Page 9

STACY

“ C ome on, Phantom. Pick up. Pick up.”

Erica’s voice cuts through the stillness like a blade—sharp, tense, but stubbornly hopeful. So typical of her. She calls Sam by his stupid pet name like it’s going to summon him through sheer willpower.

I wish I could be like her. Hopeful. Unshaken. Capable of turning fear into a joke and throwing it at the dark. But we’ve been unable to get through to Sam, or Raul, or even Nora. No one’s answering and no one’s coming.

Seven calls. Seven voicemails. Seven little failures stacking up like the mist creeping over the ridge ahead.

She shoves her phone into her jeans, staring at the trees that are blocking the road. One massive tree blocks the road ahead—and somehow, it took another down with it. Now we’re trapped between them. She puts her hands on her hips, shakes her head.

“Magic?” I ask, only half-joking, hoping for some witchy miracle.

“I… can’t,” she mutters, shaking her head. Frustration draws her mouth tight. “I don’t know how to use it like that.”

I’m standing close to the mangled barrier staring at the drop. I wrap my arms over my chest like a shield, lifting my gaze to stare at the silhouettes of the mountaintops. The sun is setting, making them look like they are carved from shadow. Jagged and silently watching us.

“Shit,” I mutter.

Coming back to Dawson for the weekend should’ve been enough trouble. But no—this is my life. The universe loves to fuck with me.

“I guess we can walk,” Erica says.

Her voice is flat but edged with something brittle. I whip around, eyes widening and mouth open before I finish moving.

“You can’t be serious.”

She meets my gaze, and for once, there’s no sass in her expression, only exhaustion.

“It’s eight miles to Dawson,” she shrugs. “Last couple are downhill.”

“And the first six are uphill. Winding. Pitch-black,” I shoot back. “It’s too dangerous.”

“It’s going to get cold. Real cold. I don’t know about you, but I don’t feel like freezing my ass off in a Beamer hoping someone comes down this God-forsaken road.”

My gut twists. She’s right, but the thought of trekking that distance in the dark with only our phones for light makes my skin crawl.

“Try Sam again,” I mutter. “Or Raul. Someone has to answer, eventually.”

“I already did. Raul, Nora, Monica, everyone we know and it’s all one big nada.” She sighs and glances away, folding her arms. When she continues her voice is low. “We’re on our own.”

Before I can formulate a response, twin beams of light crest the turn, cutting through the dark.

A deep rumble follows, low and guttural.

I take a step back, squinting through the glare.

The truck is moving fast, barreling toward the final bend in the road.

Whoever that is—if they don’t slow down, they’re going to hit the downed tree.

“Cross your fingers,” Erica says, perking up.

“They’re going to wreck—move back,” I say, grabbing her arm and pulling her back.

The car slows as its headlights bounce off the asphalt. Then I see the truck’s profile—and my stomach drops. No. It can’t be. Sleek metallic gray. Too clean for these roads. Built tall and wide, like it has no concept of subtlety.

“Unbelievable,” I mutter, dragging my palm across my face.

“What?” Erica asks, pulling her arm free now that the vehicle stopped.

“It’s Ray,” I groan.

“No way! Ray?” she exclaims, her face lighting up.

“Chill, will you? He’s the last person I want to see,” I snap.

“Shut up, Red,” she says, stepping forward. “I’ll take anyone who can help.”

Ray pulls up beside us with a gentle scrunch of tires on gravel. The engine growls low before dying and then the door creaks open.

“Evening, ladies,” he says.

Confident, casual. Like this is just a normal Friday night run-in. His heavy boots clop as he walks up. He stops in front of the downed tree. He looks it over like he’s assessing a flat tire.

“Talk about bad luck,” he mutters, peering at Erica’s car with a low whistle. “Oof. Doesn’t look like you’ve got a towbar, huh?”

“No,” Erica says with a sigh. “She’s just a pretty face.”

“All right,” he says, swinging his arms and rolling his head. “Stand back.”

He cracks his knuckles and heads toward the massive tree trunk lying across the asphalt.

“You’re not seriously—” I say.

“Back,” he repeats, shaking his head.

We move without more arguing, stepping out of his way as he crouches and puts his palms against the gnarled roots and splintered bark. This is ridiculous. No one’s that strong. He’s showing off, and there’s no way he’s moving that monster by himself.

With a grunt, he grips the edge of the trunk and pulls. At first, nothing happens. Then, slowly, the dead tree shifts, scraping against the pavement with a horrible groan. Ray leans in, muscles straining beneath the thin stretch of his black t-shirt. Veins pulse like live wires under his skin.

He has his jaw clenched and eyes locked on the log like he’s challenging it to defy him. I stand frozen. Watching in sheer disbelief.

Little by little, he drags the huge tree.

Splinters crack off the base and tumble across the road.

He side-steps, hauling it inch by inch, until at last it’s parallel to the road.

A battle cry tears from his throat as he forces it the last few inches.

Then he collapses against the barrier, his head hitting the cold iron with a dull thud.

“Holy shit,” Erica whispers. “How did he do that?”

I don’t answer. I’m watching him breathe—slow and heavy, his chest rising and falling like he just ran a marathon uphill. My throat is dry and tight.

“Thank you,” I say, louder than I expect, my voice cutting through the thick silence. I step backward instinctively, needing space.

“Oh no, no, no.” Erica’s voice turns sly. She grabs onto my arm holding me in place. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“What?” I ask, unable to take my eyes off of Ray.

“That’s not how you thank a man who just moved a goddamn tree for you.”

“Then you thank him.”

“Nope.” She smirks. “This one’s all yours. It’s the right thing to do—and you know it, Red.”

God I hate it when she’s right.

Rolling my shoulders, I straighten and approach. Ray remains sitting on the ground, sweat glistening on his forehead and soaking into the collar of his shirt. I stop a few feet away, unsure of what I’m going to say until the words tumble out.

“I don’t know how you got here, but… you were very helpful. We’d probably be hiking our way to Dawson if it weren’t for you.”

He looks up, breathing heavily as he meets my eyes. A smirk plays over his lips, not quite forming.

“Want to know the truth?” he asks.

“Sure.”

“Take a seat,” he says, patting the gravel next to him.

I hesitate, then sink down slowly, careful to keep some distance between us.

“I’m all ears, Mr. Crawford. How did you magically show up in the middle of nowhere? Divine intervention?”

“Witch’s intervention,” he says, wiping his brow with the back of his arm. “Helena showed me your problem in her orb. She’s nosy like that.”

I blink. “Helena?”

“Yeah,” he says with a shrug.

He isn’t looking at me, staring across the road. Erica goes to her car and climbs in, giving us some semblance of privacy. Great. Thanks for the backup.

“I’ll have to thank her,” I say, watching him out of the corner of my eye but not looking at him directly. If I do, I’ll do something stupid. Something I’ll regret.

“Look, I’m… I’m sorry,” he says, turning toward me. “For what I did. At the party. I was an ass. No excuses.”

His voice is quieter and edged with something raw. There is a note of vulnerability and regret I’ve never heard from him before. I don’t expect it to sting, but it does.

“I’ll accept your apology if you accept mine,” I say softly, turning to face him. “I shouldn’t have slapped you. You were a jerk, yeah. But I let anger win too, and that’s not fair either.”

“Apology accepted,” he says immediately.

We sit in awkward silence for a beat, then two.

“Would you like to go out… with me?”

The question hangs in the air. Heavy. Raw. Real. I raise an eyebrow.

“Will you act like a grown-up if I say yes?”

“I will. I promise. No more games. I know I screwed up before, but I want to do this right.”

There’s something in his voice that catches me off guard—like he means every syllable. Not just because he wants me, but because he wants to earn me. Something is shifting, not fast or all at once, but shifting.

“I’ll give you your chance,” I murmur. “Pick me up tomorrow night. Eight o’clock. Monica’s place.”

He smiles, hopeful but wary. “Done.”

“I have one condition.”

“Name it.”

“You show up on a bike. Doesn’t matter what kind. Just… a bike.”

He nods slowly, lips curling into a smirk. “I can do that.”

I inch closer and press a kiss to his cheek. His skin is slick with sweat, salty and warm against my lips.

“Thanks again,” I whisper near his ear.

It feels too simple, but there it is.

I walk to Erica’s car with my hands in my jacket pockets, heart pounding harder than I want to admit. The cold air nips at my face, but I barely feel it. It wasn’t the truck. Or the tree. Or even his brute strength.

It was his voice. His honesty. The apology that came without pride or performance.

Owning what he did changes everything. Ray could’ve moved an entire forest and it wouldn’t have meant a damn thing without that. This isn’t about biceps or pickup trucks or even romantic gestures. It’s about respect.

And tonight… he showed me some.