The faint sound of rustling fabric crackles over the line as the call cuts in and out. “Even if that was the case, do you have an extra jug of coolant in the trunk?” Taking my silence as confirmation that it’s a big fat no, he offers, “How about you let me come check it out, and we’ll go from there? Maybe it’ll be an easy fix.”
Staring up at the night sky, I silently curse every deity in this world and the next that gets off on tormenting me at every fucking turn. “I’d... appreciate that, yeah. Sorry to drag you out of bed for this.”
“Never apologize for needing help, but especially not for the things that are outside of your control. And between you and me?” The sound of an engine firing up has a little of the tension coiled in my chest easing. “There’s very little in this life that actually is. We only like to fool ourselves into thinking otherwise.”
***
“Do you want the goodnews, or the bad news first?” My hood slams shut, Kodiak wiping his hands on his jeans.
“Might as well rip off the bandage.”
He shoots me an apologetic grimace. “It’s going to need a few parts that I can’t magically pull out of my ass, even if I jerry-rig a few things. Good news; itisfixable. Downside, there's nothing that I can do on the side of the road. It’s going to take a few days in a shop and a decent chunk of change before it’s up and running again.”
Without waiting for my response, he reaches through the window to switch it into neutral. Striding around to the trunk, he gives it a shove.
“What are you doing?”
He glances over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow, but carries on walking. “I'm not leaving you here to sleep on the side of the road when you don't even have a getaway car if some creep stops to hassle you. So unless you want to hop on the back of my bike, which I assumed was a hard no given our situation, the only other way to the nearest town is walking. If we're doing that anyway, I may as well bring your car with us and save on the towing bill.”
Wavering for a moment, I jog to catch up. Taking the spot beside him, I grip the edge of the trunk and help push. Neither of us attempt small talk, simply focusing on putting one foot in front of the other and occasionally racing over to turn the wheel when it begins veering off to the side. Sweat trickles down my spine despite the cool night air, but I keep pushing without complaint, grateful that I only have half the work. A quick glance at Kodiak confirms that he’s not even breathing heavily, and I shoot a quick glare up at the stars to whichever deity I pissed off in a past life.
If it wasn’t for the fact that it’s impossible for our kind to reproduce with humans, I’d think my mom stepped out on my fathers. At least then I’d have a good excuse for being a pathetic excuse of a shifter instead of having to accept that I’m defective. Maybe I got some latent genes from an ancestor that dabbled around with one of the weaker races, yet no matter the reason, it sucks being around someone that reminds me of everything I’m supposed to be.
Thirty minutes later, there’s no hiding it anymore. Chest heaving and sweat drenching my shirt, I tap out for a break. While I arch my spine to work out the throbbing kink between my shoulderblades, Kodiak slows to a stop. He makes a show of stretching out his arms, and I can’t be sure if he’s trying to make me feel better, or mocking me.
“If we're being realistic, nobody is going to steal this hunk of junk, but your bike will definitely be gone by the time we get into town.”
Feigning nonchalance, he toys with his lip ring. “Should I run back to get it?”
The small water bottle on the floor of my backseat is too tempting to pass up any longer, though I still triple check that it’s completely sealed and hasn’t been tampered with before I risk guzzling it down. “I'm slightly less opposed to that idea than I was earlier.”
A broad grin lights up his face. “Be right back.”
He takes off at a jog, and I use the opportunity to gather all of the important things into my well-worn backpack, and throw on an extra swipe of deodorant. At the sound of his motorcycle, I sling my backpack on, tightening the straps more than usual.
Pulling to a stop right beside me, he offers the matching black helmet my way, now wearing a pair of leather riding gloves. “How do you want to do this?”
With everything spiraling out of control lately, that small consideration means more than he realizes. “Stay still while I get situated?”
At his nod, I triple check that my sleeves are tucked into my gloves and stuff the hem of my shirt into my jeans, not caring how ridiculous it makes me look. Now that I’m about ninety-nine percent certain that if I touch Kodiak without any barriers, I’ll mark him too? I’ve never been more justified in my obsessive paranoia.
Once I’m sure that I’m as covered as can be, I slide the helmet on, not a fan of the clunky headgear. This isn’t a perfect choice by any means, but it’s the best one I’ve got to work with, and I know how lucky I am to even have options, no matter the strings attached to them. Carefully, I climb onto the back of his bike, mindful of my contact points as I wrap my arms around his waist.
“You good?” he confirms, not moving a single muscle despite how long it’s taking me to formulate a response.
“No,” I answer honestly, refusing to feel guilty about it. “But better than I was before you showed up.”
