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“Dammit.“ Cursing under my breath, I pull off to the side of the road and climb out, praying with all my might that it’s just uneven pavement. But, of course, my prayers go unanswered.
“Are you frickin’ kidding me?” I howl in frustration as I spot the completely flat back tire. Just great. God, why me?
Throwing my hood up, I blow on my cold hands and try to remember how to change a tire. Dad tried showing me when I first got my license, but I was sixteen and my attention span was kind of short. I think I need a jack. And that metal X thing. It can’t be too hard.
Finding what I need after rooting around in the trunk, I glare up at the sky when the flakes turn into freezing rain. Like this couldn’t get any worse.
The spare tire is heavy, but I heave it out onto the ground before focusing on the near-impossible task of jacking the car off the ground. I can admit that I’m not a strong guy, all of my muscles are in my brain, and the frickin’ thing will not cooperate. I even stand on the lever, hoping my body weight will get it to move while my clothes thoroughly soak through, but it does no good. I’m stuck.
As I shift to jump down, the rain-slicked metal betrays me. My foot slips, and though I manage to catch myself, the sharp, rusted edge of the fender slices deep into my left palm.
“Ouch, frick!”
Kicking the offending tire with a furious shout, I slide back into the driver’s seat, dripping wet. Blood pools in my palm, and I seethe as the sting sharpens with every passing second. It’s too dark to tell how bad the cut is, so I wipe it off on my jeans with a hiss of pain, my teeth chattering violently. Reaching for my phone on the center console, I fumble to unlock it, my fingers clumsy from the cold.
Clearly, I need help, but who would be awake right now? Definitely not Dad. KC said he was going to bed when I left, and I don’t have Carpenter or Tina’s numbers.
Scrolling through my pitiful list of contacts, my thumb hovers over Ryann’s name.
No. Bad idea.
Would he even answer, anyway? I could call Paige, but with all the preparations for CalTek’s Christmas party, she’s probably asleep. Maybe Declan?
Debating for all of five seconds, I hit the call button and chew on my fingernail, blood from my cut rolling down my arm beneath the sleeve.
After five or so rings, he finally answers.
“Shilo? What’s wrong?”
His voice is slightly raspy from sleep, and the sound of it sends goosebumps over my frozen skin.
“Hi, Mr. Callahan, I’m sorry to wake you, but I–”
“Call me Ryann, dammit.”
His grumpy growl ignites a fire in my veins, and I grin despite the burning in my palm and sopping clothes.
“Ryann. Sorry. I, uh, blew a tire on the way home from hanging out with Kansas, and I can’t get the jack to work. I would have called someone else, but it’s like one in the morning, and it’s raining pretty hard, plus I also scraped my hand, and I might get tetanus–”
“Slow down. Where are you?”
Glancing out the window, I give him the name of the last street sign I passed.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Stay in the car.”
He hangs up without waiting for me to respond, and I stare at my dark screen, raindrops pelting the window. Warm air from the heater makes me shiver as I press a few napkins to my wound before resting my head against the steering wheel.
True to his word, Ryann pulls up beside me precisely ten minutes later, stepping out of his car just as I climb out of mine.
“What happened?” he asks, opening an umbrella and holding it above me, dressed in jeans.
“I accidentally hit a curb. I think it popped the bead.”
He follows me to the passenger side, scanning the mess I’ve made before studying me with a frown. “Jesus Christ, you’re soaking wet. Let me see your hand.”
Taking it gingerly, he pulls away the bloody napkins with a grimace. “We need to get that cleaned. Come on.”
Ryann starts to lead me by the wrist toward his car, his touch unbearably warm against my frozen skin, and I pull back stubbornly. “W-what about the t-tire?”
