The tires hit packed snow, and I felt it—just a hair too late. The steering wheel jerked in my grip as the van slid toward the shoulder. I clenched my jaw, easing off the gas and trying to guide us back with slow correction.
“C’mon,” I muttered under my breath.
No use.
The tires gave up. We lurched sideways and the whole van tilted with a dull thud into a snowbank, the kind that wrapped around your axle and didn’t let go.
Perfect.
I shifted into reverse and tapped the gas. The engine growled. The wheels spun like they were mocking me. Nothing.
“Are we stuck?” Callie asked, like she was hoping I’d say no.
I didn’t answer right away—just slammed it into park and yanked the door open. “I’ll check.”
The cold bit into my skin the second I stepped out. Snow crunched under my boots as I circled around, squatting low to inspect the tires. No damage. Just snow. Heavy, wet, clingy snow packed tight around the treads.
Great.
“Want me to help?” she called out.
I didn’t even look at her. “No.”
That one word came out too sharp. I heard it. So did she.
She waited a beat. “You sure?”
I glanced over my shoulder. She was half out of her seat, concern drawn across her face like she didn’t know if she should push or not.
“I said I’ve got it.” I waved her off with a flick of my wrist and turned back to the tires.
It wasn’t about the damn snow. It was about control. About not letting her step in like I couldn’t handle basic logistics. Like I was broken. I dug at the snow with the toe of my boot, trying to clear space. Tried rocking the van. Nothing gave.
“Cavil.” Her voice was firmer now. Closer. She’d gotten out, anyway. “You’re going to make it worse.”
I stood upright, breath steaming in the air. “I said I’m fine.”
My tone cracked like a whip between us. Her expression flickered—hurt, maybe. Or just disappointed. Hard to tell.
She crossed her arms and stood her ground beside the van. “Right. Because that’s going so well.”
I looked away, back at the stubborn tire buried in white. The wind gusted, blowing snow sideways, and for a second all I could do was stare at it—this frozen mess, this moment that felt like a metaphor for everything else between us.
She didn’t move. Just stood there. Not smug, not smug at all. Just… present. Steady in a way that made my chest twist.
I leaned against the side of the van, arms crossed, watching the snow fall in thick, lazy flakes. Everything around us was white—blank, silent, untouched. No movement. No sign of help. Just me, her, and the gnawing reminder that I’d failed at something as basic as keeping us moving forward.
“Guess we’re stuck,” I muttered.
Callie pulled out her phone, thumb already swiping through contacts. “I’ll call Sam. He’s the town mechanic. He’ll get us out.”
She sounded upbeat—like this was no big deal. Like this wasn’t my fault. She spoke to him like they were old friends and then hung up with a cheery little hum.
“He’ll be here in about an hour,” she said, smiling like it was just another item on her to-do list. That smile scratched at something inside me.
I climbed back into the cab, the cold biting at my skin as I shut the door behind me. Turned off the engine. No sense wasting gas. The silence inside was immediate and thick, like the world outside had wrapped itself around the van and held its breath.
Callie shifted in her seat. “What do you think about that kid from the last stop? Cute, right?”
