Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Josie and Raff left a week ago. Miles left two weeks ago.
Miles.
The thought of him slides through me like warmth, like a hand at my lower back guiding me forward. We’ve been talking. Texting. Calling. Small pieces of our days traded back and forth like we’re building something out of fragments. It doesn’t fix the distance.
But it makes things more bearable.
I hit the unlock button on my key fob. My headlights blink. I walk closer, already fishing my keys out of my pocket. That’s when I see it.
My front tire is slumped. Not low. Not maybe I can drive until it warms up and expands. No, there right in front of my face, the tire was toast.
Completely flat.
My stomach drops.
I step closer, heart thumping harder now, and shine my phone light down at it as if it might change the visual in front of me. The rubber looks wrong, collapsed, like it’s given up. I move around to the passenger side, something inside me said to check it too.
A sharp, cold spike of adrenaline cuts through my exhaustion.
Two flat tires.
Not one. Two.
I stand there for a second, just staring, trying to make my brain compute it.
How? I drove here. I parked. Everything was fine.
Two.
My skin prickles. I turn slowly, scanning the lot like I’m going to see the answer standing under a lamp post.
There’s nobody close. A car pulls out near the far entrance. A nurse I don’t know crosses between buildings, head down, phone pressed to her ear. The rest is quiet.
Too quiet.
I swallow and make myself breathe. Okay. Okay, Danae. Think. I could call roadside assistance, but that’s a coin flip this time of the day on how long I will have to wait. I could call a tow company, but I’m already calculating money in my head like it’s a triage chart, what’s urgent, what can wait, and what will break the bank. Taking the time off when Josie had Journey I depleted my savings. While I still have some, I never know what may pop up for Papa. I pay out of pocket for home health care since his insurance only covers a small portion of the time needed. Obviously, I have to do something even if it means putting the cost on a credit card.
Before I could make the call, my phone vibrates in my hand.
Miles. Of course it’s Miles. Like the universe has a sick sense of timing and also, somehow, mercy.
I answer fast. “Hey.”
His voice comes through like gravel and warmth. “Hey, sweetheart. You off?”
“Yes,” I say, and the word comes out shaky.
“Danae.” His tone shifts instantly. “What’s wrong?”
I blink hard and try not to let the fear sound too loud. “It’s stupid. Just been a long shift. I went to my car and to head home. I’m gonna be a little late getting to Papa. I have two flat tires.”
There’s a beat of silence. Not because he doesn’t believe me. Because he’s already thinking.
“Two?” he repeats, low.
“Yes.”
“Where are you right now?”
“Hospital parking lot.”
“Are you alone?”
I look around again. “Yes.”
“You stay right there.” His voice is calm in a way that makes my chest loosen a fraction. “Listen to me. You go back inside the hospital. Sit where there are people. I’ll have someone to you within thirty minutes.”
My mouth opens. “Miles, you’re— you’re in North Carolina.”
“I know where the hell I am,” he says, and there’s something fierce under it. “I got people. You go inside and wait. Let your man be a man and trust I will get this handled.”
The way he says it—like it’s not a suggestion, like it’s the only safe answer—makes me want to cry. No one has ever protected me so fiercely.
Okay. This is ridiculous. I’m a grown woman. I handle life and death every night. But right now, in an empty parking lot with two flat tires, my hands cold around my phone, I don’t feel grown. I feel small. I feel fragile.
“I’m going inside,” I reply quietly. Part of me wants to stop all of this and tell him I’ll take care of myself. The other part of me, the woman wanting a protector and a partner is grateful for the man on the other end of the phone that sees my problem and takes over.
“Good.” I can hear him exhale, like he’s been holding his breath since I said two. “Tell me when you’re inside.”
“I will.”
I start walking back toward the entrance, keys clenched between my fingers like a weapon, phone pressed tight to my ear. I’m almost to the sidewalk when the door opens behind me.
“Danae.”
My spine goes rigid. I don’t need to turn to know that voice. Dr. Reeves. I make myself pivot slowly, like if I move too fast something worse will happen. He steps out into my space, white coat thrown over his arm like he’s just finishing up, like this is normal, like he belongs out here with me.