Page 9 of Knot So Social

At least the cat survived. All that stuff about black cats crossing your path is just a myth, right? And technically, it went under my car, not in front. I should be fine.

To soothe my tension, I turn on the radio and hum along with the latest hit song, Heat Fall. With one hand on the steering wheel of my big pickup and the other marking the beat on the center console, I skim along the freeway to Kalone Tire Center.

This is how a man should be, driving a fuel-guzzling truck toward a job that pays shit money, with a warm wind blowing in through the window and a ten-gallon hat sitting on the dash. Bigger than life and pretending that existential crisis doesn’t lurk around every corner. Minimal responsibilities, no cares in the world. All is good.

I reach over and dial up the volume as the song hits the chorus, belting out the lyrics at the top of my voice:

I hear your call

Gonna bring my all.

Letting loose my soul

In your heat we fall.

In your heat, again and again, we fall.

My drive takes me past the Heat Wave clinic, a giant glass and steel building four stories tall, claiming to be able to help any omega through her heat. If only they could help me with my issues.

Imagining what goes on behind all that mirrored glass coupled with the erotic visuals in the song’s verses gives me a mild stiffy and I adjust my pants.

“Not now,” I grumble, checking the clock.

Only ten minutes until I’m due at work, and that’s not enough time for anything, especially not stopping for a breakfast bite. I should’ve left earlier, considering how stiff-necked my boss is.

A mile on I come across a car with flashing indicators not quite fully pulled off the road. The driver stands beside her trunk, a car jack by her feet as she uses her whole body to wrestle a tire out. Her wheel arch is nearly bigger than she is. A glint of light catches on her cheeks.

“Whoa,” I murmur to myself, stepping on the brakes once more and pulling over to the verge, putting my own lights on and parking behind her.

By the time I grab my hat and tumble out, she’s wedged the jack underneath and started cranking the handle.

“Just a moment, ma’am!” I call out, speeding up to a jog.

The beta looks up at me, eyes red-rimmed.

“Can I help you?” I ask, keeping my distance until invited.

She flaps one hand at her sunken tire. “I just . . . never learned. And today, of all days?”

A sob catches in her throat, and she wipes her face on her sleeve with jerky motions.

Her distress tugs at my heart. We’ve all had those days.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’ll get you back on the road in a jiffy, yeah?” I crouch down and unwind the jack. “Look here. You need to brace this part on the car’s frame.” I slap the tough underside. “Where you had it is just aluminum and will probably buckle.”

I explain each step and patiently answer her questions as I fix the problem, offering her the tools when she shows interest. She rocks onto her knees and undoes the last wheel nut, beaming with pride over her small step forward.

I wrestle the flat off the hub and roll in the new wheel, throwing the flat one-handed into the trunk.

“Okay, now we just reverse the process,” I tell her. “Wheel nuts on, hub on, jack down.”

She nods and starts threading the nuts. In another minute we have her all fixed up.

“Thank you,” she says, inspecting traces of black rubber on her hands.

“My pleasure. If you need anything else looked at, try Kalone Tire Center over on Thirty-third Street.”

“Okay, thanks. I think the back tires are wearing a bit.”