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You might think a flat tire is no big deal. And for someone else, it wouldn’t be. But when you’re paralyzed, changing a flat tire isn’t so simple.
This isn’t the first time I’ve run into a problem that I cannot solve without physical help from someone. But with my family all on the mainland, in Northern British Columbia to be exact, my current options for help are pretty limited. Thank God Dad insisted on me having extra coverage for roadside assistance. Swiping away my tears on the sleeve of my sweater, I reach for my phone from my purse on the seat next to me and grab the card with my roadside assistance number on it. Hopefully, the wait isn’t too long and I can be back on my way to the ferry terminal soon.
But five minutes later and those freaking tears are falling again. “Two hours. Sure, it’s fine. I’ll just sit in my car for two hours, miss my ferry, no problem.” My head falls back against the headrest in frustration. I don’t often dwell on how much more difficult my disability makes my life. There’s no point. A car accident as a teenager left me with a partially severed spinal column and no feeling or mobility from my waist down. I have some sensation in my abdomen, and thankfully, my upper body is strong, courtesy of using a wheelchair. But my legs are purely for decoration at this point, and now, thanks to one stupid tire, I’m going to miss my ferry home.
“Damn it!” I slam my hands down on my steering wheel just as my phone vibrates with a text message. When I look at it, I see it’s Mila Monroe. We met in our final year of university, and she’s the reason I’m on the island right now. Somehow, I let her convince me to visit her small hometown, Dogwood Cove, when I told her I needed a weekend away. We had a ton of fun, but now I’m just trying to get home.
Not that there’s much waiting for me there. Mila’s suggestion of moving to the island is pretty tempting with the current state of my life.
MILA: It was so great seeing you this weekend, you’ll have to come back again soon!
Letting out a huff of frustration at my current situation, I thumb out my response.
RILEY: It was really great, thanks for having me and making everything so easy. If only getting to the ferry was the same
MILA: What do you mean?
RILEY: Flat tire, currently stuck halfway between Dogwood Cove and Victoria, waiting for roadside assistance.
MILA: OMG why didn’t you call me! I can come and get you?
RILEY: Thanks, but it’s okay, I can’t leave my car. I’ll just have to wait. They said it would only be a couple of hours, so I’ll just see if I can change my ferry to a later one.
MILA: No way. I’m sending someone to help you.
Here’s the thing about Mila — she’s a force to be reckoned with. And I have to admit, the idea of not waiting two hours only to then have to wait longer at the ferry terminal for whatever boat I can get on is tempting.
RILEY: Okay, if you’re sure Ethan won’t mind?
MILA: He’s out of town. But don’t worry, I’ll find someone to come and help.
I chew on my lip nervously; Mila knows how I feel about strangers. I hate being vulnerable, but it’s my reality sometimes. But a minute or so later another text comes through.
MILA: Okay, he’s on his way. And because I know you’re freaking out, listen to me. Don’t worry. Dean’s a good guy, he’ll be there in twenty minutes.
That makes me smile. Mila’s a good friend, and I’m determined not to let so much time pass without seeing her again.
RILEY: Thank you.
MILA: No problem. I’ll talk to you soon.
Nothing to do now except wait for my help to arrive.
* * *
I’m not sure what exactly I expected, but the big pickup truck that pulls up behind me half an hour later isn’t it. Nor is the ridiculously sexy man who’s climbing down from the truck’s driver’s side. I stare at him openly as he walks up to the passenger window of my car, unabashedly drinking in his muscular torso wrapped in a fitted white T-shirt. He’s got a thick dusting of scruff — nah, it’s basically a beard — and dark hair. He’s got a nice smile, friendly and open. I open the passenger side window with a small wave.
“Riley? I’m Dean; Mila sent me.”
“Hi, thank you for coming,” I say in return, and I mean every word. The rush of attraction I initially felt for him quickly gives way to immense gratitude that this man, this stranger, didn’t hesitate to come to my rescue. He gives me a nod and another smile then turns to crouch down and examine my back tire. I crane my head around as best I can to watch him. After a quick minute he stands up and walks the few steps back to the front.
“You’ve definitely got a flat tire,” he comments, brushing his hands off on his pants. “We can get that changed pretty fast; you’ve got a spare?”
I nod. “Yes, a full size. It’s in the trunk.”
He seems confused by the news that I’ve got a full-sized tire just sitting in my car, but he won’t be once he discovers why. I can’t exactly let myself be stranded with only a spare tire that I can’t drive on for long.
“Okay, well, if you just hop out, I can deal with this pretty fast. I can teach you as I go, if you want, so next time you don’t have to wait for help.” His wink tells me he’s just being friendly, not patronizing. But it doesn’t matter.
