Chapter 1 #2
I grin despite myself as they head toward Luke’s truck, Edna already lecturing him about speeding before he’s even started the engine, which is ironic considering he’s pulled her over for speeding herself at least three times in the last month.
“See ya later, Zane,” Luke calls, lifting a hand through the open window.
The truck rumbles down the driveway, taillights disappearing between the trees, and little by little, the yard settles into silence again.
The only people left now are Ryland, Raine, and Annabelle, who are making their way over toward their vehicle.
I stand there for a moment, listening to the frogs croak around the lake, pondering on what just happened.
I know Edna means well. They all do. Everyone thinks I’m lonely, and maybe they’re right, but loneliness feels safer than trusting someone again.
The truth is, I miss sharing the small things with someone else.
Like, inside jokes, saying good morning to each other, and having the comfort of knowing they’re waiting for you at the end of a long day.
I survived a heartbreak once, and I have no interest in doing it again.
That’s why I wrote down a list a few years ago, to help guard my heart.
I’m not picky; I just don’t want to take a chance on getting hurt again, I need to know she’s worthy of it.
I keep the list inside my wallet and dig it out of my back pocket, fishing for the coffee-stained piece of paper before unfolding it.
Sometimes I wonder if the list is less about finding the right woman and more about having a reason not to try at all. Either way, that woman is out there somewhere. I’m just not in a hurry to find her.
I glance toward the cabin next door to mine, right as my neighbor, Ashton, steps out onto the porch. Even from here, I can tell he’s exhausted. The porch light reveals the tired slump of his shoulders as he locks the door behind him.
He’s barely stayed at his cabin lately. Ever since his dad had a stroke a few months ago, Ashton’s been spending most nights across town, helping him through recovery. Between work and taking care of his father, the man’s running himself straight into the ground.
“There you are,” I ask once he’s closer.
Ashton shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, his gaze drifting toward the lake. “The cookout looked fun.”
“You could’ve joined us.”
“I know.” His jaw flexes, and a heaviness slips into his eyes as he glances away.
Before I can say anything else, the sharp grinding sound of an engine cuts through the silence.
We both turn and look over at the old, boxy orange pickup my Pops used to drive everywhere before Ryland inherited it.
The thing looks like it rolled straight out of the seventies, and Ryland treats it like a family heirloom—which, I guess, it kind of is.
Ryland turns the key, but the engine sputters a few times before it dies. He tries again, but the starter grinds and falls silent. I make my way over, Ashton on my heels, and lean against the porch railing, already smirking at my brother.
“Did you sweet talk it first?” I call out.
Ryland glares at me through the windshield. “Shut up.”
He tries again, and the engine gives a pathetic rattle then quits. I push off the railing and walk over, resting my arm on the open driver’s window.
“That truck is held together by prayer alone,” Ashton chuckles.
“Right?” I agree. “Let me guess. She made a weird grinding noise, shuddered, and then gave up on life?”
Ryland sighs. “Something like that.”
He pops the hood, and we both step around the front of the truck.
For the next few minutes, the three of us try everything we can think of to get it to start.
We check connections, tapping the starter, and give the battery cables a wiggle.
Nothing seems to work. Ashton leans back against the fender, wiping his greasy hands on a rag.
“Come on, old girl,” Ryland says under his breath.
I chuckle. “You know, you could finally buy a truck that was built in this century.”
He shoots me a look. “But this one belonged to Pops.”
“Yeah,” I say. “And Pops also owned a flip phone until 2018. Doesn’t mean we should follow his lead on everything.”
Ryland shakes his head, but a grin pulls at his mouth. I reach into my pocket and toss him my keys. He catches them mid-air.
“Take my truck home.”
“You sure?” he asks.
“Yeah. I’ll hitch a ride to work in the morning with Ashton.”
Ashton’s brows shoot up, caught off guard for a second before he snorts under his breath. “You could at least pretend to ask, but yeah, that’s fine.”
I glance back at the orange truck, resting a hand on its hood. “Besides,” I add, smirking at Ryland, “maybe this old thing will finally accept that it’s time to retire.”
Ryland scoffs as he opens my truck door. “Don’t talk about her like that.”
Raine and Annabelle climb into the passenger seat of my truck. Ryland fires it up, and I smirk as the engine turns over instantly. He leans out the window and points a finger at me.
“Don’t touch anything on my truck while I’m gone.”
I raise both hands. “No promises.”
He pulls down the driveway, Raine waving out the window as they disappear around the bend. The clearing goes quiet again as Ashton and I glance over at Pops’ old truck. Then I pat the hood once, ignoring my brother’s wishes.
“Alright,” I mutter to the truck. “Let’s see what your problem is.”