Page 48 of Untouchable

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Parker doesn’t thinkto check the forecast before he drives up to Harp’s that Thursday.

He’s lived in Colorado his whole life—he should know better. But it’s been a hectic week, and he’s on autopilot when he gets in his car and makes his drive up the mountain. It’s only when he reaches the top that he realizes just how low and bright the clouds are—it’s going to snow sooner rather than later.

Oh well.He’d love to find reasons to waste time and linger at Harp’s, as he seems to do more and more often these days, but he’ll just have to book it back down the mountain as soon as the session is over. He’ll get home just as the first flakes are starting to fall.

When he finishes the session, though, and steps outside so Harp can change, he glances out the second story window and swears loudly enough to wake up Petunia, who’s snoozing on the couch one story down. There’s already a blanket of snow on the ground, and more is falling fast. The flakes are huge—puffy clumps of snow that pile up easily, and while it’s gorgeous, Parker knows the mountain roads will be treacherous in a matter of minutes—if they’re not already.

"Well, damn," Harp says, suddenly right behind him. Parker jumps as Harp catches him leaning to stare out the window. "Guess I need to get the cat shelters out faster than usual this year. That looks like it's going to stick around for a while."

“Yeah,” Parker says absently. He immediately rushes back into the bedroom and begins to break down his table, packing his things up at lightning speed. His car has snow tires and all wheel drive, and he grew up in Colorado. Driving in a little bit of snow shouldn’t be that big of a deal to him, but it’s always made him nervous. And even after two months of driving up and down the winding mountain road, he still white-knuckles his steering wheel going through the steep set of switchbacks.

“Sorry to rush out,” he says, flustered. “Gotta hit the road before it gets too bad.”

"You got it," Harp says, nodding. He puts a hand in the middle of Parker's back. "You need any help packing the car up?"

Parker shakes his head but doesn't say anything.

"Okay, then I'm headed down to get things sorted for the cats. Be careful on that hill up to the road."

"Yeah, um—” Parker says distractedly. “I'll see you next Thursday."

Parker’s car is loaded in record time, and he clenches his jaw as he wipes snow from his windshield. There’s already at least 2 inches of cover—he can’t remember the last time he saw this much snow stick so quickly.

Fuck, fuck fuck. Why didn’t I check the fucking weather report? You never fucking think, Parker.

* * *

Even as Harp turns away,he feels like an asshole. Should he ask if Parker wants to wait it out? It's possible that he's wrong about how long the storm is going to last and it will blow through in a few hours.

But if it was Harp, he would just want to go home—not be stranded in some uncomfortable house. If it was Harp, he'd be edgy just to get away from his client and get down the mountain.

So Harp doesn't stand in his way and he doesn't linger, thumping down to the basement to sort through his cold weather supplies.

He can't help but stand on his tip toes and peek out at the ground-floor window as Parker pulls off. He hopes to God the kid understands how to drive in the snow. And if he does understand, he hopes Parker isn't cocky about it. He could lose control on one of those ugly switchbacks, or take a turn too fast and—

Fuck, I shouldn't have let him go. I don't even have a way to check if he makes it down the mountain.The thought leaves him abruptly shredded. What if something happens to Parker and it’s Harp’s fault?

Harp finds himself climbing the stairs before he knows what he's doing to watch Parker take the first steep hill.

* * *

He can tell as soonas he starts to drive that the trip down the mountain will take him hours. He wants to step on the gas pedal and speed down the road, desperate to get home before the roads worsen, but he knows that a snail’s pace is the only way he’s making it down the mountain alive. He practices his deep cleansing breaths, his grounding exercises, all the anti-anxiety tricks he has in his arsenal, and by the time he reaches the end of Harp’s long driveway, he’s feeling a little better.

And then the car begins to slide.

It’s comical, almost, or it would be if Parker’s heart weren’t nearly seizing up in his chest. One moment, the car is slowly rumbling over the gravel, and the next moment he’s no longer in control, the car slipping sideways. He presses the brakes slowly, slowly, turning the wheel into the curve just like his father told him, but still the car glides across the patch of ice he hadn’t seen—

It’s an awful, weightless feeling, being trapped and in motion with no way to protect himself—

And then his car stops, front wheels buried in the slush, coming to rest halfway off the road, and Parker lets out a loud, long sigh of relief. The heater is blasting loudly, but he can barely hear it over the sound of his heart hammering in his ears.

Okay, it’s okay. You’re going to be fine. Just a little patch of ice, you’re fine.

When he reverses the car, though, the front wheels spin without finding purchase, and the engine revs, complaining loudly.

Shit.

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