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Thud, thud, thud. My SUV slows, bouncing along the interstate, the acrid scent of burnt rubber filtering through the vents.
“Dammit,” I mutter under my breath, glancing in my rearview at the traffic behind me. I hit my turn signal and veer off the road in one quick motion.
“Mommy, what’s happening? What’s wrong?” Colton’s voice tips up with worry, and I gaze back at him.
“I think I may have run over some glass, honey. We have a flat tire. But it’s fine. Mommy will call AAA and we’ll be ready to rock and roll again soon. Keep watching your show!” I try to sound upbeat and chipper, but my stomach clenches with anxiety.
Do I even still have AAA?I wrack my brain, trying to remember if I renewed it. Shuffling through the cards in my wallet, I find the plastic card and dial the number.
“Hi, this is Elise Edwards and I have a flat tire. My member number? Hang on a sec—” I rattle off the number and hold my breath. “No? We didn’t renew. Crap. Can I renew now, over the phone? Yes? Great.” Paying the fee with my credit card, I wait as the agent checks on the ‘rescue squad’ wait time.
“What? That’s two hours from now! I have young kids with me. That’s the best you can do? Yeah, I get it. Yes, please send them out.” I give my best guess as to my location, then disconnect, cursing under my breath. Cars whiz by, shaking the SUV, and I pray we don’t get hit.
That’s when I notice a black truck reversing up the side of the road, heading straight towards us. Cold panic grips me and my hands clam up on the steering wheel.What if this person is a serial killer?
I try to stay calm for the kids, automatically reaching down and locking the doors.
A man steps out of the truck and relief washes over me.
It’s Smith.
He jogs over and I roll down the passenger window. “Hey.”
“Hey. I see you have a flat. Need some help?”
I sigh, closing my eyes and nodding. “Yes, I would love some. Thank you.”
“Hi, kids.” Smith waves to Cami and Colton in the back seat, then turns to me. “You have a spare?”
I shrug. “No idea. But I do have an owner’s manual.” Leaning over, I rifle through the glove box and produce the manual, handing it to Smith. He flips through the pages, then says, “Pop the trunk.”
“Kids—sit tight. Mommy’s going to help with the tire.”
Both of them nod, riveted to their screens, and I cautiously step out of the car and jog to the rear of my SUV. Smith already located the spare and has it pulled out, leaning against the car. He’s kneeling on the ground, jacking the vehicle up in the air. My heart skips a beat, being this close to him. There are so many things I want to say—should say—to him, but the words won’t come out. Instead, I stand there in silence, staring down at him and wishing things could be different.
“Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to sell the house?” Smith asks, his eyes glued on the flat tire.
I take a shaky breath, exhale. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Smith.” The words sound lame as they fall from my lips, and he gazes back at me.
“How would selling the reno not hurt me, Elise?”
When he puts it this way, I feel beyond stupid. Of course that would hurt him.
“Better now than later,” I reason, my voice firmer than my resolve. Watching him crank the jack, his muscles flexing with the strain, I am regretting my life choices.
“Do you know the buyer’s Jagger Capelli? That guy who stopped by the first day, the one I warned you about?”
My hand flies to my mouth. “No…” I breathe, my stomach tensing.
“Yep.”
“But that’s not the name on the paperwork,” I say, screwing my nose up in confusion.
“Let me guess—it’s some LLC, right? Probably with the letters J, C, and D.”
I nod. “That sounds right.”
“Yeah, that’s Jagger and his brothers.”
