I’m still a few feet from my door when Daisy makes her move and leaps in the air. I turn in time to see her gaping jaws with razor-sharp teeth headed directly for me.
A hub cap flies into view, and I spot Aiden in mid-follow-through. It’s a direct hit, striking Daisy in the face. This dazes her enough for me to deflect her momentum and send her flying past me.
She recovers remarkably fast and comes back around. I reach for the passenger side door. And it’s locked. Aiden dives into the car and shoves open my door. He drags me into the car by my shirt.
The dog leaps again, this time going for my feet dangling out the door. She clamps her jaws around the loose fabric of my pant leg, missing my actual leg by a fraction of an inch. With the free leg, I kick her hard in the snout. She yelps and releases me.
Aiden hustles me the rest of the way in, using adrenaline and brute strength. As he does so, I hook the door handle with the toe of my shoe and slam the door shut as Daisy comes in for another attack. She smacks hard against the closed door.
We land across the front seats, a tangled mess of arms and legs. We’re both overwhelmed by the moment, half laughing, half crying.
“Thanks for saving my life. Again,” I whisper to Aiden.
Aiden smiles. “The score is two to one. It’s your turn next.”
*
AIDEN
After the narrow escape from the dog, we both lie across the front seats, our bodies intertwined. The instant peril, followed by tremendous relief, amplifies every sense and every emotion. The feel of Zach’s skin on mine, the sound of our heartbeats, and the heat of his breath sends little tingles throughout my entire body. Our eyes lock, our faces inches apart. Zach bites his lip.
Because my subconscious won’t allow me an ounce of joy, Marcus hits my mind, sick and dying. I have no control over the reflex, the waves of guilt and remorse. The shift in body language speaks volumes. Zach pulls away and sits up.
It’s for the best. Zach still hopes to find his boyfriend, no matter how slim the odds are. He doesn’t need me complicating things. And I’m clearly incapable of feeling normal emotions. Not to mention, I’m leaving the first chance I get. The next working car we find, I’m out of here.
But before I can worry about the future, I need to focus on the present. We’re not out of the woods yet. Daisy is prowling around the car, growling and barking. And to top it off, the keys are not in the ignition.
“Look.” I point to the empty keyhole.
“Crap.”
We both hunt for the keys. Zach checks inside the glove box, and we search above the visors, under the seats, and in the ashtray. Nothing.
Then Zach points to a hook on the wall on the other side of the room. “There.” A set of keys dangles from it, a Chevy logo on the chain. Between us and the keys, Daisy paces back and forth, growling.
As a last resort, we have the rifles. But I already know Zach won’t like that option. And I’m actually somewhat relieved. The thought of shooting her makes me ill. I’m not sure I could do it. This poor dog is trying to survive, kind of like us.
Instead, Zach removes his backpack and grabs his little toolkit from it. “Give me just a few minutes. These old cars have simple ignition wiring.”
“Of course you can hot-wire a car.” I laugh.
Zach makes a sheepish smile and shrugs. Why did I ever doubt him? If it’s mechanical or electrical, Zach can figure it out. I climb into the back seat so he can shimmy his way under the steering wheel. He lowers the front driver’s seat into the fully reclined position, then goes in headfirst and tummy up.
I curse myself for being so shallow. But ever since Zach cleaned himself up, I see a different person. I can’t help it. Any more than I can’t help the fact that I’m into guys. It justis. His shirt lifts as he bends backward into the footwell, exposing his bare midsection. His lean stomach and narrow waist peak out. A small tuft of hair around his belly button trails down into his pants. I fight the urge to reach out and touch it. That would only lead to no good.
“Hey, can you hand me the needle-nose pliers?” Zach holds his hand out expectantly.
I fish through the toolkit and place them in his hand. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.”
A few minutes pass, and Zach exclaims, “Okay, here goes nothing.”
Sparks shoot out from below, and the engine tries to turn over. The battery sounds weak, but at least it has some juice.
“That’s progress,” I encourage.
He crosses the wires, and the car turns over again. But it still doesn’t start.
