have begged the landlord to either tidy it up or let us do it, but he refuses.
Pausing with my hand on the handle, I turn back to my rescuer, locking eyes with him.
"Honestly, thank you so much. You have no idea what it means to me," I say warmly. "I'm sure it will be a mission to get the car back, but at least I'm home now."
"It's no trouble at all," he retorts back. "Can I at least grab your number so I can check in on you later to make sure you are okay?"
I nod, waiting as he passes me his cell. I type in my number, handing the cell back to him.
Starting to exit the car, I realize I've forgotten something. Turning back, he looks at me quizzically.
"What's your name?" I blurt out, the epitome of grace and poise.
His eyes light up with a smile, holding back laughter. "It's Jordan. It was lovely to meet you, Skylar."