But out here, we're just Mickey and Viv. No expectations. No limitations.
Just us.
And the thumping sound my car keeps making.
What the fuck?
I check my dashboard and see that the little exclamation mark light is on. Well, fuck. When did that happen?
“Do you hear that?" I say to Viv just as she turns to me and asks the same question.
The sound gets louder, so I do my best to drift toward the shoulder of the road. And let me tell you it’s hard to drive when you’ve only got three working tires and it feels like you’re practically carrying the car instead of driving it. When we coast to a stop, I cut the ignition and resist the urge to bang my head off the steering wheel. I close my eyes and try to take a calming breath. This is just my fucking luck. I’m having the best night ever and then this happens. Maybe it’s a sign from the universe?
I hear the click of a door and look over to see Viv settling back in. I must've zoned out for a sec, because I didn’t even realize she got out of the car.
“It’s the rear passenger tire,” Viv says, showing me her phone.
“What—how did you—” I stammer.
“You seemed pretty stressed,” she explains. “And that makes sense. Flat tires suck. So, I just hopped out and took some pics so you’d know what you’re dealing with. That’s probably overkill, but I wasn’t sure how bad it was until I looked. I’m no expert, but your tire looks like toast. The rim isn’t noticeably bent, though, so that’s a plus.”
I could literally kiss this woman right now.
That’s not really a newsflash. When don’t I want to kiss her? Right now, though, it’s for a very specific reason. I was on the verge of a freaking meltdown, and she just did what needed to be done. And what’s wild is that she’s not even mad about it.
I’d say I hit the girlfriend jackpot, but Viv’s not my girlfriend.
I’m working on changing that, though, and if I want her to take me seriously and see that I’m nothing like the assholesshe’s been with, then I need to get my shit together. Grabbing my phone, I tap out a text to Dutton since his family owns a car dealership, and his cousin runs the body shop. I could call the eight hundred number of the auto club my parents belong to, but I figure this will be faster. Plus, Dutton owes me for only punching one side of his face instead of two when I found out he was sleeping with my sister.
It takes a second, but a text comes through.
Dutton: Stay put. Nick will be there as soon as he can. Might be an hour or so.
I roll my eyes. Like I’m fucking going anywhere. But, he’s doing me a huge favor, so I text back.
Mickey: Thanks, man. I owe you.
Dutton: Dude, we’re family.
Family. Holy shit, that’s right. Dutton and Bridgette are going to get married. He hasn’t officially popped the question yet, but there’s no doubt my sister’s going to say yes. I was pissed when I first found out they were together, but even I have to admit they’re perfect for each other. My phone buzzes again, so I check it, figuring it might be Dutton’s cousin, Nick, with an ETA.
Dutton: Besides, you can pay me back with free babysitting in the future.
“You better be fucking kidding me right now,” I mutter, my fingers flying over my phone screen.
“What’s wrong? Can’t you get a tow? There’s gotta be someone available. It’s not even that late?” Viv’s brow is furrowed, and I can tell that she’s ready to call every garage in the tri-state area if she has to.
“Nah, we’re good there. Dutton’s cousin’s gonna be here in an hour or so. But as soon as we get back to the hockey house, I’m gonna kill my sister’s boyfriend.” I finish my message and hand the phone to Viv so she can catch up. Shit. I hope I didn’t just make her an accessory to murder.
Mickey: I will motherfucking end you. I’m not even waiting until the season’s over. You better hope Flo can protect the net when you’re six feet under the fucking ground.
My fingers are gripping the steering wheel so tight, I feel like it might break. But Nick’s already on his way with the tow truck, so maybe he can fix that, too. Beside me, I can see Viv reading through the thread. When she looks in my direction, though, she isn’t fuming. She’s laughing.
“What’s so funny?” I ask, not even trying to keep the annoyance out of my tone.
“You are,” she says, handing my phone back to me. “And settle down, because you’re not killing anyone. You’d hate prison, and I can guarantee they wouldn’t let you bring your jump rope.”
I say nothing. I just scowl at her in response. And that just makes her laugh harder.
