Page 63 of One More Shot
No such luck.
My car sparks to life for a few misleading seconds before letting out one last pathetic splutter as it shuts down completely.
Fuck.
My car is dead and I’ve got a wedding to be at in three short hours. A wedding that’s at least a two-hour drive away – and that’s only if I manage to beat the early morning rush hour traffic. And I have no one to blame but myself.
This is all my fault.
I knew I should’ve paid attention to the strange sounds coming from my engine when they first started up twoweeks ago, but I’d pushed the issue to the side in favour of more pressing concerns.
Nan’s leg has been acting up again and I’ve spent the better part of the last few weeks ferrying her back and forth between doctor and physio appointments. On top of that, Leanne’s finished with university for the summer and somehow she managed to convince me to become her personal moving van to help her bring a few things back to her dad’s place.
I quickly learned that we had very different definitions of ‘a few things’ and I ended up doing three trips back and forth with only a vague promise from Leanne to send over some money for petrol at some point.
The past few weeks have been one long series of distractions, and now my car is paying the price. My frustration reaches its peak as I slam my hands onto the steering and take in a deep,deepbreath. Think, Eliott. Think.
What’re my options here?
I could order an Uber? No. Just the thought of how much that return journey would cost is more than enough for me to nix that idea as fast as it came. Ditto for renting a car with such late notice.
I could cancel. Let the couple know what’s happened and refund them their entire fee. No, can’t do that either. Not only is it wildly unprofessional, I’d never be able to live down the guilt of leaving a couple hanging on their wedding day.
What the hell am I supposed to do here?
My mind runs through a million scenarios, but nothing feels right.
Pain sears through my lip as I bite down hard enough to draw blood. I hate being in situations like this. I’m always the one who has it under control. The one who knows exactly what to do and solves everyone else’s problems. I’m not used to feeling so helpless.
‘Tell me what’s going on, and we can figure it out together.’
Dane’s voice rings in my mind as clearly as if he were sitting right next to me, and a thought jumps into my mind.
‘You don’t have to shoulder every burden yourself.’
I shove away the creeping feeling of failure and inadequacy and reach for my phone. I’ve spent so much of my life being the person everyone relies on. Choosing to lean on someone else doesn’t come naturally to me. My fingers stall over Dane’s name as excuses start to flood my mind.
It’s too early and I’m asking for too much. Aren’t I? If this were Sasha or Leanne, or literally anyone else, I’d tell them that it’s perfectly fine to reach out and ask for help. So why is it so different when it comes to me? Why do I feel like such a goddamn burden?
Hasn’t Dane shown me time and time again that he’s someone I can rely on? That he’ll hold my hand when I’m on the brink of a panic attack or spend hours in the kitchen learning how to make my favourite soup when I’m ill? That he’ll be there for me without me even having to ask.
I take a deep breath and silence the self-doubt that lingers in the back of my mind.
Dane answers on the third ring. Just the sight of his yawning face filling my phone screen sets me at ease. I feel myself relax into my seat, the anxiety and stress literally rolling off of me in waves.
He blinks a few times and then concern flits across his face. ‘Are you all right?’
Despite everything, I can’t help but smile. I’ve just woken him up before the sun has even fully risen on a Saturday morning, and the first thing he asks is that.
‘I’m fine,’ I say quickly, trying to temper the worry I can see mounting across his features. ‘I know it’s early, and you were just sleeping. But—’ I pause, nerves suddenly choking in my throat.
Dane sits up, his eyes suddenly more alert now. ‘What’s wrong, baby?’
Baby. These days, I think he calls me that more than he doesEliott. I definitely shouldn’t like it as much as I do.
‘My car’s broken down,’ I tell him. ‘And I’ve got a wedding in a couple of hours and—’
His face disappears from the screen and his next words are muffled by the sound of blankets rustling. ‘Give me twenty minutes. Is that all right?’
