“No,” I mumbled, but he was already out of the car, making his way around to the
passenger side. He opened the door and stood in the pouring rain. I scooted over to the driver’
s side, catching a glimpse of Tiny’s reflection as I adjusted the rearview mirror. He was
terrified … so was I.
Even though Cameron coached me through, the car kept jerking forward, and then it would stall.
Tiny’s head also slammed into the seat in front of him every time the car came to a jolting
stop. After a lengthy while, I was able to make the car move more than a few inches at a time,
and before long, we were coasting along the muddied road.
The car did corner curves effortlessly. It was—almost—exhilarating. Tiny’s knuckles had gone
white, never loosening their grip on the door handle. Cameron seemed to be looking on proudly,
enjoying the ride.
And then it all went very wrong.
I came to a deceivingly deep puddle and got to a curve faster than I expected.
I turned the wheel, but nothing happened.
I braked hard, the car fishtailed.
Cameron was looking ahead, one hand on the dashboard, the other pushing me against my seat.
“Hold on … we’re gonna crash,” he said evenly.
We all held our breath.
I touched the brake again as a reflex. The car did a full circle in the mud and slid, picking up
speed in the process.
The last thing I remembered was Cameron ordering me to cover my face, which I did without
thinking. Next came a loud bang, swiftly followed by the screeching of wood against metal and
shattering glass. The engine ticked. And then all was silent—just the sound of the rain against
the hood, that sounded like our breathing in tandem.
“Em … Are you hurt?” Cameron’s voice was hurried, finally.
“No,” I answered from behind my hands.
“Let’s see.” He tugged my hands away and turned my face to him. When my eyes flicked open, he
was laughing. “You just crashed a three-hundred-thousand-dollar car!”
In the back, Tiny was giggling too, his large belly hoisting up and down. He was covered with
shards of broken glass from the small back window that had been pierced by the branch of an
evergreen. The car was on its side, half in the thread of a ditch, half in the woods. Outside my
window, I saw a lot of mud. Nothing about this was funny, or “fun” to me.
After trying to push the car out, we all stood in the rain and watched the Maserati sink deeper
into the mud. When realization set in, Tiny took out a short-wave radio and called for someone
to come dig the car out. I recognized Spider’s sharp voice on the other end of the radio.
My mood had improved after the rain had ceased and Cameron and I were walking the rest of the
way home. The road was flooded in parts, and my revered sneakers were gorged with mud.
At Cameron’s command, Tiny had stayed behind, watching uneasily as the boss left without armed
defense.
Help had driven by us in the form of a black pickup truck, with Spider and four sodden guards
who were grimly holding onto shovels in the back cab. After our bit of fun, Cameron was in an
excellent mood. So when Spider’s passing glower hit me again, I decided to seize the moment.
“Spider doesn’t … like me much,” I mused.
“He’s just being overprotective.”
I slightly raised my chin and scrunched my forehead. Next to Cameron, I looked like a munchkin.
“Am I that much of a threat to you?”
He grimaced and looked at the road ahead. “More than you know,” he mumbled as he hopped over a
puddle.
“I meant Carly, not me. Spider is trying to protect Carly.” He turned around, extending his
hand to help me jump over the large puddle. I still missed, badly, and splashed both of us
simultaneously.
“Why would I want to hurt Carly?”
“It’s not a matter of you wanting to hurt her. It’s who you remind her of every time she sees
you.” Cameron had an intent look on his face, egging me to make the connection.
“My brother?”
“Bill and Carly used to date,” he explained.
“But I don’t look anything like him.” Another unfair twist of fate.
“Your head might not be blond,” he said, “but you’re very much like Bill.”
This made me smile, despite the hair comment. “How long did they date for?”
“A while … longer than any of the girls he dated.” He waited until our eyes met. “Before
Carly, Bill never let any girl stick around long enough for her to get to know him.”
Part of me wondered if this had been added for my benefit, or if Cameron was referring to
himself … or if I was reading more into it than there was. The other part of me was trying not
to ogle: Cameron’s soaked T-shirt clung to him … it was very hard not to ogle. I looked away
and concentrated on getting out of the bog alive.
“When it came to Carly, Bill was different,” he said with difficulty. “He told her everything
… no matter how bad … and there was lots of bad stuff …”
I quickly frowned. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as you make it out to be, Cameron.”
He forced a smile. “You mean as bad as Bill made it out to be.”
I shrugged.