Page 50 of Something Real with the Sea Monster
TWENTY FOUR
Jack
I make it to Kiama before the fuel light on my old Holden Ute blinks on. I don’t want to stop, but I don’t trust the old hunk of junk not to randomly stop two kilometers after the fuel light coming on. It gets driven so rarely I wouldn’t be surprised if I get pulled over and booked for not being roadworthy. Reluctantly, I pull over at the next truck stop.
The sky is black, and it looks like nine at night rather than two in the afternoon. There are a few drops of rain on thewindscreen, but thankfully the fuel pumps at the gas station are under cover so I don’t have to shift.
I don’t want to lose any time—or another perfectly good pair of jeans—so I hurry to fill up and pay, pulling the hood up over my head to dash to the service center.
I turn to leave the building, but the sky lights up and there’s a rumbling crack of thunder as the sliding doors open. Rain buckets down like someone turned on a tap.
Shit.
Here goes another pair of jeans I guess. Luckily I packed spare clothes.
The tug on my heart has felt like someone yanking a rope tied around my chest ever since Tegan and I argued, but since I stopped the truck I’m short of breath and tight all over.
Now I understand why Noah was so devastated when Olivia flew all the way back to the States, and god knows how Lukey survived ten years not knowing if he would ever see Mia again.
I swear, when I get home, I’m going to make them both some very large apologies for the way I scoffed at their reactions and lectured them about what to do. Some big brother I’ve turned out to be.
My car is still parked at the pump, but to get to it, I have to cross two meters of open ground. A lady behind me pushes past to get through the door, and I sigh.
Putting my head down, I step out into the rain, not surprised at all when a tearing from my jeans indicates I’ve shifted. Within the time it takes me to cross the uncovered section of the gas station, my shirt is plastered to my back.
A guy at the pump near me gives me a strange look as I cross to my truck and wrestle my tentacles inside the vehicle. It’s only once I’ve squashed my six extra limbs inside the truck and shut the door that I stop to notice they’re glowing. It’s subtle butpossible to make out in the dim light, and there’s only one reason why I could be glowing right now.
I throw the door open and leap from the truck, nearly colliding with the guy walking past to the service center.
Now all the humans at the gas station are staring at me as I leave my truck wide open and frantically search every car just in case Tegan is inside.
She has to be here somewhere. Finally fate is on my side. And if she’s here, if we just happened to stop at the same gas station between Kraken Cove and Sydney, then fate must have intervened for a reason.
I check all the cars under cover, but she’s not in any of them. Then I spot it. Her car is parked behind a campervan in the dirt rest stop just beyond the gas station.
Just as I notice this, the driver’s door flings open, and Tegan leaps out into the rain shouting something.
Uh oh.
Only who is she shouting at? Is it possible she’s that mad with two people in one day? Poor Tegan.
I’m hesitating, wondering how to approach her. She seems more upset than she was when she left Kraken Cove. How do I make this better?
“Fuck you!” she screams into the phone.
I wince. Not good.
I have to try, though. I slither forward on nervous tentacles.
The middle-aged man from the campervan passes, huddled under his umbrella, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t if I were you, mate.” He jerks his head back toward Tegan. “That one’s got a screw loose.”
I very nearly say something rude to him, but instead I take a deep breath and let it go. He doesn’t know anything about Tegan, and there’s no point getting into an argument now. “What happened?”
“Her car wouldn’t start. Bit of an overreaction if you ask me.” He hurries on toward the service center.
Her car wouldn’t start! On top of what she’s already been through today—because of me. That doesn’t explain why she’s screaming at someone on the phone, though, unless she got a particularly unhelpful tow truck driver.
Just then Tegan turns back toward her car and slips. I dart forward. I’m not quick enough to catch her before she lands with a splash in a huge muddy puddle. “Fuck.”
