Page 71 of Unmanageable

Her skin is freezing from the downpour, but her face is flushed, her cheeks bright pink as she lets out another breathless laugh against my chest. I hold her right there, looking down at her, the rain pouring off my hair and dripping directly onto her nose.

“You look ridiculous, Scottie-girl.”

“Me? Look at you. You look like a wet rat.”

“I told you to stay inside where it was dry,” I murmur, my thumbs brushing the cold rainwater away from her cheekbones. “But you just had to come out here and supervise.”

“Someone had to make sure you didn’t drop the van on your foot,” she says, her laughter settling into a soft, uneven breathing. “Are we really stuck out here, O’Connell?”

“Not a chance,” I say, my heart doing that heavy, dangerous thud against my ribs as I reluctantly let my hands slide from her face. “Stay here. I’m going to use a piece of stiff wire from the tool kit.”

I kneel back down in the mud, crawling under the side panel until my fingers find the latch of the tool box. I stand up, straighten the wire out with my bare hands, and slide the tip through the black rubber weather-stripping at the top of the driver’s side window.

Scottie stands right next to me, her hand resting lightly on the wet fabric of my shoulder, her breath warm against my neck as she watches the wire move inside the cab.

“A little to the left,” she whispers, squinting through the rain. “You’re near the lock button. Just… hook it.”

“I’m trying. My fingers are like sausages right now.”

I manipulate the wire, the metal clicking against the glass. The tip of the wire slides over the chrome button. I give it a sharp, upward jerk.

Pop.

The little cylinder snaps up.

I yank the door open, and the dry, warm air of the cab hits us like a blessing. I reach across, unlock the passenger side, and grab the towel from the console.

“Get in!” I yell.

We dive into the van, slamming the doors shut behind us. The silence drops over us again, but this time it’s warm, the sound of the rain outside turned into a comforting, distant roar.

We’re both ruined. My dark gray t-shirt is soaked through, my jeans are black with mud, and Scottie looks like she’s just survived a shipwreck. Her red hair is a wild, tangled mass around her shoulders.

“We are never speaking of this,” she says, her voice still breathless from laughing. “If anyone asks, the tire change was done perfectly and we absolutely didn’t get soaked.”

I take the towel, reaching over the console to help her dry the back of her hair. My movements are slow, the playfulness settling into that deep quiet that always finds us when the noise stops. I run the cotton over the bright red strands, my fingers brushing against the nape of her neck.

She closes her eyes, letting her head drop back against my hand, a small, content sigh escaping her lips.

I can see the outline of her collarbone where the purple bruise is hiding under the wet blue hoodie. I want to lean over the console and kiss the spot until the pain goes away.

But I don’t. I just keep the towel moving, gentle and steady, drying her hair until the shivering stops.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Scottie-girl,” I say, pulling the towel back and reaching for the ignition. “We still have three hours left, and I think the heater smells like burning hair.”

“Drive the van, O’Connell,” she says, scrunching her nose. “Before I lock you back out.”

19

Scottie Reed

5:32 PM

Cash: i saw a dog that looked exactly like you today

Me: Excuse me?