Chapter 18 #3
Still feeling out of sorts, I opt for the scenic route instead of the straight shot.
I really don’t want to be cranky when I get back to Nils’ house.
I just want to be myself. Rolling down the windows, I take my foot off the gas and let the car coast down to a slower speed.
The road winds lazily through the trees, frost clinging to the grass where the sun hasn’t reached yet.
A deer watches me pass from the side of the road before leaping gracefully off into the trees.
Checking that nobody is behind me, I slow my speed further.
Deer are a big road hazard around here, and I really, really don’t want to start the day with an accident. I also don’t want to kill any animals.
Rounding a bend, my phone buzzes in the cupholder.
I glance down at it right when the vehicle lurches and a gunshot cracks through the air.
Flinching, I overcompensate and wrench the wheel.
Slamming on the brake, the car skids in the loose gravel on the side of the road before coming to a full stop.
“Crap,” I mutter, unwrapping my fingers from the wheel and putting the vehicle in park. Almost immediately, adrenaline floods my system. Heart pounding and stomach fluttering, I look around. Is someone hunting in the woods? Did someone shoot that poor deer?
Hands shaking, I turn off the ignition and open my door.
I need a minute to stretch my legs and calm down.
My pulse is hammering far too quickly to get back on the road right now.
Humming, I straighten my arms down by my sides and shake them out.
It’s not until I check and make sure that my car is far enough off the shoulder to not get hit if someone drives by that I see the flat tire.
Immediately, I feel like a fool. Nobody was shooting at me or the deer at all; it was the sound of the tire blowing.
Always the dramatics, my father’s voice whispers in my ear as I crouch down and inspect it.
The rim is sitting on the ground, tire shredded like it exploded.
Which, given how loud it was, feels like a possibility.
Straightening, I stare down at the wheel in dismay. I don’t have a spare.
“You are so useless,” I mutter to myself, wrenching open the driver’s door and popping the trunk. I’m almost certain I don’t have a spare back there, but I’m also certain that I’m an idiot, so I’m going to check anyway.
Sure enough, the spare tire compartment is empty.
Slamming the trunk, I tip my head back and drum my fingers on the cool metal.
I’m frustrated and annoyed and, oddly, feeling like I might cry.
It’s just a flat tire. Not a big deal, really, especially since it’s during the day and not as though I’m having to handle this late at night.
“It’s not a big deal,” I repeat to myself, once more approaching the driver’s door, this time to grab my phone. I’m going to have to call a tow because, as usual, I’m unable to properly handle anything by myself.
Wayne Cabot tells me he’ll be up my way within the hour, hopefully, but to get comfy.
There’s an accident on the north side of town, and he’s got to deal with that first. Glumly, I thank him and pace up and down the shoulder of the road a few times, still trying to lower my pulse.
After a few laps, not feeling any calmer, I lower myself down to the gravel and sit with my back to the vehicle.
It’s a beautiful morning. The kind of morning I’d usually enjoy with a mug of coffee in my hand and, more recently, standing on Nils’ porch, breath fogging in front of me as I appreciate the view and the peaceful, crisp winter air.
Usually, I’d admire the way the frost is clinging to the trees, sparkling in the early morning sun, how everything in winter always seems so fresh and sleepy.
Not this morning. This morning, I stare sightlessly into the trees, elbows resting on my raised knees, fingers tapping on the side of my phone.
I’m so spaced out I don’t even notice a car pull to a stop behind mine, rocks crunching under tires, until a door slams and I startle.
Craning my neck, I watch as Dryden Roy’s tall form comes around the back of my SUV, only a sliver of his Porsche visible, parked behind my vehicle.
“Accident?” he asks, kicking a toe against the rim of the flat tire and glancing around. I shake my head.
“No, just blew it on the curve. What are you doing out here?” He lives back in the woods, pretty far outside of town, but in the opposite direction. He’s also not dressed for hiking, in a pair of dark jeans that look designer and a cable-knit sweater that definitely is.
“Driving,” he replies, pulling off his sunglasses—also designer, I’m pretty sure—and hooking them in the neck of his sweater. His eyes narrow on me. “Is there a reason you’re sitting on the ground?”
“Well, I blew the tire, and I can’t change it because I don’t have a spare.” Bitterly, I laugh, shaking my head. “And actually, even if I had a spare, I couldn’t change it because I don’t know how. Add it to the list of reasons I’m useless and a failure at being a man.”
“Oh my,” Dryden comments humorously. “Having a pity party, are we?”
Sighing, I thump my head back against the cool exterior of the car. “Yeah,” I admit.
“How self-serving of you. Get up before your ass freezes to the ground.”
Staying seated, I angle my head so I can look up at him. His hands are on his hips, a frown on his face as he looks around.
“Do you know how to change a tire?” I ask him, suddenly curious.
I like Dryden. A lot of folks around town aren’t super fond of him, finding him rude and aloof and arrogant.
I’ve heard it said several times that he suffers from a superiority complex.
And sure, I can maybe see where they’re coming from, but when I hold Dryden up next to my father—who definitely has a superiority complex—I don’t feel like they can compare.
I don’t think Dryden believes he’s better than everyone else.
I think he believes he can’t trust anyone else.
“No,” he replies, sounding every bit as arrogant as everyone thinks he is. “What’s the point of having money if I do all that myself?”
I laugh, shaking my head. I think again of how much my father would like Dryden.
There’s a very fine line between what sort of behaviors my father expects from a man—he’d see being unable to change my own tire as a weakness but, on the flip side, applaud Dryden’s choosing not to do so because he’s rich enough to pay for it.
“Yeah, I guess. I feel like I should at least know how, though,” I admit. “Just like I should know how to tile my own bathroom and paint my walls and”—I wave a hand out in front of me—“do whatever else needs to be done.”
Dryden moves a step closer to nudge his toe against my leg instead of the tire. Holding a hand down, he waits until I grasp it before he yanks me to my feet.
“Enough. This isn’t the end of the world. And because you seem to be suffering from some sort of crisis of masculinity, let me remind you that you should not be measuring anyone with your family’s yardstick.”
I raise my eyebrows at him. I don’t think I mentioned anything about my family. He rolls his eyes, dusting off his palms like my hand was dirty from the time I spent sitting on the ground.
“You’re not that hard to figure out, Oliver.
Stop pouting about a flat tire. If you had driven up on a woman, stranded on the side of the road in the same situation, would you be holding her to the same accountability you’re holding yourself?
No?” He raises an eyebrow at me. “Don’t be a jackass, Oliver. It doesn’t suit you.”
I can feel my face flush, and I look away from his dark eyes to glance down at the flat.
He’s right, and I already knew he was right even before the words came out of his mouth.
But knowing I’m being ridiculous and stopping myself from being ridiculous are two different things.
The ideals I grew up being trained to believe in aren’t so easy to ignore in times like this.
“You’re right,” I tell Dryden.
“I know,” he says immediately, plucking his sunglasses up and settling them back on his face. “Now, if I’m not mistaken, that’s your tow coming up the road. I’ll wait for you in the car.”
“I can get a ride with Wayne,” I tell his retreating back. “I don’t want to ruin your morning.”
Instead of replying, he slips back into the driver’s seat of the Porsche.
The engine rumbles to life, the low purr loud in the quiet morning.
He doesn’t drive off, waiting for me despite my telling him he doesn’t need to bother.
Smiling a little to myself, I go meet Wayne as he brings the tow truck to a stop in front of my SUV.