Page 7

7

Matt tried going to sleep, but ever since his visit with Buck the other evening, he couldn’t shut his mind off from one thought on repeat.

Rachel was back.

Rachel. His friend Rachel. Not his girlfriend Rachel. Nope. Because Matt had never worked up the courage to ask if she’d mind placing that one little word— girl —in front of their friendship.

Hey guys, this is Rachel. My girlfriend.

How many times had he dreamed of saying that? A hundred? A thousand? Didn’t matter he never exactly figured out who he was saying that sentence to in a town where everybody already knew everybody.

But it was the same dream Matt fell asleep to throughout all of high school. Until the night of their senior prom. The night when everything had gone wrong, and Matt realized it was time to stop dreaming.

But now she was back. Maybe the dream wasn’t dead. Maybe their friendship could finally develop into something more.

Or maybe he should cool his jets and make sure the friend aspect was still in play first, considering they hadn’t spoken directly in five years other than texting the occasional GIF or meme to each other. Last thing he wanted to do was make a fool of himself the first time he saw her by assuming they could pick up right where they’d left off.

Somewhere in his thinking and dreaming, he must’ve finally fallen asleep. Because now a ringing sound was waking him up.

He snatched his phone from next to his pillow, praying it wasn’t a call about his grandpa—the only reason he kept his phone so close to his head every night.

He squinted one eye open at the caller ID. Wombat? Why on earth would he be calling at quarter to one in the morning?

“Hello?” Matt answered.

“Hey, I’m out on Route 20. Rachel hit a deer on the curve. She’s dead. You want the meat?”

Matt, only half awake before, sat straight up. “What?”

“You want the meat?”

“No.” Obviously Matt wasn’t asking about the meat. He was asking about—

“Okay, bye.”

“Hey, no. Wombat?” Did Wombat seriously just hang up on him? Matt glared at the screen. He seriously just hung up on him. What was wrong with that guy?

Matt dialed Wombat back. No answer. He tried again. No answer. A text came through before Matt could tap the call button again. Can’t take

Matt stared at the screen, trying to make sense of it. “Can’t take? Can’t take what?”

Another text pinged. *talk

“You can’t talk, but you have time to correct your autocorrect words?” Matt muttered as he texted Wombat back. Is Rachel ok?

He waited for a response. Preferably something along the lines of a yep or thumbs-up emoji.

When nothing appeared after several seconds, not even three little dots to let him know Wombat was typing, he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

Surely Rachel was fine. Wombat had to have been talking about the deer. But why did he mention Route 20 on the curve? The curve everyone thought of as Dead Man’s Curve because of its long history of fatalities. Who had died on that curve tonight?

Better have been Bambi.

Matt jumped from bed, reaching for the lamp on his bedside table. He needed light. And pants. He knocked over the lamp, so he moved on to the pants. Grabbed the first pair he tripped over next to his bed. Shoved on his running shoes. Snatched his truck keys from the kitchen table. Ran out the door.

At the edge of town, he realized he’d forgotten to put on a shirt. Twelve miles outside of town, he realized he’d forgotten to put on the pants. They were still clutched in his right hand against the steering wheel.

But apparently he’d also forgotten his plan to play it cool the first time he saw Rachel. Because another mile later, the moment he saw her standing on the side of the road and recognized her wild dark curls, he couldn’t get out of his truck fast enough.

“Rachel!” he shouted, nearly forgetting to put his truck in park.

She shielded her eyes from the flashing yellow lights of Wombat’s tow truck gathering her mangled car. “Matt?”

“You’re alive.” Matt slammed into her, wrapping both arms around her. “You’re alive, I’m so glad you’re alive.”

“Thank you,” she said, stumbling a step back to keep them both on their feet. “And I’m glad you’re, um...” Her soft hands patted up and down the bare skin of his back. “Very scantily clad?”

“Yeah dude, where’s your clothes?” Wombat sauntered over and gave a fleshy smack to Matt’s shoulder.

“Where’s my clothes? How about where’s your phone?” Matt dropped his arms from Rachel, so he could punch Wombat’s shoulder. “You can’t just tell me Rachel’s dead, then refuse to answer my calls.”

“You told Matt I was dead?” Rachel punched Wombat’s other shoulder.

“I said the deer was dead,” Wombat said, smacking the back of his hands against Rachel’s and Matt’s arms.

“No, you said She’s dead .” Matt punched Wombat again, this time with a lot more oomph as he relived the panic those two words had brought him.

“Well, she’s a she, ain’t she?” Wombat pointed to the shadowed form of a deer on the side of the road.

“So is she ,” Matt yelled, waving at Rachel before landing another punch on Wombat’s upper arm.

“Hey,” Wombat said, lifting his hands to block further punches. “Do you really want to get into a debate with me right now when you’re the one standing out here in your underwear?”

“He makes a good point.” Rachel’s shoulders hunched as she dug her hands into the pockets of her puffy jacket. “You couldn’t have taken five seconds to at least put on some pants?”

Matt hadn’t noticed how cold the October night was until this moment. Or how naked he felt. Goose pimples rippled over his skin as he spun for his truck. “I thought you might be dead,” he said over his shoulder. “So no. Forgive me for not taking five seconds to put on my pants.”

He yanked his jeans from where he’d dropped them on the driver’s seat, slammed the door shut, then began shoving one leg inside before realizing he still had his shoes on. This endeavor was obviously going to take longer than five seconds.

“Honestly, that’s kind of sweet,” Rachel said as he toed off one of his shoes.

“It is kind of sweet.” Wombat, apparently immune to the cold in his short-sleeved T-shirt, looped his thumbs behind his suspenders. “Would you not put on pants for me if you thought I was dead?”

Matt threw his shoe at Wombat.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Well, since you’re so sweet, you mind giving Rachel a ride?” He handed Matt’s shoe off to Rachel and motioned to his tow truck, the lights still flashing yellow. “I’ll handle all this and get a hold of you later, okay?”

“Thanks, Wombat. Anybody mention you’re kind of sweet too?” Rachel called after him as he walked away. He waved in reply.

“You know what would’ve been sweet?” Matt began hopping on one foot as he attempted to get his other foot in the pants leg. “A five-second text to let me know you were moving back to town.”

“I was going to text you. Eventually.”

“When? After you were dead?”

“Immediately after. Promise.”

“Well, I reckon that makes about as much sense as driving around Dead Man’s Curve in the middle of the night. What were you doing out here? Are you crazy?”

“Says the man who still doesn’t have his pants on.”

“I’m working on it, okay?” Still hopping, Matt finally managed to jam both legs into his jeans. Jeez Louise, no wonder Aunt Gracie said she was giving up on wearing pants. He could hardly do it with two good legs and an intact pelvis.

Rachel handed back his shoe. “Look, I’m sorry. I seriously was going to text you. Things just... well, sort of fell apart in Florida. This whole coming back here happened kind of fast. Life’s been a little crazy lately. I mean, obviously, it’s settling down now,” Rachel said, waving her hands at the smashed-in car now getting towed away by Wombat.

“What happened in Florida?”

He heard the fatigue in her sigh. “Nothing I want to get into tonight.”

Fair enough. Matt worked his shoes back on and folded his arms over his chest, wishing again he’d brought a shirt. Or jacket. Maybe a parka. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, he was starting to shiver.

“I’m just glad you’re okay.” He’d find out what happened in Florida later. “Think your car will be salvageable?” he asked, hoping to distract her from the fact he was having his first face-to-face conversation with her in over five years completely shirtless after hopping around in a pair of Hello Kitty boxer shorts that he’d received as a gag gift last Christmas.

Hopefully she’d failed to notice that last bit in the dark.

“Hard to tell in the dark.” Oh good. She hadn’t noticed. Wait, no. She was talking about her car.

“To be honest,” she continued, “the car wasn’t in great shape to begin with. I’ll probably need a new fender. New headlights. New windshield. New windshield wipers. New gas tank.”

“Are you just naming car parts?” He breathed on his clasped hands, trying to warm them.

“New engine. New radio.”

“Okay.” Matt grabbed her by the elbow and guided her to the passenger’s side door of his truck. “How about we continue this conversation somewhere a little warmer?”

“New seat belt. New coat hanger-hooky thing.”

He opened the door for her. “If nothing else, I’m sure your insurance will cover the coat hanger-hooky thing.”

She climbed into the seat. “But will it cover a rental car? Because otherwise I have no idea how I’m supposed to make it to my next shift.”

“When is it?”

“Monday afternoon.”

Matt lifted a finger, motioning they’d continue this conversation in a moment. He closed her door, then jogged around to the driver’s side.

“I might just happen to know a guy who’d be willing to give you a lift to the hospital, considering he goes out that way every day anyway to visit his grandpa,” Matt said as soon as he climbed in and started cranking up the heat.

“Yeah?” She tugged her seat belt into place. “Does this happen to be the same guy who runs around half naked at night in pink Hello Kitty underpants?”

Matt shot her a glance. “So you did notice that.”

“I absolutely noticed that.”

“Can we at least call them boxers and not underpants?”

“Because that somehow makes it more manly?”

“And possibly even admirable.”

Rachel’s laugh came out as a snort, and Matt couldn’t hold back a grin. No doubt about it. His friend was back.

For now, a little voice whispered in the back of his mind. She may pick up and leave as quickly as she did the last time. Hadn’t Buck mentioned something about her position only being temporary? And what exactly did she mean that things had fallen apart for her in Florida?

There was a lot about Rachel that Matt didn’t know, including her plans for the future.

But for now, she was back.

And if he ever hoped to turn their friendship into something more, picking up right where they’d left off was the perfect place to start.