Chapter 5 #2
“Parts are going to need to be ordered. You’re looking at a few weeks.”
“Weeks.”
“It’s not totaled. But it’s not quick.” He shoved the rag back in his pocket. “I can give you a lift back to town unless you have someone else coming out to pick you up.”
The only people Leo could call were his teammates or Gunnar. The guys were likely already in bed, and Gunnar was either at work or home spending time with Wes. He didn’t want to bother any of them.
Leo shook his head. “I don’t want to make you go out of your way.”
“Yeah, because I’m going to leave you out here in the dark.” Dawson rolled his eyes. “Get in the damned truck, Leo.”
The cab of the flatbed smelled like motor oil and something cedar. The bench seat was cracked vinyl patched in two places with duct tape. Dawson pulled onto the road and took the first turn without hesitation, then the second, headlights sweeping across fields and gravel and more fields.
Leo lasted about ninety seconds in the quiet.
“I was in Milwaukee,” he said. “Just for the night. Needed to get out of town for a few hours.”
Dawson shifted gears. “Nothing stupid about that. Everybody needs to get out once in a while.”
“I didn’t say it was stupid.”
“You were about to.”
Leo looked at him. Dawson’s eyes were on the road, both hands on the wheel, and his face gave away nothing.
“Fine,” Leo said. Dawson made the comment as if they were friends instead of strangers who kept crossing paths. “It was a little stupid. Two hours of driving for one drink.”
“Must’ve been one hell of a drink.”
The drinks had been passable but nothing to write home about.
The company had been fine. Everything had been fine except Leo’s brain, which had spent the entire night fixated on the man who’d eventually had to rescue him like some sort of white knight.
Leo’d throw himself out of the moving truck before admitting that.
“It was okay,” he said. “The drive was the stupid part. I just— I’m not used to not being able to go anywhere. In Orlando, if I wanted to go out, I went out. Here, there’s nowhere to go.”
Dawson nodded.
“I mean…Port Haven’s fine. It’s fine. It’s just not what I’m used to.”
“I know it’s not come booming metropolis, but if you give it half a chance, you might surprise yourself.”
“Yeah, I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to living in a town with one stoplight.
” Leo leaned his head against the window.
The glass was cool. Outside, the fields had given way to scattered houses, then a gas station, then the edge of town.
Port Haven at night was a handful of lit windows and The Penalty Box sign glowing at the end of Main Street.
Neither of them spoke for a while after that. There was plenty of room on the bench seat, and it still felt too close.
Dawson pulled up in front of the Lakeside Inn.
“I’ll call you when I know more about the car,” Dawson said. “Day or two for the full assessment. We deal with insurance on deer strikes all the time, so don’t worry about that part.”
“This happens a lot?”
“You’re the third one this month and it’s not even hunting season yet.
” Dawson put the truck in park but left the engine running.
He pulled a business card from the visor and held it out between two fingers.
“You’ll want to call your insurance company in the morning.
They’ll either send out an adjuster or have us send them pictures. ”
Leo nodded. His hand found the door handle, but he didn’t pull it. “Thanks. For coming out.”
“It’s my job.”
“At midnight on a weeknight?”
Dawson looked at him for the first time since they’d gotten in the truck. The streetlight through the windshield caught half his face. Leo’s grip tightened on the door handle.
“Take some Tylenol and get some sleep,” Dawson said. “You’re going to have a hell of a bruise tomorrow.”
Leo got out. He stood on the sidewalk as the flatbed pulled away with his Audi strapped to the back, the taillights shrinking until they turned the corner and were gone.
His throat felt tight and his stomach churned as he realized he had no way of getting away if the voices in his head got too loud again.
Back home, he could’ve called a rideshare, but here it was now walk or stay put.
His room at the Lakeside Inn was dark and too quiet.
He dropped his keys on the nightstand and stood at the window without turning on the lights.
The lighthouse photograph on the wall, the quilt on the bed, the AC humming at its usual frequency.
Two more days, and he’d be in the apartment Gunnar had found him.
He smelled like the bar still. Cologne that wasn’t his, sweat, stale air. He stripped out of his clothes, hoping a hot shower would wash away the piling regrets he had over how his night went. A bruise was already forming on his chest from where the airbag had caught him.
He showered until the water ran cold, put on clean shorts, and got into bed.
Stared at the ceiling. Thought about the bar, the guy who’d been right there and willing, and how he couldn’t even will his dick to be interested.
The guy at the pool table who’d have happily followed Leo into a bathroom stall to blow him.
But then his mind drifted to Dawson’s hands on the winch controls, steady and sure, checking every connection. Thought about the quiet in the truck cab, and how comfortable it had been.
He rolled over and pressed his face into the pillow.
His chest throbbed. In the morning, he’d call Phil, who would hopefully have news, and Leo would get out of this town and away from this man who hadn’t flirted with him, hadn’t touched him, hadn’t even been particularly friendly, yet still managed to ruin a perfectly good hookup from forty miles away.
Tomorrow.
Jonesy picked him up at seven the next morning in a Jeep that smelled like cheap body spray and stale french fries.
Leo had texted the team group chat at six, asking for a ride, no details, just car trouble, anyone going past the Lakeside Inn?
Jonesy had responded with a thumbs-up emoji, three fire emojis, and the message: Say less, bud, I gotchu.
“Dude,” Jonesy said as Leo climbed in. “What happened to the Audi?”
“Deer.”
“Oh shit. You okay?”
“I’m fine. Car’s not.”
“Where is it?”
“Wyatt’s Garage.”
Jonesy hummed and nodded. “Those guys are solid. Dawson’ll probably be the one who works on it. That dude’s a whizz when it comes to cars. My buddy brought in a Camaro that three other shops couldn’t figure out, and Dawson had it running in less than a week.”
Leo looked out the window. “Good to know.”
The Icehouse hit him with a wall of cold air when he walked in, and for the first time in days, something in his chest loosened.
He laced up and hit the ice. His edges were sharp, his hands were quick, and the puck felt right on his blade.
His first shot went bar-down with a crack that echoed off the empty seats. For two minutes, nothing else existed.
Then Coach Deluca blew the whistle, the drills started, and Leo was back to being the new guy.
“Vargas, you’re with Walsh and Novak. Two-on-ones, far end.”
Carter nodded at him when he skated over. Novo didn’t. Leo set up on the wing and waited for the first rep, and when Carter fed him the puck, he one-timed it past the cone without thinking. Clean. Instinctive.
“Nice hands,” Carter said.
Leo almost said something back, but Carter was already resetting, already calling the next play, and the window closed before Leo found the words.
That kept happening. He’d catch the edge of a conversation, almost step into it, and then hesitate a beat too long.
By the time he opened his mouth, the guys had moved on.
During a water break, Jonesy skated up and sprayed ice on his skates. “Nice mitts, Vargas. Save some for the season.”
“Just making sure you know what you’re working with.”
Jonesy grinned. “Oh, we know.” He skated off before Leo could figure out if that was acceptance or criticism.
Deluca ran them through breakouts next, and Leo read the play two moves ahead, trying to get a feel for his new line.
Carter called for the puck along the boards, and Leo hit him in stride, tape-to-tape.
But the next rep, Carter cut back instead of driving wide, and Leo was already gone, streaking to where the play should have been. The puck hit the boards behind him.
“Vargas!” Deluca’s voice carried across the ice. “You’re not running a solo act. Read your linemates, not just the ice.”
Leo circled back. Novo glanced at him, not hostile, just trying to figure out where Leo fit in a system that worked well without him.
At the tractor pull, Leo drifted to the edges. He could feel it happening here too. The difference was that here, people were trying to pull him in. He just didn’t trust it yet.
Leo circled back to the neutral zone.
After practice, he stood in the shower and let the water run until it went cold. The bruise on his chest had bloomed overnight, purple and green across his sternum where the airbag had caught him. He pressed his thumb into the center of it and felt the ache spread.
His phone buzzed in his locker. The relief he felt when it wasn’t Phil surprised him. But today had been good, and for the first time in too damned long, Leo had actually had fun on the ice.
Radiator’s toast. Parts need to be ordered. 3 weeks minimum. I’ll keep you posted.
Any chance you stock Audi parts for next time?
Sure, I’ll get right on that. Tell my brother we need one of everything so you don’t have to wait.
Leo could almost picture Dawson rolling his eyes the way he had last night. He saved the number under “Dawson: Mechanic” and closed the locker after tucking the phone into his back pocket.
Three weeks. Three weeks without a car in a town with no rideshare, no public transportation, no infrastructure for someone who didn’t own their own wheels.
Three weeks of bumming rides, walking, and being dependent on the goodwill of people he barely knew.
He wasn’t counting on being able to get a rental in this podunk little town.
He grabbed his bag and went to find Jonesy for a ride home.