“You’re the most loyal person I know. You think I should go back, see my family. My hometown.”
I don’t say anything, and his smile grows wider. He lets out a breath, and the temperature must have dropped lower than I thought, because it puffs in the air. A gust of wind whips past us, and I shiver against it, pulling the warm flannel up under my chin. Jack lifts his arm and wraps it around my shoulders, hauling me even closer so we’re pressed side to side.
“You make me want to be a better person, Stevie Lynch.”
For a moment, I think I feel his fingers tug on the loose strands of hair that have fallen from my braid, but it has to just be the wind.
“I think you think I’m better than I am,” I whisper into the night. “You say I’m loyal, but I think I just need to be needed. Everyone has someone—my friends, my parents, even the old bitties in town have each other to sing duets with at karaoke night. But I’m alone, and I don’t mind it, I really don’t, but… I don’t know. I just… I think I stay because if I leave, then I’m really all alone. And I have no one who needs me, no one who can call me when their person isn’t available. If I’m not here, I can’t even be someone’s backup call.”
The words surprise even me. I hadn’t realized that’s how I felt, but now that they’re out, floating away on the heavy, damp breeze, I realize they’re true. That no matter how embarrassing, it’s how I feel.
I feel the tug again on my hair, and I know for sure this time that it’s not the wind when Jack’s fingertips, chilled by the night air, brush against my nape. It sends a shiver down my spine that I hope he doesn’t notice. When I look back at him, his eyes are fixed on mine, brow furrowed. Two lines at the top of his nose. Lips pulled taut. “You deserve to be more than someone’s back up call.”
I swallow against the lump rising in my throat as his fingers slide against the slope of my neck again, smoothing down theloose hair lifted on the breeze. “I know, but I’m willing to settle for that.”
He shakes his head, pulling me even closer. He doesn't say anything, and I appreciate it, because I feel scraped raw, and I think he might be too. We are land ravaged by storms, trees snapped and bare, grasses flattened.
But at least we’re not alone.
Mycarwon’tstart.A clicking noise sounds every time I turn the key, so I stop, drop my head back against the headrest and let out a sigh before reaching for my phone. It’s a gorgeous Saturday morning and I just finished up a twelve hour shift. I need a shower and a nap and to not deal with AAA.
But when I pull out my phone, instead of clicking on the app to call for roadside assistance, my thumb hovers over Stevie’s contact. I shouldn’t bother her, but her words from last weekend ring through my head.
I can’t even be someone’s back up call.
The phone is ringing before I can think better of it, and she picks up on the second ring.
“Hey, what’s up?” She sounds groggy, like she just woke up, and when I glance at the clock, I curse myself because I somehow forgot it’s only seven in the morning. She’s an early riser, but she must have slept in.
“Sorry, did I wake you?”
“Yeah,” she says, and I hear the rustling of sheets in the background. I can imagine her sitting up, rubbing her eyes, pillow creases marring her cheeks. “But it’s fine. Are you okay?”
“I need a jump, but I can call AAA. Go back to bed.”
“What? No, I’ll come. Just give me a minute. Are you at the hospital?” I hear more rustling and then a loud thump and a muttered curse.
“Are you okay?”
She curses again. “Yeah, I just hope I don’t need a pinky toe to keep hiking because I’m pretty sure I just banged mine hard enough for it to fall off.”
My lips roll against a smile. Stevie is a morning person. She gets up early to run or hike or make an elaborate breakfast, but I’ve learned that until she has a cup of coffee, she’s clumsy and a little grumpy.
“Damn it,” she hisses, a second after another thump.
“What now?” I ask.
“I hit my hip on the bedpost. It’s fine, but I’m going to hang up before I injure myself on any other furniture. You’re at the hospital?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“Okay, be there in fifteen.”
“Hey, Stevie,” I say before she can hang up. “Thanks for coming.”
True to her word, Stevie shows up fifteen minutes later, dressed in flannel pajama pants, an oversized T-shirt with a hole in the neckline the size of a thumbprint, and a worn, green barn jacket. Her hair is down—a rarity for her I’m learning—and hanging down her back in a heavy mess, and she’s stuffed a beanie on top.Her eyes are still a little heavy, although I can see her travel mug of coffee in the cup holder. There’s a pillow mark on her cheek.
I don’t realize I’m staring until she’s out of the truck standing in front of me, shielding her eyes against the morning sun. “What? Do I have drool on my face?”
