The wind rocks the car hard enough to make me gasp. Snow is piling up against the driver’s side door. If I wait much longer, I might not be able to open it at all.
You’re going to die here because you’re too proud to make a phone call. That’s how they’ll find you. Frozen solid with your dignity intact. Great job, Tessa. Really stellar life choices.
I grab the phone again.
One bar. Flickering.
I hit Ben’s number before I can talk myself out of it.
It rings. Once. Twice. Three times.
He’s not going to answer. Why would he answer? He never?—
“Tessa?”
His voice hits me like a punch to the chest. Something in me cracks, just a little, and I feel my eyes sting with the sudden urge to cry.
No. Get it together.
“Ben.” My voice comes out shakier than I want. I clear my throat, try again. “I need help. My car’s stuck and it won’t move and I’ve been trying to?—”
A gust of wind drowns out my words, rattling the car so hard my teeth click together.
“I’m on Ridge Road,” I manage. “Near the old Miller farm. I can’t see anything and I don’t know what to do and you were—you’re a mechanic—I didn’t know who else to call.”
Pathetic. You sound pathetic.
“Stay in the car.” His voice is firm. Steady. Like an anchor in the middle of all this chaos. “Keep the engine running if you can. We’re coming.”
“We?”
“Just stay put. We’ll find you.”
The line goes dead.
I stare at the phone for a second, then two.
And then I fall apart.
It’s not pretty. It’s not dignified. It’s me pressing my forehead to the steering wheel and letting out this horrible gasping sound that might be a sob or might just be all the fear I’ve been shoving down for the past hour finally clawing its way out.
I’m shaking. My whole body is shaking, and it’s not just the cold. It’s the relief. The overwhelming, embarrassing relief of not having to figure this out alone.
He’s coming. Someone’s coming.
I let myself have this. Just for a minute. Just this one small breakdown in the privacy of my freezing car where no one can see me be weak.
Then I sit up. Wipe my face with the back of my hand. Take a breath.
Okay. Enough.
By the time they get here, I’ll be fine. I’ll be normal. I’ll be Tessa Lang, competent event planner, who definitely did not just cry in her car like a scared child.
I check my reflection in the rearview mirror. My eyes are a little red. Whatever. It’s cold. Eyes water in the cold. That’s science.
The wait is endless.
I keep the engine running, keep the heater blowing, keep my eyes fixed on the white nothing outside my window. Every few minutes I wipe the condensation from the glass and search for any sign of movement.
