Page 18 of I Just Want to be Yours

I’d rather not be the pebble.

So instead, I sort through the crackle of country music stations and static until I end up back at the same fucking ad I was trying to escape. I don’t even know if it’s the same station or if Rip’s Reliable Rides can afford to haunt me from every angle.

There’s a loud clunk, and I sit up straight. My eyes immediately jump to the rearview mirror, checking to see if I ran over something, but the road behind me is clear.

“The fuck?” Dave mutters as he lifts his head and does a similar scan.

“I have no idea wh?—”

The sound happens again, this time jolting Brady awake.

“Pull over,” Dave says, pointing to the shoulder.

But before I can even put my foot on the break, it feels like the wheels lock. The steering and brakes are less responsive, and we end up skidding. I pump the brakes, hoping they fucking work, until we eventually slide to a stop on the side of the road just as the car behind us lays on their horn and swerves into the other lane to avoid slamming into us.

Marty rips his headphones from his ears and frantically looks around.

“Jesus Christ,” Brady mutters from the back, and I nod, my heart pounding.

Dave pinches the bridge of his nose, his head falling forward.

“What the hell, Jackson?” Marty yells from behind me, and I swear I could hit him with the adrenaline already pumping through my veins.

“I didn’t do anything!” I yell back. “If anything, I just saved your ass.”

My eyes jump to Dave for some type of defense, but the beat of silence it takes for him to say something feels like an eternity. Eventually, he mutters, “The oil.”

“What?” Brady asks.

Dave lifts his gaze but avoids looking at any of us. He stares straight out the windshield while he lets his head fall back against the seat. “I forgot to change the oil.”

“You . . .” Brady shakes his head. “You forgot to change the oil?”

Dave says nothing, just closes his eyes like he wants to disappear, and it’s all the confirmation I need.

“Fuck,” I groan as I rub a hand over my face.

Brady leans forward. “How the hell did you forget to change the oil?”

Dave snaps, “Because I’m doing everything!”

“Well, clearly you fucking can’t!” Brady says with an exasperated outstretched arm.

“I can fix it!” Dave says, avoiding our wide-eyed stares and getting out of the van. He pops the hood, blocking his view of the three of us.

“Fuck this,” Brady mutters under his breath as he opens the door and gets out. I’ve never seen him like this. Hell, I’ve never even seen him mad. He leaves the van door open, so I can still hear him when he says, “What are you going to do? We need to talk about this before you go and make it worse!”

I can’t see Dave, but I can hear him when he says, “Fuck off, Brady, it’s fine.”

There’s no way I’m staying in this van alone with Marty. Getting out of the car, I ask, “What’s wrong with it?” Even though I’m not sure I want to know the answer.

Brady crosses his arms, still glaring at Dave. “He’s got too much on his plate. Now the fucking engine seized up.”

I raise my eyebrows. Equally unsure of how to handle Brady when he’s like this.

“This never would have happened if we had a manager,” he continues. He points at Dave. “You know it. I know it.” Looking at me, he says, “Hell, even he knows it.”

There’s no way he’s dragging me into this. “Why don’t we just focus on fixing the van?”

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