“Parts are going to need to be ordered. You’re looking at a few weeks.”
“Weeks.”
“It’s not totaled. But it’s not quick.” He shoved the rag back in his pocket. “I can give you a lift back to town unless you have someone else coming out to pick you up.”
The only people Leo could call were his teammates or Gunnar. The guys were likely already in bed, and Gunnar was either at work or home spending time with Wes. He didn’t want to bother any of them.
Leo shook his head. “I don’t want to make you go out of your way.”
“Yeah, because I’m going to leave you out here in the dark.” Dawson rolled his eyes. “Get in the damned truck, Leo.”
The cab of the flatbed smelled like motor oil and something cedar. The bench seat was cracked vinyl patched in two places with duct tape. Dawson pulled onto the road and took the first turn without hesitation, then the second, headlights sweeping across fields and gravel and more fields.
Leo lasted about ninety seconds in the quiet.
“I was in Milwaukee,” he said. “Just for the night. Needed to get out of town for a few hours.”
Dawson shifted gears. “Nothing stupid about that. Everybody needs to get out once in a while.”
“I didn’t say it was stupid.”
“You were about to.”
Leo looked at him. Dawson’s eyes were on the road, both hands on the wheel, and his face gave away nothing.
“Fine,” Leo said. Dawson made the comment as if they were friends instead of strangers who kept crossing paths. “It was a little stupid. Two hours of driving for one drink.”
“Must’ve been one hell of a drink.”
The drinks had been passable but nothing to write home about. The company had been fine. Everything had beenfineexcept Leo’s brain, which had spent the entire night fixated on the man who’d eventually had to rescue him like some sort of white knight. Leo’d throw himself out of the moving truck before admitting that.
“It was okay,” he said. “The drive was the stupid part. I just— I’m not used to not being able to go anywhere. In Orlando, if I wanted to go out, I went out. Here, there’s nowhere to go.”
Dawson nodded.
“I mean…Port Haven’s fine. It’s fine. It’s just not what I’m used to.”
“I know it’s not come booming metropolis, but if you give it half a chance, you might surprise yourself.”
“Yeah, I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to living in a town with one stoplight.” Leo leaned his head against the window. The glass was cool. Outside, the fields had given way to scattered houses, then a gas station, then the edge of town. Port Haven at night was a handful of lit windows and The Penalty Box sign glowing at the end of Main Street.
Neither of them spoke for a while after that. There was plenty of room on the bench seat, and it still felt too close.
Dawson pulled up in front of the Lakeside Inn.
“I’ll call you when I know more about the car,” Dawson said. “Day or two for the full assessment. We deal with insurance on deer strikes all the time, so don’t worry about that part.”
“This happens a lot?”
“You’re the third one this month and it’s not even hunting season yet.” Dawson put the truck in park but left the engine running. He pulled a business card from the visor and held it out between two fingers. “You’ll want to call your insurance company in the morning. They’ll either send out an adjuster or have us send them pictures.”
Leo nodded. His hand found the door handle, but he didn’t pull it. “Thanks. For coming out.”
“It’s my job.”
“At midnight on a weeknight?”
Dawson looked at him for the first time since they’d gotten in the truck. The streetlight through the windshield caught half his face. Leo’s grip tightened on the door handle.
