I’d been out at a party that night. And like all the parties I went to back then, there had been booze and drugs everywhere. And if it was there, then so was I. I don’t even remember the party itself, only that I’d been there with Gina, my girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend now. I can only remember flashes. Throwing back a beer. Doing a line. The flash of Gina’s red hair as she tossed it over her shoulder. Bit by bit, I’ve tried to piece that night together for the past five years, only to realize that most of it is gone forever.

I’ll never know why I chose to do what I did, why I snagged the keys to Gina’s car and drove home, instead of crashing on the guy’s sofa like Gina had. I don’t know why I felt like I just had to get home, why I had to drive through three fucking towns instead of just sleeping it off in the backseat.

But I did. I don’t even remember the drive, not really. But I remember the crash. The sound of metal on metal. The screams that I took forever to realize were actually coming from me.

The pain.

The flash of the lights from the police cruiser.

Bit by bit, piece by piece, it’s like a goddamn puzzle laid out in front of me, but it’s missing half the pieces and it doesn’t match the picture on the box.

It doesn’t seem right that a night you can barely remember can change your life forever, but apparently fair and right don’t apply to a guy who killed a father because he was too drugged up and stupid to keep away from the wheel.

I let out a shaking breath and light my cigarette as I try to figure out what the hell I’m going to do.

No job. People in this town aren’t going to give me a shot, and I can’t blame them.

No home. Parents kicked me out. Living out of my car.

No girlfriend. Gina kicked me to the curb immediately after the crash. I was still in the hospital when she dumped my ass for good.

I’m fucked. No doubt about it.

I take another drag and lean back against the brick wall of the diner when all of a sudden the diner’s front door flies open hard enough to send it slamming against the wall and a figure races out.

I watch as the girl I’d noticed—the really hot one with the long dark hair and the tattoos—rushes out of the diner like she’s got a herd of raptors on her tail. She has a kind of ratty-looking bag thrown over her shoulder, and it bumps against her hip as she hustles across the parking lot. Toward the crappiest looking station wagon I’ve ever seen. The thing is ancient, and a fucking eyesore at best, all beige and peeling. My car isn’t exactly in tip-top shape after five years in my parents’ garage, but it’s a damn sight better than that thing. It’s a wreck.

The girl doesn’t seem to notice or care, though. She just jerks open the door and throws her bag inside fast enough that I’m starting to wonder if she held up the joint or something. I smirk at the thought. It would serve them right. Also? If it was her, it would be kind of hot. All Thelma-and-Louise old school. Not that I watched that movie or anything. At least, not since I grew out of having TV night with my parents.

I lean back against the brick wall and take another drag from my cigarette, waiting for the girl to gun the engine and peel out of there like a bat out of hell. But instead of the epic getaway, the car just sort of…coughs.

Well, that was fucking anti-climactic, I think as I watch the girl’s face fall and hear the car sputter again. Yeah, that’s not good.

I watch her for a moment, see the flurry of emotions pass over her face as she realizes that her car isn’t going anywhere. Hope. Confusion. Anger. Defeat. She glances back at the diner and I wonder just what made her want to book it out of there like that. I look over myself, glancing over my shoulder as I stub out the butt of my cigarette, and see the blonde peeking through the window. Ah, that makes sense.

I stand there for a moment, running the options through my mind, before I let out a sigh and push myself off the wall and make my way over to her.

What the fuck are you doing? A voice in the back of my brain asks. You weren’t welcome in the diner, what makes you think you’re going to be greeted with open arms when you approach her, you creeper? I tell the voice to shut the hell up and reach over and tap against the driver’s-side window. The girl jerks like she’s been electrocuted, and spins around to look at me.

This is such a huge mistake, the voice supplies, and I plaster on what I hope is a nonthreatening smile and motion for her to roll the window down. I sink my hands into my pockets and shift my weight around, because apparently five years in prison has completely killed every ounce of smoothness I ever had. But the girl rolls down the window, anyway, and I’m suddenly struck by the fact that I have no plan here, no idea what I’m going to do or say.

So, even though this is a horrible fucking idea, I blurt out the first thing that comes to my head.

“Car trouble?”

***

Luckily for me, it was the battery. Because, while auto shop was the only fucking class I stood a chance of passing in high school, I’m more than a little bit rusty. So the fact that the battery just needed a boost was a godsend. Seriously. One look under the hood almost sent me running for the hills, it was such a mess. I don’t know what she’s doing with that car, but it sure as hell isn’t right. It would be merciful to take it out back and shoot it.

But of course, I’m not about to say that to the extremely hot girl, who is apparently the only person in Avenue who’s willing to talk to me. Seriously, she’s even hotter up close. It’s criminal.

“Okay,” I say, attaching the booster cables to the battery and pulling my head out from under the hood. I wipe my hands on my already-filthy jeans. Damn, I need to go to the laundromat. With what money, I’m not sure. The money Dad gave me isn’t going to last much longer at this rate. “Give it a try.”

I’m starting to wonder if staying in prison maybe wasn’t a better life plan for me.

The car groans a little, but then the engine turns over and it hums back to life. I grin and remove the jumper cables, letting the hood fall back down with a slam. The girl’s eyes widen and a smile breaks out across her face and something in my gut jerks.

Fuck off, I tell it. I’ve been in prison for five years. Of course seeing a hot girl smile at me is going to get me revving. She’s not interested, jackass, I say to myself. Maybe if you hadn’t been such a fuck-up, you might’ve had a shot. But there’s no way now. You’re lucky she’s even talking to you.

She leans her head out the window, her long, inky black hair whipping around her face in the wind. “Thank you so much,” she says, reaching out and taking the cables back from me before dumping them into the passenger foot well. “I don’t know what I would have done if I couldn’t get it to start.”

I’ve seen pornos that start like this, my mind supplies helpfully, and all I want is to turn around and slam my head against the brick wall behind me. Dumbass.

“It’s no problem,” I say. “I mean, your engine’s kind of fucked—kind of broken—” What is wrong with me? “So you might want to take it in for a tune-up when you get a chance. But that should keep you going for a bit.” Walk away, I tell myself. Just nod and walk the fuck away.

“Seriously,” she says, and I can tell that she’s trying not to laugh at me. Which I would appreciate, if I didn’t want to go bury my head in the sand for the rest of my life. “Thank you.”

I just give her a nod and turn to walk back to my car. I love that damn car, but after living in it for a week, it’s starting to lose a lot of its appeal. But I’m only a couple steps away when her voice rings out.