Page 5 of Kings Don't Break

I'm not so lucky. The truck tailing me knocks into me from behind like a bad game of bumper cars. I shriek, jerking forward against my seat belt, my grip tight on my wheel.

No, no, no! Not today! Not right now!

The shock takes several seconds to wear off. I've been rear-ended. On the worst possible day ever. This would happen to me.

I heave a sigh and go to unlock my car door. We need to assess the damage and exchange information. I've barely set a foot on the ground when the truck revs its engine and then speeds off, cutting around me on the shoulder of the road to make it onto the highway.

"Wait!" I scream, my jaw agape. "You can't take off! You hit me! COME BACK!"

But, as he speeds off down the highway, it's clear he has no intention of doing so. He's long gone, whoever he is.

"Unbelievable!" I growl, kicking dirt. Other cars drift by, some passengers nosily sticking their heads out the window to ogle the damage on my rear bumper. I glare at them, a second away from telling them to fuck off.

Thirty-eight minutes left...

Unsure what direction to even go in, I return to my driver's seat and pull out my phone. Ken's voice mail answers me. At the beep, I inhale a deep breath and launch into an explanation.

"Hey, Ken, it's me," I say tensely. "Nothing to worry about. But... someone hit my car. A hit-and-run. I didn't even get his plate number. I'm going to call the insurance and take it to the shop tomorrow if you’ll let me. I didn't involve the police either. I... I knew you wouldn't like that. Again, nothing to worry about. Please don't stress over it. I'll make sure everything's still perfect for tonight. I love you."

The recording cuts me off at the minute mark, ending the call on its own.

I release the breath I've been holding in, cursing my luck again, before I go to turn the key. The engine gives a pitiful whine that lasts a few seconds and then dies out completely.

"No," I whisper. "No ’effing way! NO!"

There's no way my engine would die like this. Not right now. Not when I'm already behind on what's such an important night for Ken…

Thirty-one minutes...

I should've known an old beater like this was on its last leg. I'd have fixed it myself if I weren't forbidden from doing so. The least that could've been allowed was taking it to a shop.

But that suggestion, too, was frowned upon. Mechanics are too friendly and friendly leads to trouble...

Despite my lack of tools, I pop the hood and take a look. There was a time in the past where I used to keep a secret stash of tools in a makeup pouch tucked away in the bottom compartment of my driver's side door. Those were deemed to be trouble too when they were found out.

A wary sigh leaves me eyeing my dead car engine. I'm not even sure it's salvageable, which would mean my only sense of freedom, my wheels, will be gone. For how long, I'm not sure.

But the thought of going an indeterminate amount of time without my own mode of transportation makes my heart shrivel up.

Twenty-seven damn minutes…

There's no way I'll finish in time. No way I'll make it home and get started on dinner in time with the set schedule.

Panic infects me so that I feel breathless and clammy. I half consider flagging down one of the many cars zipping by just to see if they'll help me. Even just provide the tools. I can do the rest myself.

Really, I'd like to hitchhike the hell out of here. Get as far away from our new home in Pulsboro as possible. I would if I didn't have Mama to think about.

"What the hell am I going to do?" I groan out loud, staring around at the dreary November landscape.

The thunder of an engine answers me. I look up from my own dead car engine and my heart leaps in my chest at what I see barreling toward me.

Going way too fast for a highway on-ramp, clutching the buckhorn handlebars of his Harley Davidson FXDB Street Bob, his golden brown hair rippling in the wind, is none other than Blake Cash.

Otherwise known not just as my first love but my ex-best friend.

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