“Pick up, pick up, pick up…”
The phone rang once. Twice. Three times, and I was about two seconds away from throwing my phone out the window and into the cornfield stretching endlessly on both sides of this dark ass road.
Four rings.
“Come on, Kade, I swear to God…”
Five rings.
I pressed my forehead to the steering wheel and the scent of something burning hit me.
“Yo.” Kade’s voice came through the speaker, smooth and unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world. Relief hit me so hard I could’ve cried.
“Oh, thank God. Kade, I need you to…”
“I ain’t available right now, so…”
“Are youkiddingme right now?” I shouted at his voicemail, which was rude as hell considering I needed him, but also, fuck his life. “Kade, my fucking car died. Like, fully died this time. I’m in the middle of nowhere heading to the cabin, and I’m pretty sure I just saw a fucking scarecrow move. So if you could call me back before I become a horror movie statistic, that would be great.”
I hung up and watched fat raindrops splatter against the windshield. Of course, it was going to rain. Why have car trouble on a sunny day? Instead: gray clouds, the smell of burning car parts, and a phone at 12% battery.
I tried calling Kade again.
One ring. Two rings. Three…
“Storm, what’s good?”
“What’s good? What’sgood?!" I could hear the edge of hysteria creeping into my voice, but I was beyond caring. “My car isdead, Kade. Dead dead. I’m on Route 47, somewhere between civilization and that creepy gas station with raccoons for pets, and itjuststarted raining!”
There was a pause, and I could practically see him: packing last-minute shit in his duffle bag with that infuriatingly calm expression on his face. He was probably wearing a pair of gray joggers that should’ve been illegal. Not that I noticed shit like that…
“A’ight, calm down. You hurt?”
The genuine concern in Kade’s voice made something warm unfurl in my chest, which was annoying because I was trying to be mad at him for not answering the first time. “No, I’m fine. Just stranded and quickly losing my mind.”
“Your ass never got AAA.”
“Kade, please… not now!”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know, I’m not a mechanic. It started making this weird noise, then there was smoke, then it just... stopped. Like it gave up on life.”
“Smoke from where?”
“The front? The hood? I don’t know... the part where the engine lives!” He laughed, low and quiet, making my stomach flip.
Six years of late-night food runs, playlists, and Kade talking me out of bad decisions. Six years of knowing his Chipotle order and which jokes would make him smile. Six years pretending not to notice his large hands, his voice late at night, or that he was probably the finest man I’d ever met.
Kade kept judging me about AAA, just like he always did. As I stared out into the cornfields, memory blindsided me, dragging me back to when we first met: moving into my first apartment. I was struggling up the stairs with two overstuffed grocery bags in one hand and a box markedkitchen shitin the other–real professional labeling, I know–when I nearly collided with him coming down.
“Whoa, shit! I’m sor–”
He was tall, so I had to look up at him as we almost collided. Instead of feeling nervous, I thought about dropping my groceries all over the stairwell. He had deep brown skin, big, brown eyes, a sharp jaw, a scar above his left eyebrow, tattoos, and wore a black tee and jeans. Fresh from the shower smelling like soap and cologne. I snapped out of it when his deep voice cut in.
“Yo, let me grab that,” he said, not asking, just taking the box from my hands. I noticed that even parts of his hand had tattoos.
“Oh, I got it. Just…” I started, but he was already looking at the bags hanging from my arm with an expression that said he thought I was fucking insane.