“Awesome,” I muttered.
Because apparently, this was just my day.
This would also be a great time for my dad to magically appear, crack some joke about me not knowing how to change a tire, and then fix it in five minutes flat.
Except he was in the U.P.and probably not thinking about me stranded on the side of the road with a useless tire and no clue what to do next.
I tilted my head back and looked up at the sky, squinting slightly against the light.“A little help would be good here, God,” I said.
Then I closed my eyes.
For a second, I let myself lean into it.
The frustration.
The annoyance.
Thewhy does this always happen when I’m alonefeeling that sat heavy in my chest because this sucked.
No help.
No plan.
No idea what I was supposed to do next.
I exhaled slowly, trying to shake it off.“Okay,” I said to myself.“Figure it out.”
I opened my eyes and heard it.
The low, unmistakable rumble of a motorcycle engine in the distance.
My head snapped toward the road.
“Oh, thank God,” I breathed.
A bike came into view over the slight rise in the road, heading straight toward me.I pushed off the car, already stepping forward a little, my hand lifting in a small wave.
The bike got closer.
Closer.
And then my stomach dropped.“Oh no.”
Because I recognized it.
Recognized the bike.
Recognized the rider.
Jude.
“Oh Jesus.”
Every ounce of relief twisted into something else.
Something way more complicated.
Part of me, the smart part, knew this was good.Help was help.Didn’t matter who it came from.
