Page 63 of Grease Monkey
“Not my man, just a bed warmer.” She laughs, and I smile. The sound of rustling sheets fills the car as she shifts in bed. “Four months is the longest we’ve ever been apart, babe. I don’t know if I can handle it.”
“I know, me neither.”
“Oh, oh,” she squeals through the sound of things dropping to her floor as if she jumped up in excitement. “I can come to visit. Check out the hot Phoenix boys… what the bars and restaurants have to offer... My followers would fucking love it.”
She speaks loud and fast, planning a trip to a state I’ve not yet set foot in, when a loud pop echoes through the car, then a quiettick-tick-tick,then ahissas it begins to slow down.
Shit.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Morgana
“What was that?”
Shay’s voice barely registers as my eyes dart up to the inside mirror, checking around the darkened road, then out the front again.
Please say I didn’t hit anything. Please say I didn’t hit anything. Please say I didn’t hit anything.
There’s nothing. Just quietness, desolate and eerie.
“Shit, Shay, I need to go,” I say, tugging hard on the wheel. The loss of assisted steering makes it nearly impossible to veer off onto the shoulder, out of the way of anyone driving this late. And when smoke starts to billow from under the hood, terror spears its claws deep into me as quickly as I hang up, cutting off Shay shouting my name. Unbuckling my belt, I grab my phone from the center console and dash from the car. My hands shake, my cell in a vice grip as I back away on unsteady legs from the white plumes rising from the vehicle.
Oh God, what if it catches fire?
Fumbling, I unlock the phone and google the nearest 24-hour mechanic, clicking on the first one that appears without even reading the name. I wait, biting my thumbnail, urging whoever is on the other end to answer their goddamned phone. Finally, a gruff voice of an older man answers, barely managing to say hello as I barrel ahead.
“Is this the on-call mechanic?” I blurt, my tongue feeling so thick that I stumble over my words. “I need your help, please. Something is wrong with my car.”
“Okay, ma’am, I’m gonna need you to slow down and take a breath.” I do as he says. “Okay, good. Now tell me, what’s up with your car?”
“I think it’s about to catch on fire. There was a bang, the car slowed, smoke and—” I rush again, barely pausing for air.
“Ma’am? Ma’am?” His voice is loud and steely as he demands my attention. I squeeze my eyes tightly together and force another calming breath while my racing heart gallops ahead. “Tell me where you are.”
Shoot. I have no idea.
Opening my eyes, I glance around, seeing a neon sign above some trees flashing bright blue off in the distance. The relief is palpable as my legs begin to wobble.
“I’m not sure, exactly. I passed a sign not far back for Phoenix, and I can see a sign for Buddy’s Diner.”
“Buddy’s? Oh, what are the chances? That’s where I am right now.” I hear the jingle of keys and a muffled“thanks, Roseann,”and then he’s back on the line. “Stay where you are. I’ll be there in five. Can you put your hazards on so I can see you?”
I take a hesitant step toward my car. “The car isn’t going to go up in flames or anything, right?”
He chuckles. “No, ma’am. Sounds to me like a blown cylinder head. The coolant leaked, seized up your engine, and created steam. It’s safe to go back into the car and collect your stuff.”
“Are you sure?”
“Can’t be sure without looking under the hood, but it’s safe enough for you to go inside.”
“Thank you,” I breathe, my shoulders sagging a little.
“No problem.” The slam of a truck door and the rumble of an engine fill my ears. “If it makes you feel safer, you can stand away from the car. But stay in the headlights, don’t want to be running you over. I’ll be there soon.”
He disconnects our call, and I quickly return to the car, leaning over the driver’s side and tapping on the hazard lights. Pulling the phone charger lead from the USB port, I stuff it into my purse, swiftly ducking around to the trunk to start removing my suitcases. As I set the last one on the dirt, a white and blue tow truck pulls up alongside me. The man I assume I spoke to on the phone hops out of the cab, and I feel foolish for thinking he would have been old. Flipping down the hood to his sweater, the man—only slightly older than me—walks toward my car, eyeing me and then my luggage.
“I meant you could grab your purse or whatever. Not everything you own.” He laughs, itching the thin layer of hair on his jaw. Thank goodness for the night sky masking my embarrassment as I, too, look at my four large suitcases standing side by side. “Moving or visiting?”
