“It’s not a new tire. And like I said, you’ll need to get them all replaced. Especially before winter.” He pretends to be busy writing something down. “I was already heading your way, anyhow.”
Somehow, I don’t believe him, but I decide not to press it. Normally, I wouldn’t accept such generosity, but I’m desperate and it’s nice to not have bad luck hovering over me for once. I’ll worry about the guilt eating away at me later.
“I deeply appreciate this. You have no idea. Thank you. And tell George I said thanks, too.”
His right brow twitches, and without looking up, he lets out a grunt. I take that asyou’re welcomebefore leaving the shop.
I give the tire a once over before thunder rumbles through the once silent night sky and the clouds open, drenching me within seconds.
Perfect.
Two
My forehead makes excruciating contact with the window as I’m thrown from sleep for the third time. I rub the sore spot, regretting the last six hours, four of them spent in dream land. After, I move onto rubbing the tight muscle on my neck. Add sleeping in a car to the list of things I never want to experience again.
“Sora!” Beyond my rolled-up window, my best friend scowls at me and I’m surprised the glass doesn’t shatter.
“Hey, Lana,” I manage to say in a raised voice after my heart stops pounding like mad.
“Hey, Lana? Hey, Lana?!” She shoots another menacing gaze my way, her hands tightening at her hips. Her words are muffled through the glass, but I still catch her angry tone.
I squint from the morning sun as I get out, soaking in the hot rays over my skin. It feels heavenly considering I’m still wet from the torrential downpour last night.
“If I didn’t love you more than my sister, I would kick your ass for sleeping in your car!” She notices my soaked dress, which feels a pound heavier. “And why are you wet?”
Lana has been like an older sister to me. Even though we’re the same age, she was always the more levelheaded one out of the two of us. The more responsible one. She always looked out for me. Not that I was getting into trouble all the time, but I am more rebellious. Someone who took more risks. Doing things spontaneously.
Hence my current situation.
She’s shorter than me, her five four to my five eight, so I smile slightly down at her, and I do it apologetically. Her doll-like paleness only makes her more stunning. She’s gotten even more beautiful at the age of thirty, which I didn’t believe to be possible. Her long, flowing black hair shines with lavender peekaboo highlights. Her almond-shaped eyes are the darkest I’ve seen, but they hold only kindness. And I’m lucky to still be able to call her my best friend, especially when I was the lousiest of them all.
“It’s been one hell of a night, and I didn’t want to wake you.” I sag in defeat, but Lana is already there, closing the distance and pulling me into the biggest, warmest hug.
Yes. This is what I need—I need my best friend. The stability. Her comfort. Her wisdom, because right now I am trying my best not to fall apart.
“I missed you so much,” she whispers, squeezing me tighter.
“I missed you too. More than you’ll ever know.” Those words never held more truth.Don’t cry. Do not cry.
We pull apart, her shirt newly damp.
“Come on. Let’s get you in the hot shower and some dry clothes.” She drapes her arm around my shoulders and walks me into her duplex. For twelve long years, the mansion was my home, but Lana's place feels warmer. Calmer. It’s not dull or cold.
While growing up, my dad worked his ass off to keep the trailer we lived in. It wasn’t anything grand, but it was home. And this most closely resembles that love.
Inside, vibrant colors and paintings blanket the walls. I’m not surprised. Lana's talented work deserves display.
After my shower, which was divine, I dress in the leggings and sweatshirt she lent me. I don’t have any of my things since running was the only choice I had. Now I regret not having a small bag with a stash of clothes inside the car. I’ll honestly seenone of it again, but I couldn’t care less. I can’t go back. I won’t go back. Not to that life.
In the kitchen, Lana smiles, coffee in hand. A quirky mug holds the same delicious goodness, waiting for me, and the aroma makes me salivate.
“You’re the best.” I soak in the warmth from the mug, tasting the caramelized, sweet flavor.
We’re surrounded by vintage flowers. Besides being artsy, Lana is also the earthy, old soul type. Me? I’m not sure what my style is. Or if I had a place of my own, how would I even decorate it? It’s sad, but I still have no idea who I am.
My attention falls back to my friend, who’s still wearing a warm smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Go ahead. Ask me. I know you’re dying to find out why I showed up at your doorstep after years of being MIA.” Who can blame her? If I was Lana, I’d want to know too.
