Page 4 of Diesel’s Second Chance

"Wasn't raining when I left."

She looks at me like I'm insane, which is fair. Then she digs in her purse and pulls out her keys. "Come on. I'll give you a ride."

"I'm fine. It's just water."

"Jackson." She says my name like she's scolding a stubborn child. "You're not riding in this. I'll drive you home, and you can pick up your bike tomorrow when it's not a monsoon."

Every reasonable argument dies in my throat. The truth is I don't want to ride: visibility's shit, roads are slick, and getting caught in a storm when there's a war on is asking for trouble. But letting June drive me home means twenty more minutes in close quarters, means sitting in her passenger seat while rain drums on the roof and I try not to think about how easy it would be to just tell her.

"You don't have to—"

"I know I don't have to. I want to." She's already heading for the door, keys in hand. "Let's go before it gets worse."

I follow because I'm not enough of an idiot to argue with her twice.

June's car is a modest sedan, parked three spots down from my bike. She unlocks it with the key fob, and we both make a run for it, though running doesn't help much. By the time I'm in the passenger seat, my flannel is soaked through and water drips from my hair onto the upholstery.

"Sorry," I say, pulling the door shut.

"It's fine. It's just rain." June starts the engine, cranks the heat. Her own sweater is damp at the shoulders, hair sticking to her neck. She wipes water from her face and pulls out of the lot, windshield wipers working overtime.

The inside of the car smells faintly like flowers, leftover from the shop, probably. It's warm and too intimate, especially when she glances over at me and smiles.

"Where to?"

"Garage is fine."

She nods, turns left onto Main. The streets are nearly empty, everyone with sense staying inside. Rain sheets across the windshield so thick the wipers barely keep up.

"This is going to be one of those nights," June says, eyes on the road.

"What kind?"

"The kind where you remember why you live somewhere it actually has seasons." She says it lightly, but there's something underneath: nostalgia maybe, or the same weariness I heard in her voice at dinner.

"You ever think about leaving?" I ask before I can stop myself.

June glances at me, surprised. "Millhaven?"

"Yeah."

She's quiet for a moment, navigating a turn. "Sometimes. But where would I go?"

"Anywhere."

"That's not really an answer." She smiles, but it's sad again. "This is home, you know? My parents are here. Tommy's buried here. You're here. I don't know how to just... leave all that."

Chapter 2 - June

*You're here.*

I said it like Jackson's one of the reasons I stay. Which he is, but I shouldn't have said it out loud, shouldn't have made it sound like he matters in the same breath as my parents and my dead husband. Like they're all equal weights on the scale keeping me tethered to this town.

Jackson doesn't respond. Just stares out the passenger window at the rain, jaw tight, hands folded in his lap. Water drips from his hair onto his collar, and I have the sudden irrational urge to reach over and brush it away.

I don't. I keep both hands on the wheel and my eyes on the road and tell myself to stop making this weird.

My wipers beat against the windshield, *thump-thump, thump-thump*, and I search desperately for something to say that will make the last thirty seconds disappear.