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Take in a deep breath.
Nod in reassurance that everything will be fine.
That Slater will make sure everything is fine.
Thatwe’refine.
“You uh…You trust me, right?”
“Of course! How can you even ask me that, Slater0?!”
“Then I’mma need you to do somethin’ for me.”
I push past the ringing in my ears to dedicate all my focus to him.
“Lean your seat back as far as it’ll go, but stay up-” the word is cut in half by the trashcan we clip on a sudden turn, “right until I give the order. At that point, I need you to open your door all the way and then lie down, okay?”
“Okay.”
“You can’t hesitate.”
“Okay.”
“I mean it, Arley,” he firmly insists while checking his mirrors. “I don’t wanna pull a bullet out of you.”
Swallowing my fear like he needs precedes one final proclamation of my understanding. “You won’t.”
Rather than watch the road and note all the things we’re almost hitting – and the few random objects we successfully hit – I keep my attention on the task I was given. While I don’t understand the point and struggle to fathom how this is going to be helpful versus just giving me something else to focus on thatisn’tbeing shot at, I work to complete the goal. To get my seat back into the spot it was requested, and fingers hooked into the handle. I disregard the minor scratches from the broken glass grating my skin, dismiss the few aches from being jerked around, and totally ignore the fractured nature of my glasses frame. Ringing from the shots fired has yet to fade, which would require a normal person to have to concentrate harder on hearing their cue, but thanks to my condition, I know that I don’t.
The second the first burst of blue crosses my vision I need to execute the orders I was given.
I can’t hesitate.
I can’t risk letting down Slater.
I can’t risk dying.
Not today.
Definitely not before I know who wants me dead.
Slater slams on the breaks at the same time he shouts, “Now!”
There’s no reason to wait until the word has finished leaving his mouth to perform the two-part movement. Violently swinging the door open forces the last rider to crash into it, and being flat on my back – in what has to be the one way I never pictured happening in this truck – allows for my best friend to have a completely uninterrupted angle to fire two shots. Faint thuds occur on the outside of the vehicle; however, my best friend holds his position. Keeps the gun extended with his finger on the trigger and his intent to kill.
Several moments of stillness pass between us except they’re nothing like the ones we shared while clearing the dishes or gearing up or taking the elevator to the garage.
No.
These are the ones worth appreciating.
Treasuring.
The ones we will be thanking the angels for providing tonight.
Once he’s convinced the enemy has been eliminated, he peers down at me, gaze swarming with an overwhelming amount of worry. “Status report?”
I offer him a small smile at the same time I playfully tug on his shirt, hoping to alleviate some of the anguish. “Ready to be patched up when you are, Cowboy.”
