2 - Kayla
Kayla
I’d spent fifteen years perfecting the art of the functional zombie. Coffee in one hand, car keys in the other, and a mental checklist that kept my life from folding in on itself. But today I was fucked.
Overslept, late to pick up Gabe’s friends, and although we were well into the rush of the morning school run, my body insisted it was still the middle of the night.
“Tyler wants to know if we can stop at Starbucks.”
I clocked Gabe in the rearview mirror. The back of my car was a pressurized cabin of teenage hormones and expensive sneakers.
A temporary carpool arrangement I’d agreed to in a moment of caffeinated weakness.
Each of them wore only one pod, listening to God knew what, and although they spoke to each other occasionally, their eyes were glued to their phones.
“Learn how to work with an alarm, and I’ll stop anywhere you boys want, for as long as you want.”
“You’re the one who overslept,” he said with that specific brand of adolescent detachment he’d inherited from his father.
“You’re old enough not to need your mommy coming in to get you up for school.”
Tyler and Leo snorted with laughter, but my darling boy didn’t find the humor in it. Which was exactly how I hoped it would play out. I punched the radio on, if only to distract myself from the thick cloud of Hugo Boss and surliness snaking into my brain from the back seat.
"Can we not with the eighties power ballads?"
"It’s called classic rock, Gabe. It has soul." I navigated the morning crawl toward the high school, my eyes tracing the brake lights ahead. "I’m sure it’s better than whatever you three are listening to."
"A voice note from Skye," Tyler said with a sheepish smile. “She goes on these fifteen-minute rants about her little brother’s turtle. It’s cute.”
“Skye could take a dump in the middle of the street, and you’d think it was cute.”
“Language!”
“Dude, my mom’s right there.”
Gabe and I spoke at the same time, and he added a slap to the back of Leo’s head for emphasis.
“Sorry, Mrs. Jennings,” Leo said. “But I was just stating the facts. He’s so whipped, it’s embarrassing.”
“It’s Miss, and I accept your apology.” I bit back a laugh. Half of the battle was never letting them know I found them funny.
“Check this out.” Gabe held up his phone so they both could see it. The marvel that followed had me taking my eyes off the road every few seconds.
Leo had one eye on Gabe’s phone while he typed something on his own. Tyler watched too, but took occasional selfie-breaks.
"You guys are going to fry your circuits,” I said. “You can’t split your focus like that and expect to actually retain—"
The steering wheel jerked in my grip, a violent vibration shuddering through the car. We lurched hard to the right, the rhythmic slapping of ruined rubber against asphalt drowning out my lecture.
"Way to go, Mom," Gabe said, his voice dry as toast. "Maybe you shouldn't have split your focus."
I ignored him, wrestling the car onto the narrow shoulder of the busy road. I put it in park and sat there, the heels of my hands pressed against the top of the wheel. The morning air was already humid, and I felt the thin thread of my patience snapping.
"Everybody out," I said.
“We’re going to be late.”
“Gabe. Not now. Please.”
We piled out onto the sidewalk. The front passenger tire was a shredded mess of radial wire and black confetti. I popped the trunk, pushing aside a stray hockey stick and a bag of rock salt to get to the spare.
The jack was there. The tire was there. The lug wrench, however, was a no-show.
“Shit.”
“Language!” they all said at the same time, then descended into laughter.
"What’s a lug wrench?" Tyler asked, pointing at the empty plastic molding where the tool should have been. “And do we really need one?”
"Unless you’re planning on using your teeth to get the tire off." I took in the stream of morning traffic zooming past, then at the three boys who looked about as useful as a set of chocolate teapots. “Uber it is.”
My independence was a point of pride, but pride didn't loosen lug nuts. I felt the heat rising in my neck, the familiar weight of a panic I usually kept under lock and key. Not only would lateness get the boys into trouble, but I’d have to answer to Tyler and Leo’s moms.
The sound of a heavy engine slowed behind us. A black Jeep, clean enough to reflect the morning sun, pulled onto the shoulder.
The driver’s door opened, and a pair of long legs hit the pavement. It took me a beat to place the height, the tied-back hair, and the quiet intensity of those blue eyes.
The new guy. The one who’d been trying to disappear into the shadows of my bar a couple of nights ago.
He took in the carnage of my front tire and the trio of gawking teenagers with a single, scanning look before spotting me.
"It's you," he said, his voice carrying that same low resonance from the other night, only now it had to compete with the roar of a passing semi-truck.
"I almost didn't recognize you without the neon lights reflecting off your scowl." I crossed my arms, trying to ignore the way the Texas humidity was already turning my hair into a structural hazard.
"Morning person, I see." He didn't smile, but the corner of his eyes crinkled just enough to count as a hit.
"Try stuck on the side of the road with three teenagers who’re about to be late for school person. It’s a very niche demographic." I gestured toward the empty plastic mold in my trunk. "And apparently, whatever chivalry you were about to offer will be wasted. I’m missing a lug wrench."
“Good thing I’m not.” He reached into the back of his Jeep and pulled out a heavy-duty lug wrench like it was a prop in a play he’d rehearsed a thousand times. He walked over, his movements fluid and efficient. "Step back. I've got it."
"Thanks, but I can do it. I just need the wrench."
"I know you can." He knelt by the ruined tire, the denim of his jeans taut against his legs as he braced himself. "But I'm already down here, and you’ve got a fan club to manage."
I looked over my shoulder. Tyler and Leo were hovering, their phones forgotten for once, eyes wide as they realized who was currently fighting with my wheel well.
Gabe, however, looked like he was trying to set Michael on fire with his mind.
He stood off to the side, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his jaw set in a line I knew all too well.
"Is that... is that Michael Landry?" Tyler whispered, loud enough for the next county to hear.
"It's just a guy helping with a tire, Tyler. Relax." I kept my voice flat, playing down the minor celebrity in my personal space.
Michael made quick work of the lug nuts, the rhythmic clink of metal the only sound for a few seconds. He paused, looking up at me for a brief beat. "Thanks, by the way. For the other night. It’s a lot of noise to walk into when you’re the new guy. Having a friendly face at the bar helped."
"I was just doing my job," I said, though the guard around my chest loosened a fraction. "And I was only friendly because you weren't Jerry."
He actually let out a short, dry breath of a laugh at that. He swapped the shredded rubber for the spare I’d hauled out of the trunk and began tightening the nuts in a star pattern. He was thorough. Methodical.
"All set.” He stood up, wiping a streak of road grime onto a rag from his pocket. “You might want to get that—"
His gaze dropped to the spare, and I followed it. The "donut" was seated perfectly on the bolts, but it was currently pancaked against the asphalt, as lifeless and flat as the one he’d just taken off.
Michael cleared his throat, a faint flush creeping up his neck. "Does the spare usually have a puncture, or is this a new feature?"
I stared at the useless rubber, a hot wave of embarrassment hitting me. Between the double shifts and Gabe’s hockey practice and the million other things I had to track, the air pressure in a tire I forgot existed hadn't exactly made the priority list.
"I’ve been meaning to check that," I muttered, the words tasting like ash. "For about three years."
“Guess it’s time to call that Uber.”
"I have a backseat," Michael said, gesturing toward the Jeep with a tilt of his chin. "It’ll save you time and whatever those things cost these days.”
Tyler and Leo didn't even wait for my agreement. They were already moving, their backpacks swinging like pendulums as they scrambled toward the black SUV. For them, this wasn't a roadside disaster anymore; it was a story they’d be telling until graduation.
"Gabe? Come on," I said, accepting my fate. But my son hadn't moved an inch.
He stood his ground, eyes narrowed as he looked from Michael back to me. "We’re not getting in his car, Mom. Just call the Uber. It says six minutes."
"Six minutes plus the ten-minute drive puts you in the principal’s office for a late slip." I wiped a smudge of tire grease onto my thigh, the frustration bubbling up in the back of my throat.
Michael leaned against the frame of his door, waiting patiently. He looked entirely too composed for a man who’d just spent ten minutes kneeling in the dirt. If anything, the task seemed to have given him a more rugged, lived-in look that—
"I don't care about the late slip," Gabe muttered. "Tell them to get out. I’ll call the Uber if you won’t."
"Gabe, enough." I stepped closer, my voice dropping into that low, maternal frequency that signaled the end of the debate. "We are stranded. He is offering a ride. It’s a logistical solution, not a social invitation."
"It’s weird," Gabe hissed, though his resolve was visibly cracking under the weight of my stare.
"What’s weird is you making us stand on the side of the road out of spite." I turned to Michael, trying to summon a shred of my usual professional armor. "If the offer still stands, we’ll take it. But I’m calling a tow for my car first."
"Already done," he said, tapping his phone before sliding it into his pocket. "The Surge has a contract with a local shop. They’ll have it at the dealership in twenty."
The efficiency of it was a physical blow. I wasn't used to people solving my problems before I’d even finished cataloging them. It felt invasive and helpful all at once, a prickly sensation that made me want to thank him and tell him to mind his own goddamn business in the same breath.
"Okay. Thanks." I adjusted my bag, my mind already racing through the redirected schedule of the day.
Michael walked around to the passenger side.
He reached out and pulled the heavy door open, a silent, polite gesture that felt entirely too formal for a Tuesday morning on a dusty shoulder.
He caught my eye, and for a split second, the noise of the traffic seemed to fade.
There was a quietness in him that acted like a vacuum, pulling at the frayed edges of my nerves.
I started toward the open door, but a blur of navy hoodie intercepted me.
Gabe lunged forward, his shoulder brushing mine as he hauled himself into the front passenger seat.
He slammed his backpack onto his lap and stared straight through the windshield, his jaw locked tight.
He didn't look at Michael. He didn't look at me.
And the silence that followed was heavy enough to sink a ship.
I stood on the sidewalk, the heat of the sun beginning to bite into my skin. Michael glanced at me over the top of the door, a faint, questioning arch to one brow. I just exhaled a long, slow breath and climbed into the back with the other two boys.
"Drive," I said, my voice flat. "Before I decide to walk into traffic."