Page 87 of The Season
“Oh nothing. Just that you’d be all…" Eddie chuckles, then lifts his coat-covered arms into a mock body-builder pose, “… have you seen my beach ball? I think it was this way…”
“Are you trying to sound like Arnold Schwarzenegger?” Matty asks, shaking his head in amusement. “Because that might be the worst impression I’ve ever heard. And why are you pointing to your lap? That’s not even a pose…”
The car slips forward again, faster this time, and a surge of icy panic rushes through me, sending my heart thundering in my chest. I grip the steering wheel, trying to keep the car steady, but it’s fish-tailing now, the rear wheels slipping from side to side on the icy packed snow. All the while, the car is going faster and faster, hurtling closer to that set of red lights ahead of me, still barely visible through the whiteout.
With a whimper, I touch the brakes—and instantly realize that was the worst possible thing I could have done.
The back end of the car flails wildly, shimmying back and forth, angry as the tail of a rattlesnake. I grip the wheel tight, trying to keep the car going straight, but that only seems to make things worse. With panic, I press my foot down on the brakes.
The car spins out, gliding silently across the snow-covered highway, turning in a slow-motion arc across the center lane.
In those few seconds, it’s like time slows down.
I can see every crystalline edge of the snowflakes covering the windshield, dusted away by the rhythmicswipe, swipe, swipeof the windshield wipers. I can see the whites of Eddie’s eyes in the rearview mirror, his pupils constricted almost to pinpoints. I can see Matty’s big hand gripping the edge of his seat, divots forming in the worn fabric beneath his fingertips.
The car skids to a stop, and for a brief moment, the only sound is the feathering of snow on the car and the rasping sound of my panicked breathing.
“Holy fucking shit.” Eddie’s voice is tight, and he’s leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
Beside me, Matty’s face is ashen, and he stares unseeingly out the windscreen, his chest heaving in shuddering pants.
“What the fuck was that, Lily?” Eddie asks, lifting his head to glare at me accusingly. “Why on earth would you slam on your brakes like that?”
“I… I…” My hands are trembling so hard, I can barely hold the steering wheel.
“Have you even driven in snow before?” he snarls.
We’re in the complete opposite lane, on the other side of the freeway, going in the opposite direction. A semitruck comes up behind me, thankfully slow because of the conditions, its yellow lights filling our car as it flashes at me to move.
With shaking legs, I gently touch the gas, carefully edging the car along to the nearest off-ramp.
“You could have gotten us all killed,” Eddie hisses.
I keep my eyes on the road, flicking on my blinker as I search for the best place to pull over. I don’t need to look in the rearview mirror to tell that Eddie is disgusted with me. I can hear it in his voice.
I swallow, and try to tamp down the sick, fluttery feeling in my stomach. He’s right. I could have gotten us all killed.
“I’m gonna pull over,” I say, lifting my chin and forcing my voice not to tremble. I blink rapidly, and ignore the burn behind my eyes, in my throat. “I’ll pull over and one of you guys can drive. You can drive in snow, right?”
I turn to Matty, since I know he grew up in Idaho. He must be used to driving in these conditions. But he’s staring straight ahead, expression slack, eyes unfocused, skin pale.
“I’ll drive,” Eddie snaps. “Just keep your eyes on the road.”
I nod, tightening my trembling fingers around the steering wheel, and don’t take my eyes off the road until we’ve pulled over on the side street of some new development. Wordlessly, I get out, and hold the door open for Eddie to climb in.
“I’m sorry,” I say, as he slides past me into the driver’s seat.
My voice sounds small, muffled by the snow falling around us. Eddie pauses, lips pressed into a frown, fingers curled around the edge of the car door. Snowflakes move between us, soft and cold and fragile.
For a moment, I expect his words to cut through them like a knife. Instead, his expression softens, and he brings one hand to my shoulder, his grip steadying even beneath the layers of sweater and jacket.
“It’s all good, Missy.” He squeezes my shoulder, and it sends an aching sort of warmth behind my ribs. He ducks his head close to mine, his voice dropping to a low murmur that skates across my skin. “I’m just worried about Matty in there. He’s not doing so good, yah.”
My heart drops at his words, and I cast a worried glance to where Matty is sitting, stone-faced and silent in the front passenger seat, his hands white-knuckled on his knees.
Fuck. Of course. Matty. Poor Matty.
“Okay,” I say, my voice small around the lump in my throat. “Yah. Okay.” I slide into the back seat, snowflakes fluttering off my jacket, melting on my jeans and the worn upholstery.
