Page 32 of Wild Card 13

Lucy’s hand brushed lightly against the back of mine. My entire nervous system lit up like somebody hit a power switch.

Absolutely unreal. What the fuck is this girl doing to me?

Outside, cold air hit immediately as we stepped into the parking lot. The sky had already started shifting toward early evening blue-gray while snowbanks lined the edges of the pavement in dirty frozen piles from weeks of storms.

My truck sat parked near the back row, exactly where I’d abandoned it that morning after almost hitting a snowbank trying to park one-handed while eating a breakfast sandwich.

Lucy noticed the state of it immediately. “You park like you’re fleeing a crime scene.”

“Betsy likes creative freedom.”

Lucy shook her head slowly, smiling despite herself while I jogged ahead to yank open the passenger door before it could freeze halfway again.

Cold air and peppermint hit immediately from inside the cab along with the faint lingering smell of hockey gear and drive-thru fries.

Lucy climbed in carefully around a stack of practice jerseys shoved into the backseat.

“You live like this?” she asked.

“I’m an athlete.”

“You’re a disaster.”

I slammed the door shut behind her and rounded the hood quickly before climbing into the driver’s seat beside her.

The truck roared to life loud enough to rattle slightly beneath us while heat blasted aggressively through the vents approximately two seconds later because Betsy believed in immediate suffering before comfort.

Lucy laughed quietly, pulling her scarf closer around her neck while I backed out of the parking space.

“Where are we going?” she asked again.

“You’ll see.”

“That’s suspicious.”

“It’s romantic.”

“You’ve known me for years. I don’t trust you enough for mystery destinations.”

Fair.

Snow crunched beneath the tires as we pulled out of the school parking lot and onto the main road cutting through Northbend.

The city always looked different in winter. Streetlights glowing against snowbanks. Downtown storefronts throwing warm yellow light across frozen sidewalks. People bundled into heavy coats moving quickly between restaurants and shops while old brick buildings trapped heat and music and life inside them against the cold.

Lucy watched quietly through the passenger window while I drove. Most people filled silence because they got nervous inside it.

Lucy didn’t. And somehow that made me less nervous.

I tapped the steering wheel lightly as music crackled low through the old truck speakers before the next song shifted in.

The opening guitar notes hit first.

Soft.

Warm.

Instantly recognizable.Somethingby The Beatles.