“Shit.”
“Language!” they all said at the same time, then descended into laughter.
"What’s a lug wrench?" Tyler asked, pointing at the empty plastic molding where the tool should have been. “And do we really need one?”
"Unless you’re planning on using your teeth to get the tire off." I took in the stream of morning traffic zooming past, then at the three boys who looked about as useful as a set of chocolate teapots. “Uber it is.”
My independence was a point of pride, but pride didn't loosen lug nuts. I felt the heat rising in my neck, the familiar weight of a panic I usually kept under lock and key. Not only would lateness get the boys into trouble, but I’d have to answer to Tyler and Leo’s moms.
The sound of a heavy engine slowed behind us. A black Jeep, clean enough to reflect the morning sun, pulled onto the shoulder.
The driver’s door opened, and a pair of long legs hit the pavement. It took me a beat to place the height, the tied-back hair, and the quiet intensity of those blue eyes.
The new guy. The one who’d been trying to disappear into the shadows of my bar a couple of nights ago.
He took in the carnage of my front tire and the trio of gawking teenagers with a single, scanning look before spotting me.
"It's you," he said, his voice carrying that same low resonance from the other night, only now it had to compete with the roar of a passing semi-truck.
"I almost didn't recognize you without the neon lights reflecting off your scowl." I crossed my arms, trying to ignore the way the Texas humidity was already turning my hair into a structural hazard.
"Morning person, I see." He didn't smile, but the corner of his eyes crinkled just enough to count as a hit.
"Try stuck on the side of the road with three teenagers who’re about to be late for school person. It’s a very niche demographic." I gestured toward the empty plastic mold in my trunk. "And apparently, whatever chivalry you were about to offer will be wasted. I’m missing a lug wrench."
“Good thing I’m not.” He reached into the back of his Jeep and pulled out a heavy-duty lug wrench like it was a prop ina play he’d rehearsed a thousand times. He walked over, his movements fluid and efficient. "Step back. I've got it."
"Thanks, but I can do it. I just need the wrench."
"I know you can." He knelt by the ruined tire, the denim of his jeans taut against his legs as he braced himself. "But I'm already down here, and you’ve got a fan club to manage."
I looked over my shoulder. Tyler and Leo were hovering, their phones forgotten for once, eyes wide as they realized who was currently fighting with my wheel well. Gabe, however, looked like he was trying to set Michael on fire with his mind. He stood off to the side, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his jaw set in a line I knew all too well.
"Is that... is that Michael Landry?" Tyler whispered, loud enough for the next county to hear.
"It's just a guy helping with a tire, Tyler. Relax." I kept my voice flat, playing down the minor celebrity in my personal space.
Michael made quick work of the lug nuts, the rhythmic clink of metal the only sound for a few seconds. He paused, looking up at me for a brief beat. "Thanks, by the way. For the other night. It’s a lot of noise to walk into when you’re the new guy. Having a friendly face at the bar helped."
"I was just doing my job," I said, though the guard around my chest loosened a fraction. "And I was only friendly because you weren't Jerry."
He actually let out a short, dry breath of a laugh at that. He swapped the shredded rubber for the spare I’d hauled out of the trunk and began tightening the nuts in a star pattern. He was thorough. Methodical.
"All set.” He stood up, wiping a streak of road grime onto a rag from his pocket. “You might want to get that—"
His gaze dropped to the spare, and I followed it. The "donut" was seated perfectly on the bolts, but it was currently pancaked against the asphalt, as lifeless and flat as the one he’d just taken off.
Michael cleared his throat, a faint flush creeping up his neck. "Does the spare usually have a puncture, or is this a new feature?"
I stared at the useless rubber, a hot wave of embarrassment hitting me. Between the double shifts and Gabe’s hockey practice and the million other things I had to track, the air pressure in a tire I forgot existed hadn't exactly made the priority list.
"I’ve been meaning to check that," I muttered, the words tasting like ash. "For about three years."
“Guess it’s time to call that Uber.”
"I have a backseat," Michael said, gesturing toward the Jeep with a tilt of his chin. "It’ll save you time and whatever those things cost these days.”
Tyler and Leo didn't even wait for my agreement. They were already moving, their backpacks swinging like pendulums as they scrambled toward the black SUV. For them, this wasn't a roadside disaster anymore; it was a story they’d be telling until graduation.
