“You think I know what’s wrong with the engine?”
Trent scrubs a hand over his beard in frustration. It’s quite sexy, actually. I should make it a habit to frustrate him more.
He leans over my lap and unclicks my seat belt. I’m momentarily disabled. He fixes that by yanking me out of the driver’s seat.
“Hey!” I squeal as he hauls me over his shoulder.
“Your van is on fire, Karli!”
“No, that’s smoke. Fire is orange.” Why am I spouting off nonsense right now?
He sets me down on the far side away from the passing cars, then rushes back to the van. I follow him because that’s what most oblivious people do in these kinds of situations.
“Stay over there,” he barks. He gets the hood up and—
“Fire!” I screech! I stumble backward, my foot hits a rock and I trip, crashing to the ground on my butt.
Trent is doing something. I’m not sure what. He's waving his hands around like a cheerleader. Wait, he’s trying to get the fire out. Don’t cars, like blow up if they catch on fire?
Oh, my gosh. He’s going to get blown up.
“Trent!” I scream, staggering to my feet. “Get away!”
Trent sees me getting closer and abandons the vehicle. He rushes toward me, trapping me against his chest as he drags us into the desert, and away from my van. His skin is warm against the cool night, and I cling to him.
“I’m sorry, I can’t save it,” he whispers into my hair.
I have no words. My van, my source of peace and safety for the last five years, is literally going up in smoke. I’m dumbfounded as I stand there, wrapped in his arms and trying to process what’s happening while waiting for the impending explosion.
Seconds pass, but the van doesn’t explode like I’ve seen in so many action movies. It slowly burns, one section at a time. The engine, the cab, the back. My skin is ice cold, I think my heart stopped when the fire claimed a piece of it. I can’t move. My hands are wrapped up in Trent’s shirt. I’m shaking and I can’t stop.
“Karli? Are you okay?” Trent whispers, making no move to release me.
I watch my van, still waiting for the explosion that seems to fit with my life right now. I’m utterly heartbroken. But the only words coming to my head don’t reveal that. “I told you not to offend her.”
A soft chuckle rumbles through his chest and the feel of it against my own lightens the heaviness inside me.
“I’ve got to appreciate her going out in a dramatic flair.” I’m not sure why my mouth is still moving. It’s like it can’t stop. Is that a symptom of shock?
“It might have been the gas. How old do you think that gas can was?”
I try to think. “A couple years, maybe.”
“That could have been it,” he says, tucking my head under his chin. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”
I’m so glad you’re safe.Those five words puncture my heart. His protectiveness wasn’t misguided, it was genuine. That’s…new. My brain is on overload trying to process the loss of my van and my developing feelings for Trent.
A small “poof” of an explosion signifies the end of Bertha.
“I’m sorry, Karli,” he says, reminding me of everything I lost. And just like that, the shock wanes.
Tears spill down my cheeks and I sob into his shirt. I’m getting tired of these personal rain storms.
When his shirt is soaked, he gently lifts my head, cupping each cheek, catching the river of tears in his palms.
“I’ll buy you a new van,” he whispers.
More tears fall.
