Page 66 of Nico

Fifteen minutes later, Nico's scent had faded from the truck, but my mind refused to let him go.

At each stoplight and every curve in the road, I found myself replaying the conversation, and my clumsy desperate kiss at the end.

I also thought about the exhaustion beneath Nico’s eyes, the tiny smile he tried to hide. God, I missed him. Missed having him beside me on long drives.

Heck, I would give anything to hear him ramble about movies, his favourite games, and whatever strange rabbit hole the internet had dropped him into that week.

Mate. My wolf rumbled. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel.

Whatever this was between us couldn't stay broken, not when he'd become someone I couldn't imagine losing. I decided then and there that I'd sit down with Nico tonight.

It didn’t matter if both of us were tired and exhausted, I needed to repair what damaged I’ve caused.

The road bent around a stand of pine trees, and a figure suddenly appeared in the middle of the lane. I instinctively eased off the accelerator.

The man waved both arms frantically. Off to the right sat a silver Toyota. Thin gray smoke curled lazily from beneath it. Engine trouble, probably overheated, I thought.

The stranger pointed desperately toward the disabled car. I slowed further. Nico's voice surfaced in my head with irritating clarity. You need to be more careful from now on, Isaac.

My fingers tightened around the steering wheel. The sensible part of me whispered to keep driving. Call roadside assistance, or maybe notify patrol. Do anything except stop.

But another part of me, the part that had never learned to ignore someone asking for help, had already made the decision for me. With a quiet sigh, I pulled the truck onto the shoulder.

The man hurried toward me. For reasons I couldn't explain, the hairs along the back of my neck stood up. Then he let out what sounded like a relieved laugh before hurrying toward my truck.

"Thank you!" he called. "Thank you for stopping."

I climbed out, shutting the driver's door behind me.

"No problem." I glanced toward the silver Toyota parked a few yards ahead. "What's going on?"

"I honestly don't know." The man ran a hand through his hair, breathing hard enough to suggest panic. "It just started smoking. One minute it was fine, the next..."

He gestured helplessly toward the car. "Do you know anything about engines?"

"A little,” I admitted.

Relief lit up his face almost too quickly. "Really?"

“I'm no mechanic,” I warned, already walking toward the Toyota. "I'll have a look. If it's something simple, maybe we can get you going again. If not, we'll call a tow truck."

"That would be amazing."

His gratitude felt a tad excessive, but I brushed away that thought. This guy was just in a pinch, that was all. He would've flagged down anyone driving by.

“I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't stopped,” he said.

"It isn't a problem."

“No, really.” He smiled broadly. "You've been incredibly kind."

Something about the way he looked at me made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

It wasn’t fear, I realised, but something like expectation. It was as though this guy was hoping someone would stop, someone specific.

My wolf stirred uneasily. Something's wrong. I glanced at the man again.

He looked perfectly ordinary. The guy was in his mid-thirties. He was of average height, wearing jeans, and a dark jacket despite the warm weather.