Page 5 of Welded Defender
“Fuck!” I scream, slamming my fists on the steering wheel. “Stupid. Fucking. Car.” I slam my fists harder with each screamed word. “Stupid. Fucking. Life!”
It feels like an eternity ago when I had a life I was proud of. I had friends and family and a career. But now? Now thanks to him, I’m a twenty-six year old woman with nothing to show for it.
I sag back in my seat, hands dropping to my sides. It's just a car, just a machine, but right now, it's just one more thing that’s slipping through my fingers. One more loss on top of a million others. One more thing being stolen from me.
I need to calm down. I need to get a grip on this situation before things inevitably get worse. Closing my eyes, I pinch the skin between my thumb and forefinger until it pools with a single bead of blood. Faded crescent moons are already scarred into the skin there. Shitty coping mechanism, but one I’ve had for a while now. My breaths slow and I’m finally composed enough to reach for my phone—only ten percent charged, of course. I open a web browser and praise the universe when I find there are two bars of signal. Service has been spotty in these mountains, but right now I’ll take what I can get. I search for the closest mechanic and dial the number. The ringtone echoes in my ear as I silently hope they haven’t closed early.
"Five Brothers Mechanics, how may I help you?” A voice answers abruptly. A man’s voice. He sounds out of breath, like he heard the phone and ran back inside to answer it.
"Hi, um, my car broke down on Rock Creek road…” I hesitate. “I—I need some help.”
“Sure thing. Do you know approximately where you are on Rock Creek?” the man asks.
I glance out the windshield and shake my head. Everything is too dark and snowy to tell what landmarks might be near me. “I’m sorry. I—I don’t know exactly where. I passed through Black Pines about thirty minutes ago. Does that help?”
“It helps enough. What’s the make and model of your car?”
I ramble off the information he needs along with my licence plate number.
“And what’s the name?”
“Marcy Lewis.”
“Did you say Marcy?” the man asks. There’s an edge to his voice that wasn’t there before.
“Um… yes?” I hesitate. “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing at all miss. A tow truck will be there in twenty minutes.”
“Okay, thank you,” I reply, feeling a flicker of relief. I hang up and lean back in my seat, my heart still racing. Twenty minutes. I can survive for twenty minutes… I hope.
The mountains loom around me, their jagged peaks barely visible through the falling snow. The stillness presses in, thick and suffocating. I scan the road for headlights, praying for them to appear, while fearing that they will at the same time.Please, just let the mechanic come first and not Brett.I don’t know what I’ll do if he comes first. Not when I’m out here alone in the middle of the mountains with ten percent of battery on my phone.
“Just breathe,” I whisper. I force myself to take slow breaths, counting each inhale and exhale, trying to anchor my racing thoughts.
Fourteen and a half minutes later a set of headlights come up behind me. My throat tightens as they get closer, a lump forming in my chest with each passing second. The headlights bounce off my windshield before narrowing into the shape of a tow truck and the lump eases.
The truck pulls to a stop in front of me, its engine rumbling. The driver steps out, a tall imposing figure wrapped in layers against the cold, his silhouette framed by the beam of his headlights. I can’t make out his face yet, but there’s something about the way he moves—confident and steady—that nudges at my frayed nerves. It’s not Brett. I know that much. This man is larger and much taller.
I roll down the window, as he approaches, the light catches the glint of walnut brown hair and a bearded face.
I gasp. How? I push open my door and stumble out of the car.
“Everything alright, sweetheart?” he asks, his green eyes meeting mine.
“Landon?” His name rushes out of me as he approaches. “What—I mean…how?”
“I heard the call come in the shop and thought maybe you could use a friendly face instead of a stranger.” His gloved hands reach for mine but I jerk back. He stops, holding his hands up like I’m a wounded animal he’s trying not to spook. Maybe I am. “Are you okay?”
I blink against the falling snow and shake my head. Tears prick my eyes and I duck my head as I try to blink them away.It’s just a coincidence, he’s just doing his job. Not every man is Brett.
“Marcy?” he asks again, his voice cutting through the frigid air, filled with that same steadiness that calmed me at the bar.He yanks off his gloves and closes the distance between us. “Hey, hey. What are the tears for?” He raises a hand, slowly, carefully, making sure I see it before he cups my cheek. His thumb rubs away a stray tear as he leans towards me. “You’re okay, baby. No one is going to hurt you, okay?”
Baby. The way he speaks to me—touches me, it feels like I’ve known him forever. And that’s terrifying.
I step out of his grasp and clear my throat. “I’m fine, just overwhelmed. My car just ran out of gas or something.” I shake my head. “I don’t understand it though. I filled my tank earlier. It shouldn’t be empty yet.”
Landon hesitates, like he wants to touch me again but he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls his gloves back on and nods to my car. “Mind if I give it a try?”
