by Tracey Ward
I can see the lake in the moonlight. It’s huge. Five miles wide, but it feels larger. Probably because it is so imminent. The truck skids toward the edge perilously. We’re going in on my side. We’ll roll and I’ll look out the window and I’ll see the lake like I’m looking up at the sky. It will be cold as death. My breath catches in my chest at the thought, my fingers already tingling painfully in preparation for the agony of the icy depths racing toward me.
Suddenly, the truck jerks again. Another tree redirecting us violently. It spins the front around until it hits something else. There’s a terrible crunch. We’re wedged on something, the nose of the truck pointed up at the horizon. Our last remaining headlight shines into heaven, calling to God for help.
He’s not listening.
I can’t move. My hands are practically embedded in the dashboard. They ache with exertion, pounding to the wild beat of my heart that I can feel in my right temple as well. It’s where I hit my head. I’ll have a bruise for sure. I might have a concussion.
“Are you okay?” Kyle whispers breathlessly. His voice sounds hoarse. Maybe he was shouting after all.
“Yeah,” I squeak out. “I think so.”
He nods slowly. His eyes are sharp in the light from the dash as he scans our surroundings. Everything is black and white. Even inside the truck, it feels like we’re both so pale we’re monochromatic.
I lick my lips. They taste like copper. “Kyle, what do we do? Do we get out? Will we fall?”
“I don’t know,” he answers quickly, his voice hushed. “I can’t tell what’s solid ground and what’s snow pile. We’re for sure hanging over the edge a little on one side.”
“On my side.”
“Yeah,” he agrees grimly. “On your side.”
Tears burn hot against my eyes. “If you get out, will—”
“I’m not doing that,” he says sternly. His face is harsh in the dim light. It’s cut at sharp angles full of worry and fear. I’ve never seen him look like that before. Kyle is always so sure of everything. His dread sends a stone to the bottom of my stomach. “I’m not getting out without you.”
“We don’t know what we’re balancing on. What if it’s an old, dead stump? It could crumble. If we just sit here, we might go over anyway.”
“Maybe.”
“So . . .” I take a steeling breath. I have to force my eyes away from the window looking out over the cliff. There’s no ground in sight. I’m hovering over the lake. Dangling by a thread. “What do we do?” I whisper again.
“We should call for help.”
“We should get out,” I tell him, making the decision for both of us. My heart is screaming in my chest at the thought of moving but it has to be done. We can’t sit here all night hoping someone will get to us in time.
“If a tow truck came out, they could hook up to us and pull us back.”
“Cell phones don’t work out here. We won’t get anyone on the phone and they’d take too long to get to us anyway.” I look at him with tears on my cheeks and my heart in my throat. “We have to save ourselves, Kyle.”
His eyes meet mine, full of regret and apology. “I’m worried if I get out it’s going to tip the truck and dump you into the lake,” he tells me with painful honesty.
I nod shakily. “Me too.”
“Climb over me. Get out first.”
“It’ll jostle the truck too much. We have to go one at a time.”
“We’ll go together,” he counters firmly. His fingers flex, releasing the steering wheel slowly. “I’ll open the door, then you slowly climb over into my lap. We’ll roll out together. That way if the truck goes in with the weight shift, we’ll get out together.”
My throat constricts tightly. “Or we’ll die together.”
Kyle reaches for my hand. He does it slowly, being careful not to turn too much of his body. His hand is large and hot against my cool skin. He squeezes hard. “We’ll get out together,” he repeats.
I believe him because in that moment he sounds like him. He looks like him. He’s sure. He’s promising me what he can’t promise, but I believe him. I trust him.
I blink away my tears, nodding solidly. “Okay. Together.”
As Kyle opens the door, a rush of bitter air invades the cab. I’m shivering violently as I unbuckle my seatbelt. I let the strap fall away, feeling oddly vulnerable without it. As though it could save me now.
“Go slow,” Kyle cautions. He squeezes my hand one more time before letting go. “Take your time. Try to lean all of your weight toward me.”
Slowly, more slowly than I’ve ever done anything in my life, I curl my legs up under my body. I’m careful to lean toward him. I angle myself away from the cliff as I sit up on my knees on the seat. My upper body is over the center console. I lift one leg to kneel on it. I take one step away from death.
Somewhere in the underside of the truck, metal groans mournfully.
I freeze, my body stiff as a board. My breathing is helplessly erratic. It matches the wild beat of my heart.
“You’re doing great,” Kyle whispers encouragingly. His hand takes hold of my shoulder, pulling me toward him. “Nice and slow. It’s okay. We’re shifting but it’s in the right direction.”
I look down at him from my perch on the console. I have one hand braced on the steering wheel, the other on his shoulder, and my entire life inside his eyes. They’re staring up at me with that moss green-brown color that I love so much, and I think it’s the first color I’ve seen since the deer. It’s so stunning I want to cry.
I know as I look at him that I love him. I’ve never said it and maybe I’ll never get the chance, but I feel it as sure as I feel his hands holding me steady.
I slide forward until I can put my knee on the outside of Kyle’s seat. The truck moans as my weight shifts. Without speaking a word, Kyle and I barrel ahead. He pulls me against him until I’m wrapped up in his arms, held hard against his chest, and he rolls us out the door onto the cold, wet ground. We fall into at least eight inches of snow that slices at my skin like razor blades. I land on top of Kyle, my eyes closed tight.
Behind me is silence. No crash. No groans. Just the soft hoot of an owl in the forest and the blood rushing in my ears like an ocean.
Kyle hugs me hard. I can feel his chest rising and falling rapidly under me. He mumbles something into my hair that I can’t hear.
I lift my head, blinking down at him. “Did I hurt you?”
“I almost killed you,” he moans, his face panicked. Everything solid that I saw in him was a lie. A thin veneer that’s been washed away to reveal the horror living inside him. “I almost killed you.”
“It was an accident. It wasn’t—”
He kisses me. It’s the last thing I expect, but once his lips touch mine, I lose all sense of the world. I melt into him, against him, and I forget the cold. I forget the pain in my head and my fingers. I forget that we’re banked in snow in the middle of the woods with a crashed car and no way of contacting anyone to come save us. I breathe with him, I feel alive with him, and I don’t complain when his hands find their way up under the back of my jacket. My shirt. They find my skin, expose it to the frigid air, and warm it again with their strength. I want him to touch more of me. All of me. I want to see all of him because I love him. I love everything about him. Everything inside and out. The feeling hits me like a freight train. It sends me over an edge I didn’t see coming, plummeting me deeper and darker than the depths of the lake ever could have.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he chants softly against my mouth. His hands tangle in my hair, trying to push it away from my face and pull me closer at the same time. “I’m sorry.”
“Stop. Kyle, please, stop. It’s alright. We’re alright.”
Kyle is not alright. He’s freaking out. He’s shivering under me, and I know I have to get him moving. He’s in shock. I have to get him out of this snowbank, onto the road, and walking. It’s the only way we’ll get to a place with cell service so w
e can be saved. Otherwise, we’re going to freeze to death.
I take his hands in mine, pulling them from my hair. “Come on. We have to move. We’re not safe yet.”
He nods in agreement. Or he shudders, I can’t tell which. But he stands with me. “Put your hands in your pockets or inside your shirt,” he tells me mechanically. “They’re cold. You’re going to get frostbite.”
We trudge together toward the road. It gets scary dark as we step into the cover of the trees. Branches crack and pop softly above us, stressed by the weight of the snow. Logs and rocks trip us from under the powder. The legs of my jeans are soaked and freezing over halfway up my shins by the time we reach the road.
It’s going to be a long walk. An even longer night.
But the good news is, we’re alive. We survived it.
Despite his best efforts, Kyle Rixton has failed to kill me for the second time.
chapter thirteen
Kyle’s mom didn’t like me before the accident.
She hates me after it.
Even though I wasn’t driving, she never seems to forgive me for being there with Kyle that night. If he hadn’t met me, maybe he wouldn’t have gone to that party. Or if he had, he might have spent the night at the cabin instead of trying to drive home so late. It’s my fault he left. It’s my fault he hit the brakes. It’s my fault we hit the tree, and the boulder, and high-centered his truck over it. It’s my fault we walked two hours to find cell service. That we spent the night in the hospital and he had to have stitches on a gash on his shoulder that he didn’t tell me about. It’s my fault I got a concussion and a black eye, just like I knew I would.
I almost killed her baby.
She’ll never forgive me for that.
My mom and dad didn’t hold a grudge. They were just grateful we were alive. I think they loved Kyle even more after hearing how he pulled me out with him, refusing to get out first and leave me behind. In their eyes, he’s not the villain. He’s the hero.
He’s also not allowed to drive me anywhere for the rest of the winter.
“He’s new to the snow,” Dad explains heavily. His hands are braced on the sides of the table in the garage, his shoulders high. “If he had more experience with it, he might not have braked like that.”
“Anybody might have done that.”
Dad raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Would you have?”
“No,” I admit, slouching in instant defeat. “Of course not.”
“Because you’ve been driving in it your whole life. Either riding with your mom and me or driving yourself. You’re more experienced. I know it might not be cool to Kyle, but if you guys want to go anywhere together while there’s snow on the ground, you’re driving. It’ll be safer for both of you.”
I nod reluctantly, my finger playing along a small crack in the tabletop. “I think Kyle thinks so too.”
“He feels guilty?”
“Yeah. He started saying he was sorry the minute we got out.”
“It’s good that he knows. I’m relieved neither of you is going to fight us on this or worse – lie to us.”
“I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“About anything?”
I smile wryly at him. “Well, I mean, I’m going to lie to you about some stuff. Not big stuff. Just little things.”
“Like what?” he demands on a laugh.
“I don’t know. Like, whether or not I finished my homework or that I’m going straight to Makena’s and staying there all night.”
“Wait a minute. Time out.” He puts his hands in a T, backing away from the table. “You lie about where you are? That’s not a little white lie. That’s a big, bold-faced lie.”
“I mean that we sometimes go to the store for more snacks or something after her parents are asleep. Not like I’m sneaking out and getting high with a biker gang behind the grocery store.”
Dad frowns. “That is a weird picture to paint. Is that slang or something?”
“No. It’s just what I thought of.”
“You’re very creative.”
I smile proudly. “Thank you.”
“So, we’re good on this? You won’t ride with Kyle anymore?”
“Not this year,” I agree vaguely.
“That’s all I ask.”
“On one condition.”
“No. There’s no negotiating on this.” He smacks his hands on the table with a stern face that looks like a mask on him. It’s not his usual. Mom is the law in these parts, not Dad. Dad is the one who buys ice cream and gives you medicine when you’re sick. He stays up all night with you on the couch with the humidifier blazing and your favorite movie playing on the TV. Dad is a warm blanket, not a dictator. No matter how hard he tries. “Parental Decree! You shall not ride with anyone with less than six months experience in the snow. End of discussion.”
“On the condition that you teach him how,” I push relentlessly.
Dad’s face goes back to normal. “I don’t need to do that, Grace. His dad will do that.”
“No, he won’t. He refuses to.”
“Why?”
“Kyle says it’s too stressful for him. He gets startled easily and with the accident fresh in his mind, Mrs. Rixton doesn’t think it’d be good for Kyle’s dad. And she doesn’t want to do it because she hates driving in the snow more than any of them.”
Dad shakes his head, frowning. “Why did they move here? Of all places?”
“I have no idea. I’ve asked like a million times and Kyle has a different answer every time. I don’t think he knows. His parents drug him here kicking and screaming.”
“His dad has PTSD, doesn’t he?” Dad asks delicately.
“I don’t know what that is.”
“It happens to a lot of soldiers. War is hard on people. Grandpa Murray had PTSD. He didn’t like fireworks or other loud noises. No surprises. Changes in his routine made him angry.”
“It sounds like Ash.”
Dad frowns. “No. This was different. Trust me. Do me a favor and go slow when you’re around Kyle’s dad. Keep it down, okay? Don’t make things harder on him than they already are.”
“I won’t,” I promise, not 100 percent sure what exactly I’m promising. I think I’m basically supposed to treat Mr. Rixton like I would Ashley – delicately.
There’s a knock on the side door to the garage. Dad stands up straight, shouting, “It’s open!”
Cold air and Dad’s friend Nate come hurrying in. He closes the door behind him quickly, but it’s clumsy. His arms are full with a box of bottles clinking discordantly.
He smiles when he sees me. “Grace. How are you?”
I force a smile. “Good. Thanks.”
“Are you tasting with us tonight?”
I look at Dad curiously.
He shakes his head. “Grace has homework and four more birthdays to get through before she can start tasting beers with us, bud.”
“That’s fine.” Nate hoists the box up onto the table. “More for us then.”
He smiles down at me, rosy cheeked and probably already a little drunk. His beard is thick the way he lets it get when it’s wintertime. He says it warms his face but I think he just likes being lazy. He’s asked me if I want to pet it but I always say no. Then run far, far away. Nate isn’t a bad looking guy, but he’s old. As old as my dad. And he smiles at me more than I think he’s supposed to. Dad hasn’t ever said anything about it and I’m too embarrassed to mention it, but I feel it in my gut when Nate looks at me too long. I’m probably being dramatic, but I make a point of never being alone with him. Just to be safe.
I sniff the air, frowning at the box on the table. “What is that? Is it orange flavored?”
“Good nose. It is orange,” Nate confirms. He pulls a bottle from the box and pops the top. He offers it to me to smell. “It’s my new flavor. I loved your dad’s cherry mix and thought I’d give this a shot. What do you think?”
I take a quick whiff of the bottle. It immediately sends me into a sm
all coughing fit. “It’s strong.”
“Too strong?”
“I don’t—Yeah.” Cough. “I think so. God,” I wheeze.
“Cap it, Nate,” Dad tells him.
“She can’t handle her booze. That’s a good sign, Craig. You don’t have a heavy drinker on your hands.”
“I never drink,” I tell them.
“Is that the truth or a white lie?” Dad teases with a smile.
I roll my eyes at him. “It’s the truth. I don’t drink. Ever.”
“Does Kyle?”
“No.”
“Makena?”
“Are you gonna run through my whole school seeing if I’ll narc on everyone? No. No one I hang out with drinks or smokes or does drugs. Happy?”
“Yeah, actually,” Dad laughs, looking pretty content.
“Since you’re in such a good mood all of a sudden, will you help Kyle?”
“Kyle’s the boyfriend?” Nate asks, butting in.
“That’s the one.”
“What’s he need help with? Maybe Ole Uncle Nate can help him.”
I look around Nate. “I’d rather you did it, Dad. Please?”
He goes to his fridge to start putting Nate’s nasty beer away. Far away. “Why do you want me to do this so bad?”
“Because he wants you to. He told me. His dad said he could get the driver of their truck down at the station to do it, but Kyle really can’t stand that guy. He’s a douche.”
Dad wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Don’t call people that.”
“Sorry. He’s an enema.”
“Grace,” scolds Stern Face Dad.
“Please.”
“Alright. I’ll do it.” He throws the fridge shut with a bang. “But his dad isn’t going to like it.”
“His dad is a kitten. It’s his mom you have to watch out for.”
“Is she still giving you a hard time about the accident?” he asks tightly.
“Of course she is. She doesn’t like me. She never has.”
“That’s crazy,” Nate argues, glancing up from his phone. “Everyone likes you.”
“Not her,” I laugh. “She can’t stand me. She wishes Kyle and I would break up.”