Chapter 6: Changing tires
The asphalt shimmered, a wavy mirage of heat rising from the blacktop beneath the relentless sun. Inside Alex’s beat-up sedan, the air conditioning wheezed a tepid breeze that did little more than stir the hot air. Alex drove with one hand on the wheel, the other elbow propped on the open window frame, her skin baking in the dry heat. The radio was a low grumble of static-choked rock.
“I’m melting,” Angel mumbled from the passenger seat, fanning his face with a battered psychology textbook. He’d traded his usual sweaters for a thin, pastel-yellow hoodie, but even that seemed too much. “It’s like being in an oven.”
“Stop bitching. We’re almost to the turn-off,” Alex said, though her own black tank top was stuck to her back with sweat. The fresh tattoo on her chest throbbed dully under the sterile bandage, a persistent reminder of Miles’s needle and Angel’s steady hand. She glanced over at him. His platinum hair was damp at the temples, stuck to his skin. He looked like a overheated angel, flushed and miserable. It was adorable. “Should’ve let me put the top down on the bike. This metal box is a death trap.”
“The bike would be worse,” he sighed. “And my hair would be a nightmare.”
Ahead, a dust-coated sedan was slumped on the gravel shoulder, its rear end tilted at a pathetic angle. Four figures stood around it, shifting their weight awkwardly in the heat. One of them kicked the flat tire in frustration.
“Looks like somebody’s having a worse day than us,” Alex commented, already starting to accelerate past them.
“Wait,” Angel said, sitting up straighter. “Pull over.”
Alex shot him a skeptical look. “Why? They’re four dudes. They can figure it out.”
“What if they don’t have a phone? Or water? It’s really hot, Alex.” His voice was soft but insistent. That look was in his eyes—the same one he got when he saw a lost dog or a crying freshman. A compulsive need to soothe.
With a grunt of resignation, Alex signaled and pulled over about fifty yards ahead of them. The gravel crunched under the tires. “Fine. But if this goes south, you’re the one explaining to your dad why we got murdered by road pirates.”
Angel was already unbuckling his seatbelt, a shy determination setting his jaw. “They just look hot and annoyed.”
As they got out of the car, the heat hit them like a physical wall. The four guys—college-aged, dressed in sweat-stained t-shirts and shorts—watched them approach with a mixture of hope and suspicion. They were Alex’s kind of people, on the surface anyway; a little rough around the edges, sporting faded band logos and the kind of worn-out sneakers that had seen a few too many parties.
“Hey,” the one who’d kicked the tire said. He had a buzzcut and a nervous energy. “You guys know how to change a tire?”
Alex shoved her hands in the pockets of her ripped jeans, her posture radiating a casual, almost bored confidence. “Maybe. You got a jack and a spare that isn’t also fucked?”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s all in the trunk,” another guy, taller and lankier, said. “We just… we watched a video, but the bolts are on there so tight.”
Their eyes flicked from Alex to Angel, who was hanging back slightly, his arms crossed over his chest. They clearly expected Alex, with her tattoos and her don’t-fuck-with-me aura, to be the one to take charge.
“So loosen them,” Alex said with a shrug. “Put your back into it.”
“We tried, dude,” Buzzcut said, exasperated. “It’s not budging.”
It was then that Angel spoke, his voice so light it was almost carried away by the hot wind. “Did you loosen the lug nuts before you lifted the car?”
All eyes turned to him. The four guys looked startled, as if they’d only just noticed he could talk. He blushed under the sudden attention, shuffling his sneakers in the gravel.
“Uh, we lifted it first,” the tall one admitted.
“That’s why,” Angel said, taking a tentative step forward. “The tire needs to be on the ground for leverage. Otherwise, it just spins. You’ll never get them off.”
A silent beat passed. The four guys stared at Angel, then at each other. The unspoken question hung in the air: How does this pretty boy in a pastel hoodie know that?
Alex couldn’t suppress a wide, proud smirk. She leaned against the hot metal of her own car, fishing a pack of cigarettes from her pocket. She lit one, the smoke a harsh comfort in the dry air. “You heard him. Lower the jack.”
There was a flurry of awkward movement as they cranked the car back down. Angel waited, watching with a quiet focus that was entirely at odds with his usual anxious demeanor. Alex saw it, that subtle shift she’d only seen a few times before—at the poker game, and sometimes when he was explaining a complex psychological concept to her. It was the core of him, the competent, unshakeable person hidden under layers of softness.
“Okay,” Angel said, once the car was settled. He approached the flat tire, kneeling down in the dust without a second thought. The guys gathered around him like disciples.
Alex stayed back, smoking and observing. She loved watching this. Loved the contradiction of it all. Angel’s delicate, almost feminine hands, now dirty with road grime as he fitted the lug wrench onto a nut. He positioned his body, bracing himself.
“You have to push, don’t just turn,” he instructed the buzzcut guy softly. “Use your weight. Stand on it if you have to.”
The guy did, jumping lightly on the wrench. With a loud, protesting crack, the lug nut budged. A collective sigh of relief went through the group.
“Holy shit, it worked!”
“See? I told you we should’ve waited for someone who knew what they were doing.”
Angel just smiled a shy, pleased smile and moved to the next nut. He directed them with quiet efficiency, his soft voice somehow cutting through their noisy disbelief. “Now you can jack it up. Make sure it’s stable. You don’t want it falling.”
Alex finished her cigarette, crushing the butt under her boot. She ambled over as they were wrestling the flat tire off and rolling the spare into place. The sun beat down on the back of her neck. She stood behind Angel, who was now guiding them on aligning the new tire.
One of the guys, a brawny kid with a sunburned neck, grinned at Angel. “Where’d you learn to do this, man? You a mechanic?”
Angel kept his eyes on the tire, his blush deepening. “My dad,” he murmured. “He, um, he likes motorcycles. You learn a lot helping him.”
Alex knew that was an understatement of epic proportions. Michael Emberly didn’t just “like” motorcycles; he commanded a small empire of them. Angel had probably been rebuilding engines since he was ten.
The guys finished tightening the lugs, lowering the car with a final crank of the jack. They were all smiles now, slapping each other on the back, their earlier frustration forgotten.
“Dude, you are a lifesaver,” the tall one said, clapping Angel on the shoulder. Angel flinched almost imperceptibly at the sudden contact, stumbling a step back. He immediately bumped into Alex, who had moved forward instantly.
Her hand came to rest on his hip, steadying him. Her expression, which had been amused and proud, tightened. The casual atmosphere evaporated around her. “Watch the hands,” she said, her voice low and devoid of its earlier teasing tone. It was flat. A warning.
The tall guy’s smile faltered. He held his hands up, taking a step back. “Whoa, hey, sorry. Just saying thanks.”
“You can say it without touching him.” Alex’s black eyes held his, and after a second, he looked away, nodding nervously.
An awkward silence descended. The buzzcut guy hurriedly started throwing the flat tire and tools back into the trunk.
Angel leaned back against Alex, his body relaxing into hers. “It’s okay,” he whispered, tilting his head back to look up at her.
She didn’t take her eyes off the group. “I know it’s okay.”
After a round of stuttered, much more respectful thank-yous, the four guys piled into their car and drove off, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake.
As the dust settled, the silence of the empty road returned, broken only by the buzz of insects in the dry weeds. Alex finally looked down at Angel. Grease smudged his cheek and the cuff of his yellow hoodie was filthy.
“You’re a regular little badass, aren’t you?” she said, her voice softening back to its usual rough fondness. She used her thumb to wipe the grease from his cheek, smudging it instead of cleaning it.
He beamed up at her, the anxiety gone, replaced by pure affection. “They were just stuck.”
“Yeah, and you unstuck them.” She leaned down and kissed his forehead, right over the smudge. “My cute little mechanic. Getting all dirty for strangers.”
He wrinkled his nose. “It’s not for them. It’s just… the right thing to do.”
“I know.” She slung an arm around his shoulders, steering him back towards their car. The heat was still oppressive, but it felt different now. Lighter. “Your dad would’ve gotten a kick out of that. His kid, saving the day on the side of the highway.”
Angel’s smile was a little wistful. “He’d say I did it all wrong. That I should’ve made them pay me fifty bucks.”
Alex laughed, a sharp, happy sound in the quiet afternoon. “He’s not wrong. But the look on their faces was fucking priceless. They thought I was gonna be the one to save them.” She opened the passenger door for him. “Little did they know the real hero wears strawberry-scented shampoo.”
He slid into the seat, and she closed the door before walking around to the driver’s side. When she got in, he was already looking at her, his expression serious again.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said quietly. “Get all… protective. They were just being nice.”
Alex started the car, the engine rattling to life. She looked over at him, her gaze intense. “Yeah, I did. You don’t like being touched like that. By them. I know you.” She reached out and grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him gently towards her. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But by me? That’s a different story.”
She kissed him, not a gentle forehead kiss, but a deep, claiming kiss. It was hot and tasted like sweat and the lingering sweetness of the soda he’d been drinking. When she pulled back, his eyes were hazy, his lips parted.
“Now,” she said, putting the car in gear and pulling back onto the empty highway, “let’s get the hell home. I’ve been thinking about that promise I made you all day.”
“What promise?” Angel asked, his voice breathy.
Alex grinned, pushing the accelerator. The car surged forward. “The one about you being all mine tomorrow. But I’m feeling impatient.”
The wind through the open window whipped through her black hair. The throbbing in her chest felt good now, a badge of honor. She glanced in the rearview mirror, the deserted road stretching out behind them. In front of them, the sky was beginning to blush with the first hints of evening. She felt a restless, possessive energy coursing through her. The world outside was harsh and bright, but in the confines of the car, with Angel beside her, it felt like the only place that mattered. The memory of his competent hands on the wrench was already merging with the anticipation of how they would feel on her later, and the growl of the engine was a perfect echo of the hunger starting to burn in her gut.