Nine #2
A few minutes later, he was leaning over the counter, a row of plastic rings clinking together in his fist. The carnie running the booth gave him a skeptical once-over, clearly accustomed to more bravado than skill from his customers.
Trevor sized up the stacked bottles. He might not have played this particular game in years, but his aim had never been a problem.
The first ring bounced wide, clattering off the side of a bottle and rolling onto the painted plywood. Helena let out a low chuckle behind him, and he shot her a look over his shoulder.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, eyes glinting. “Did you want me to pretend you’ve got this?”
He turned back, a grin creeping onto his lips. He adjusted his stance, rolling his shoulders to loosen the tension there. The second ring clinked against the rim of a bottle before sliding neatly around its neck. The carnie grunted, reaching for the wall of cheap prizes behind him.
Trevor turned to Helena, holding out a small, neon-blue bear with one eye slightly askew. “For you.”
She took it, a rare, full laugh spilling from her lips. “It’s hideous.”
“Matches your personality,” he shot back, earning a playful shove to his shoulder.
“Well, look at Mr. Serious. He has a sense of humor and nice teeth to go with that grin.”
He was a serious guy. His entire life had been serious. Mom’s illness—serious. But it was nice to let loose, and Helena brought out the humorous smart aleck in him. He liked it. Liked who he was—who he might be with her.
They wandered through the rest of the fair, weaving between families and teenagers clutching cotton candy and half-eaten corn dogs.
He bought them a pair of caramel apples, sticky and sweet, and tried not to stare too long at the way her lips curved around each bite.
The evening stretched into a comfortable, easy rhythm, the noise and lights and laughter blurring the harder edges of their lives, at least for a little while.
Eventually, they ended up at the base of the Ferris wheel, its metal arms creaking as it turned against the star-pricked sky. Helena looked up, her breath misting in the cool night air. “You afraid of heights, Slate?”
No, just fire. He tossed his apple core into a nearby trash can. “I think I can handle a Ferris wheel.”
They climbed into the gently swaying carriage, the metal bar coming down with a soft clank as the attendant swung their door shut. The wheel jerked, then began its slow, steady ascent, the fairgrounds spreading out beneath them like a quilt of neon and shadow.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The world felt smaller up here. Trevor turned to Helena, the soft glow of the carnival lights catching in her dark eyes, her cheeks flushed from the cold and the excitement of the night.
“Thanks for coming out tonight,” he murmured.
She turned to him. “I needed it. It’s been… a tumultuous few months.”
He cautiously reached for her hand. She didn’t pull away, her thumb brushing absently over his knuckles. The small, intimate gesture sent a jolt of warmth through him.
The wheel paused at the top, hanging above the world.
His pulse picked up, his heart thudding against his ribs as he leaned in, closing the distance between them.
He caught the faint, familiar scent of engine oil and lavender on her skin, the warmth of her breath mingling with his as he pressed his lips to hers.
The kiss was tentative at first, a testing of boundaries, then deeper. The sharp edge of the metal bar dug into his side, but he didn’t care, didn’t want to break the connection they’d found up here, alone above the lights and the noise and the chaos below.
This was what life was meant to be. Riding a Ferris wheel not a roller coaster. Sweet and slow and steady, like their kiss. Like the hope blooming inside him that he could have something lasting and filled with promise.
His phone buzzed against his hip, the vibration an unwelcome intrusion into the sweetness of the moment.
He ignored it, his free hand sliding up to cradle the back of her neck, drawing her closer.
But then it buzzed again, more insistent this time, the sound cutting through the haze of warmth and want that had wrapped around them.
He pulled back, breathless, his forehead resting against hers for a heartbeat before he leaned back, fishing the phone from his pocket. His stomach dropped at the sight of the assisted living center’s number on the screen.
“Sorry,” he muttered, feeling Helena’s hand slip from his. He swiped to answer, his voice tight. “Trevor Slate.”
The nurse’s voice on the other end was too calm, too practiced. “Mr. Slate, I’m sorry to call, but your mother has taken a turn for the worse. You should come.”
The world tilted beneath him, the Ferris wheel lurching into motion again, the ground rising up to meet them in a slow, inevitable descent. He closed his eyes, his pulse pounding in his ears, Helena’s kiss already slipping away, replaced by the cold, unyielding reality waiting below.
* * *
Helena sat in the assisted living lobby, the blue bear’s plastic eyes catching the harsh fluorescent light.
She hadn’t let go of it; its cheap, synthetic fur scratchy against her palm.
She told herself it was because she hadn’t bothered to toss it in the truck, but that was a lie.
No one had ever won her anything before.
It was silly and small, but the way Trevor had grinned when he’d handed it to her, like he’d just conquered Everest, made it feel like more.
The kiss on the Ferris wheel had caught her off guard, not just for the tenderness of it, but for the way it had made her feel—like a woman, not just a mechanic with grease under her nails and a wrench in her back pocket.
She could still feel the press of Trevor’s fingers against the back of her neck, the steadiness of his palm, securing her as the world swayed beneath them.
It had been a small, intimate moment that spoke of possibility, a flicker of hope in a life that had grown too full of rusted bolts and scorched metal.
For that heartbeat in the cool, carnival-lit air, she hadn’t felt like the girl who knew her way around an engine block better than her own heart, but a woman worth reaching for, someone who might still have a shot at a little bit of happiness, even with the darkness closing in.
That kiss hadn’t been a rejection—not the way she had feared.
Trevor hadn’t pulled away because he didn’t want her; it was everything else holding him back.
And somehow, that made all the difference.
Maybe she didn’t have to keep those walls so high, so impenetrable, around herself.
Maybe she could finally let them down, let someone in.
She trusted him—more than she had trusted anyone besides her father, and that trust felt like a lifeline.
The sliding doors opened, and Trevor walked back into the lobby, his face drawn, shoulders tense. Lark trotted at his side.
He stopped in front of her, his jaw working, glancing at the bear still clutched in her lap.
“It’s…it’s going to be a while,” he said.
He leaned in, wrapping his arms around her, the embrace tighter, longer, than she’d expected.
He whispered, “I’m sorry. For the way things ended tonight.
I—I shouldn’t have let it get that far. I’m just… I’m not in a place for this.”
She stiffened, her heart sinking. She’d tried not to care too much, tried to keep herself at a distance, but she’d failed. The rejection slammed against her ribs, but she forced a tight smile and nodded. “I get it.”
He pulled back, his eyes searching hers, as if he could read the hurt she was trying to hide. He lingered a moment longer, then turned, Lark beside him as he disappeared down the hall. The automatic doors closed, cutting her off from the sound of his retreating footsteps.
She clutched the bear tighter. Maybe, deep down, he didn’t want a lifetime with a female grease monkey.
Maybe he didn’t want someone who could walk him through the pain of losing his mother.
Why wouldn’t he want that? He was using his mom’s pain and deterioration as a way to say he regretted the kiss and was rejecting her.
It wasn’t a gentle letdown. It was a hard knock, but he was dealing with his own crushing blow with his mother.
She only wished he’d let her in and not push her away.
She snagged her phone from her pocket and dialed the garage, her voice steady as she said to her manager, Billy, “Hey, can you pick me up?”
Might as well work awhile. It was late but Helena liked working in the quieter late hours and she had customers that needed their repair work done. She couldn’t afford to lose any business. No sense sitting around here, clinging to something that was never going to be hers.