“Flat.”
I guide us to the shoulder, heart hammering as I slow to a stop. We’re in the middle of nowhere—just two lanes of highway cutting through rolling fields of snow. No towns. Nothing.
“Of course,” I mutter, throwing it in park.
She hugs her arms around herself. “Seriously?”
“Yup.” I grab the gloves from the dash, shove my door open, and cold air knifes through the cab.
I can already tell it’s not good when I round the bed of the truck. Rear passenger tire, flat as hell, rim kissing asphalt.
“Perfect,” I bite out, crouching down to check the damage.
“Do you have a spare?” she calls through the cracked window.
“No, Hailey, I thought I’d just sit here and manifest one,” I snap before I can stop myself.
She narrows her eyes, pushing the door open. “Wow. Someone’s cranky.”
“Someone asked a stupid question.”
“I asked because you’re acting like the world’s ending!”
“It might as well be.” I yank the jack from the back, slam it onto the snow, and start lining it up under the frame. My fingers are already going numb.
“You could’ve flown,” she mutters under her breath.
My head jerks up. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, say it.”
“I said, you could’ve flown. Would’ve saved you all this.” Her tone’s casual, but it’s gasoline on an open flame.
“Sorry my truck doesn’t come with in-flight champagne,” I bite back.
She crosses her arms. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?” I stand, wiping my hands on my jeans, snow collecting in my hair and coat. “You didn’t have to ride with me. Nobody begged you. You could’ve bought a plane ticket and saved yourself the torture.”
Her mouth opens like she’s about to yell, but then she clamps it shut, color rising in her cheeks. “I was trying to be nice.”
“Yeah, well, maybe don’t try so hard.”
We stare at each other, both breathing hard, snow swirling around us. Somewhere down the road, a semi rumbles by, horn blaring, wind pushing against the truck as it passes.
I finish swapping the spare in record time, fueled by irritation and the echo of her voice still bouncing around myskull. By the time I climb back behind the wheel, she’s sitting with her arms crossed and her jaw tight, eyes forward.
The heater blasts, but it doesn’t do a damn thing for the frost that’s settled between us. I’m cold, exhausted, and very much in need of a warm shower after that. The thought of driving another five or more hours during this storm is unbearable.
“Let’s just find somewhere to stay,” I mutter, pulling back onto the highway.
“Somewhere to stay?” She looks at me, confused.
“There,” I say, pointing to a sign that reads Valley View Inn five miles ahead. The words barely leave my mouth before she exhales a laugh that’s more disbelief than amusement.
“Let me guess, a tiny roadside motel that looks like the start of a murder podcast?”
