Chapter Nine #2
I drove on, the back side of the Jeep now vibrating, until I found a pull-off near the woods and turned off the car, letting my head fall against the steering wheel.
I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere with a flat tire and Reed Fulton.
All that was missing was a hailstorm. And maybe a ravenous bear.
Reed jumped out and walked around the side toward the flat. “Looks like you must’ve had a slow leak. I don’t see anything sticking out. Does your tire pressure light not work?”
“Mary Elizabeth is practically an antique.” I lifted my head. “She doesn’t have one.” I sent my parents a text letting them know I might be a little late for curfew.
“Mary Elizabeth?”
“What, is the name not good enough?”
He held up his hands. “Actually, I was going to ask if it was the same Mary Elizabeth who was the first woman to play pro baseball?”
Hold the freakin’ phone.
He knows about Mary Elizabeth Murphy? “It…is.”
“Good name, then.” A tense silence settled between us for what felt like hours, until he drummed his hands on the flat’s fender liner. “So you calling Triple A?” he asked.
And wait hours for someone to come, making me miss curfew? No thanks.
I grabbed my Yankees hat from the passenger seat and tugged it on, threading my ponytail through it before heading to the back of the Jeep.
A moment later, I had the spare on the ground along with the jack, lug wrench, and the owner’s manual—not that I’d need it. TJ and I had changed many tires on this old girl even before it was mine.
I got to work and used the lug wrench, turning the nuts on the hubcap but not enough that they came off completely. TJ had taught me only to do that once I was ready to remove the tire.
“Eliza Crowley can change a flat tire.” Reed crouched down and slid the jack underneath the Jeep. He began pushing down on the handle till the flat tire rose a few inches off the ground. “Now I’ve seen it all.”
I smiled, facing away from him so he couldn’t see, and began unscrewing the lug nuts.
Reed knelt down and held his hand open for them. Once he’d put them in his pocket, he helped me pull the flat tire free and carried it to the back of the Jeep.
“How did you learn to do this?” he asked as he rolled the new tire toward me.
“TJ.” I helped him lift the new tire onto the lug bolts before we both pushed it forward till the bolts showed through the rim. “Dad was too busy.” ’Course he wasn’t ever too busy for my brother, Robbie, but I wasn’t about to open that can of worms.
Reed set to work putting the nuts back onto the bolts. “Not too busy to buy you a fancy car though—”
“Oh my God.” What is it with you and the Beemer?
I adjusted my hat. “For the millionth time, Dad knew I didn’t want that car.
And for your information, I tried to return it, but the dealer and my dad go way back, so he wouldn’t have it.
” Sometimes it really was annoying when your dad knew every freaking person in the tri-county area.
Reed stayed quiet as he finished working with the bolts and didn’t speak again till the last one was done. “I get it.”
“Having your dad buy you a car you don’t want?”
He laughed. “No. Having a dad who’s too busy.”
I knew Reed’s dad was in the army, but the Mr. Fulton I remembered smiled a lot more than my dad, and he used to hang out with Reed all the time when we were kids.
I reached forward to start tightening one of the lug nuts by hand, but he had the same idea. Our fingers brushed, my skin tingled, and we both drew them away just as quickly as we had placed them there.
“Um, s-s-sorry,” he stuttered.
What was he nervous about? I was the one who was going to be grounded for an eternity for being out past my stupid curfew.
“You…” He swallowed, hard. “Go ahead.” He stood and moved his phone flashlight over the tire.
Maybe I had breathed in some kind of fumes?
I mean, why else would the same boy who spent the majority of sixth and seventh grade bothering the hell out of me help me change a tire and then apologize?
I’d definitely have to talk to Mom about what kind of gas we used for that grill in the concession kitchen.
I continued tightening the lug nuts by hand while night came to life around us.
Crickets chirped in the tall grass near the woods, an owl hooted in the distance, and fireflies dotted the darkness in between the trees.
Last time it was this quiet, I was alone with Reed at the railyard.
I had hated the tense awkwardness of it all.
But tonight? It was anything but.
It felt strangely peaceful.
Reed lowered the Jeep back to the ground and then put the jack away before handing me the lug wrench.
“You sink into your front leg too much,” I blurted.
“What?” he asked as he rubbed the back of his neck.
What are you doing, Eliza?
But I couldn’t stop now. “Your curveball. It’s not bad, really…but it could be better if you didn’t ease into it so much.” Sweet Jesus. Shut up. He doesn’t want to hear your opinion about his pitching.
His toe turned back and forth into the gravel. “That’s a good point, actually.”
Wait. Seriously?
“My dad used to say that throwing a good curveball starts with keeping a clear head. You have to think about throwing it as hard, if not harder, than your fastball if you want to confuse the batter.” He crouched down and offered to take a turn with the wrench.
And I didn’t hesitate to let him. For some reason.
“I, um…well, I had a hard time keeping my head clear tonight,” he said.
Same. “Baseball has that effect on people.”
His eyes met mine. “Maybe it’s not just baseball,” he whispered.