“Fuck!” the driver yells as he scrambles from the cab and jogs over to us, looking pissed off but unhurt. “Why the fuck was that car just parked there? In the middle of a damn storm? What the fu?—”
“Shut up,” Caleb snaps. There’s a threat in his voice that makes the driver stop talking.
“Hey,” Caleb adds in a gentler tone. “Vienna. Are you okay?”
No,I want to say. My car is wrecked. Now I’m going to have to deal with the police and the insurance company and who knows when I’ll finally have another car again. In the meantime, where the heck am I supposed to live? A tent in the woods? The shelter in Montpelier? But then how will I get to my job in Bliss?
But I don’t say any of those things. Not to this gruff but kind man I just met. Instead, I just nod. “I’m okay.”
CHAPTER 2
CALEB
She’s not okay.
I keep telling myself it shouldn’t bother me this much. After all, she’s basically a stranger. Aside from her name, I don’t know anything else about her.
Well. I know she’s stubborn. And that she likes dogs. I know she isn’t afraid to say what she’s thinking.
And shit, I feel bad for her.
Was it the smartest thing to do, stopping in the middle of a damn blizzard to rescue a dog from the road? No, but I can’t blame her for it either. Shit, if I’d seen the dog first, I’d have been tempted to do the same.
Would I? I’m not sure. In my single-minded determination to get home, I might have explained the dog away as something different—a deer or a shadow or a piece of trash blowing in the wind. I might have keptgoing,almostconvinced the dark shape in the road was nothing to worry about.
I might have wondered late at night while I stared at the ceiling instead of sleeping. I might have even felt bad for my intentional ignorance. Because, shit, I didn’t use to be this way. Ten years ago, or even five, I would have been eager to be the hero. I wouldn’t have let things like bad weather and personal risk get in my way.
Like Vienna.
She admitted to the police that she knew what she did was dangerous. “But how could I leave him out there?” she added, her chin wobbling like she was trying not to cry. “He was all alone. Someone could have hit him. That truck—” She winced as she glanced at the tractor-trailer still stopped in the middle of the road. “It could have killed him.”
“Like it could have killed you?” one of the officers shot back at her. “Or the driver of the truck, if he’d gone off the road?”
The flashing lights of the police cars reflected off the tears welling up in her eyes. A sudden burst of anger had me snapping at the officer, “Her hazards were on. So were mine. And that driver was going far too fast for these conditions. So I’d suggest placing blame where it actually belongs.”
I could tell the officer was irritated with me for interrupting. But he didn’t call me out on it, because he knew who I was. Though I spent close to two decades living out of state while I served in the Marines, I’mone of the true locals, born right here in Bliss. And around here, being a long-time local grants a clout little else does.
The same instinct that had me taking the officer down a notch kept me by Vienna’s side while he questioned her.To make sure he doesn’t accuse her of anything else,I told myself. But it wasn’t just that. There was just this bone-deep feeling that I needed to protect her.
If someone had asked me yesterday, or even a few hours ago, I would have insisted my days of protecting were over. I even said something close to that during the dinner my old high school buddy, Enzo, badgered me into attending earlier this evening.
“You’ve been here, what? Two years now?” he asked when he called to invite me last week.
“Three,” I corrected. “Three years next month.”
“Three years,” he repeated. “And how many times have I invited you over? How many excuses have you made not to come?”
“I don’t know,” I muttered, wishing I’d never answered his call to begin with. “I’ve been busy. That’s all.”
A snort on the other end of the line let me know what he thought of that excuse. After a beat, Enzo said, “Look, Caleb. I get it. I had a rough time when I got out, too. But three years… Just come over for dinner. A couple hours, that’s all. You can get to know Winter. Meet the baby. Then you can go home to be a hermit again.”
I wanted to say no. I wanted to stick with mycomfortable, hermit-like lifestyle, where I pay extra to have my groceries delivered and only go into town when I absolutely have to. But I’ve known Enzo since elementary school. We’ve never been close friends, but I always liked him. And he had a point. I’d been making excuses for long enough.
That’s how I ended up on this road just past nine o’clock at night instead of sitting by the fire, watchingStar Trekreruns or reading one of my snowmobile manuals. When the storm blew in earlier than expected, Enzo’s wife, Winter, offered to have me stay at their house instead of driving home in the storm. But two hours of socializing was more than enough.
“I’ve got four-wheel drive and studded tires,” I assured her. “Plus, it’s only a few miles to home. I’ll be fine.”
And even though my night hasn’t gone close to how I expected, I am. I’m wet and cold and grouchy, but me and my car are both in one piece.
