Page 14 of Rough Choice

“Yeah, the jack.”

“We don’t have one. Hence why I’m going to wait until morning. Figure I’ll walk to town early before it gets hot and come back with a tow truck.”

“Are you kidding me?” Eliana asked in exasperation. “You’ve got like, five hundred guns back here and no jack?”

“I had a jack, but I had to take it out when we were back at the warehouse,” Grier said, fishing a flask out of his pocket and downing a swig of alcohol.

“Why? Why would you do that?”

“Had to make room for my guns,” he said with a cheeky smile.

“Don’t you think a jack is more important that one more gun?”

“Not if I’m in a gunfight,” he answered. “What if Max’s men caught up to us? Can’t throw a tire jack at them.” Eliana let out another aggravated snarl and slammed the toolbox shut. “Giving up? I thought you were going to change the tire.”

“I can’t exactly change a tire without a car jack; maybe I could use one of your guns to prop the car up.”

“Why don’t you use your law degree to prop the car up?”

“Or maybe I’ll just use your fat head,” she suggested as she climbed into the back next to him and used her own sleeping bag as a pillow. Without responding, Grier passed her the flask, and she accepted it without a word. Staring at the ceiling of the car, Eliana shifted uncomfortably.

“You know what your problem is?” Grier asked in an uncharacteristic pursuit of conversation.

“Besides not having a car jack?”

“It’s your attitude.” Grier shifted so he could look at her. Though the back of the hummer was spacious, it felt cramped with their sleeping bags and his duffle of firearms.

“My attitude? What are you, my parent?” Even as she asked the question, she could hear the teenage level of maturity behind it.

“You see being out on the road as another form of captivity,” he said observantly.

“Well, isn’t it? You’re not letting me leave, drive, or have any say in where we go or stay…”

“That’s semantics,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You have to think about it differently. What is a road?”

“Asphalt.”

“Come on, seriously,” Grier said in an almost pleading manner. He was laying on his side facing her, and the expression on his face was almost boyish. Sighing, Eliana rolled onto her side as well to mimic his posture. Propping her head on her upraised hand, she thought for a moment.

“A road is… what you use to get places. It’s a path between destinations,” she said with a slight shake of her head. Roads were one of those strange things she’d sort of taken for granted most of her life. Never having to really explain what they were because they’d always been around.

“See, that’s what most people think,” Grier responded, and he seemed almost excited at the prospect of explaining something different to her. “But that’s what a member of the Screaming Demons, or really almost any motorcycle club, has figured out. The road isn’t a means to an end. It’s not just what you use to get places.”

“What is it then?” Eliana asked, feeling a sense of curiosity overtake her. Despite her aggravation, she was at least momentarily and pleasantly distracted with some conversation.

“The road is the destination. When you decide that you’re happy in the places in between, you’re happy no matter where you go.” Eliana let his words sink in for a moment. His reasoning had some wisdom to it.

Having spent most of her life perpetually dissatisfied with where she was, always striving to be somewhere else, the notion of being happy in the in-between was revolutionary. She made a soft humming noise that she understood what he meant and almost agreed with him.

“Is that how you and Kye feel when you’re out on the road? Riding your motorcycles?” she asked, and Grier smiled.

“Yeah, I guess it is. Long rides aren’t about getting from one place to the next; it’s about enjoying the trip. The longer the better. Nothing but open road and silence… it’s a beautiful thing.”

“How do you handle all that quiet, though? Nothing but your thoughts going around and around. I feel like I’m going insane,” she admitted.

“That’s part of your problem too,” Grier said, still grinning. She hated the way he seemed to have her all figured out, even though they’d barely shared any information with each other. “You’re the intellectual type.”

“That’s a bad thing?” she asked with her brows drawn together in confusion. Here she thought being smart was a good thing.