Asking for help violated the primary rule of the system:Minimize debt.In foster care, favors were currency.If you gave someone a ride, they owned you.If they bought you food, they expected compliance.Debt was dangerous.
But my options were limited.
I hit call.
“Hey.You, okay?”
Luke’s voice was deep, warm, and startlingly alert for a Tuesday night.
“I,” I started, then my voice cracked.I hated it; hated sounding small.“I need a favor.A logistic assist.”
“Name it.”
I heard the jingle of keys on his end.He wasn’t asking what it was.He was mobilizing.
“My car died,” I said, listing the symptoms and the location.I tried to keep it clinical.Facts.“I was going to walk to the bus stop, but the weather is… suboptimal.And the bus runs once an hour.”
“Where are you?”he asked.I gave him directions.
“Stay there,” Luke said.The command was absolute.“I’m leaving now.Ten minutes.”
“Luke, you don’t have to—”
“I’m walking out the door.Stay inside where it’s warm.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone.He didn’t ask for gas money.He didn’t ask why I was stupid enough to drive in this weather.He calculated the vector and launched.
Ten minutes later, I was huddled next to the shop under an overhang when Luke’s massive black truck pulled up to the curb.
Luke got out.He wasn’t wearing a coat, just a gray thermal henley that clung to his shoulders.The rain didn’t seem to touch him.He moved with that goalie efficiency—no wasted steps.
“Come on,” he gestured for me to get in.Held opened the passenger door.
I threw my bag over my shoulder and ran for the opened door and scaled the truck to get inside.
“Heat’s on max,” Luke said, getting back into his side before putting the car in gear.
I nodded, unable to speak.My jaw was locked up from the shivering.I pulled my hood down, water dripping onto my nose.
“Thank you,” I managed.“I hope I didn’t pull you away from anything important.”
“I was throwing a tennis ball at a wall,” Luke said, merging into traffic.“You saved me from terminal boredom.”He turned and gave me a sideways glance.“Dude, you’re shivering.”
My teeth chattered in response.I gave him a weak smile and wrapped my arms around myself tighter.“At least you have heated seats.”
He drove differently than I did.I drove defensively, calculating risk.Luke drove like he owned the physics of the road.His hand rested lazily at the top of the wheel, his eyes tracking threats before they happened.
“Is the car dead-dead?”he asked.“Or just sick?”
“Expensive-dead,” I murmured.“My best guess is four hundred for the alternator and labor.That’s…” I trailed off.The math was suffocating me.“That’s a problem.”
I glanced at him.He wasn’t judging.He was acknowledging the variable.
“We can probably find someone else to look at it,” Luke said.“Ryan’s uncle owns a shop in town.Might give a discount.”
“It’s not just the repair.”I wiped my glasses on my shirt, though it was wet too.“It’s the liquidity.My scholarship covers tuition and housing.It doesn’t cover alternators.”
