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“Just finished. I was looking for you,” he admitted. “I had the wrong closing time.”
A wide grin broke out across Canaan’s tired face. “Really? That’s cool. I was thinking you might show...”
“Thought about it.” Way more than he was going to admit, so he tried to sound casual. “Scoot over. Let me take a look.”
Canaan moved over so Renzo could crouch next to him. “I was working on loosening the lug nuts.”
“You’ve got a spare?” Renzo studied the tire which was entirely flat, not just low, a sad-looking puddle of rubber. “I’d bet you picked up a nail or something.”
“There’s a spare in the trunk. That should get me home, then I can take it to the tire shop tomorrow, see what I’ll need so I can take it on the trip.”
Pursing his lips, Renzo clamped down around the urge to say something. He did not like the idea of Canaan driving this car through the desert. But it wasn’t really his place to judge, so he focused on walking around to the trunk which was open. He got the spare out and brought it around.
“Pressure feels right in this one. That’s a good thing—last thing you need is a flat spare. I had that happen once in my mom’s car.”
“You’ve changed a tire before?”
“Oh yeah. We always had crap cars growing up, and Philly roads are hell on tires. We picked up a nail or screw so often that the tire guy knew us by name. My parents never had extra for something like roadside assistance.”
“Cool. I watched four tutorials, so I’m feeling pretty confident. No need for you to stick around if you need to go shower or whatever.”
Damn but Canaan’s bluster was adorable. And there was something admirable in his urge to be self-sufficient. Renzo could respect that even as there was no chance in hell that he was leaving Canaan to deal with this by himself.
“I’m sure I stink from the run, but I’ve got time. Let me help?”
“You don’t stink.” Canaan gave him a grateful smile. Despite his sweaty face, he was still hot as fuck, and with his dark clothes and chunky boots, Renzo could totally see him as the bad-ass drummer for Kirby’s Revenge. “Can’t offer you a smoothie, but maybe I could buy you a...juice or frozen yogurt or something off-base after?”
“Maybe.” Renzo really did need a shower, but somehow he was reluctant to turn down more time with Canaan. And it was nice how Canaan remembered that he wasn’t a big beer drinker. “Let’s see how long this takes.”
First, Renzo made sure that Canaan had set the emergency brake. Parking lot was level, but he wasn’t taking chances. They got the jack ready, and Renzo turned his attention to loosening the lug nuts. He didn’t mean to take over the job, but as they worked, he ended up giving the directions, Canaan assisting him. They made a good team—Canaan seemed to trust his suggestions, and his little jokes kept the task from being too miserable. Working together, they got the jack set, and he was working on lining up the spare when Canaan’s phone trilled with some punk song about being shallow.
“Damian. One of the Kirby’s Revenge guys. Fuck. I do not want to talk to him. But...” Canaan made a frustrated noise.
“Go ahead. Take your call. I’ve got this.” Renzo made a shooing motion.
“Thanks.” Stepping away, Canaan answered the call, but Renzo could still hear his side of the conversation, and apparently, things weren’t going well.
“No, man, I don’t have an answer for you.” Canaan sounded dejected, and Renzo knew he was partly to blame—Canaan was waiting on an answer from him. And now he had to deal with this guy, who Renzo already didn’t like just from the tone coming through the phone. One of those whining, entitled voices.
“I really don’t see what the big deal is if I show up alone,” Canaan said when Damian finally paused for air.
On this Renzo agreed. Any friend who demanded Canaan bring a date wasn’t a real friend, but apparently this Damian saw things differently and Canaan had to listen through what sounded like a hell of a lecture.
“I just want to hang with you guys.” The want in Canaan’s voice did something to Renzo’s insides. He didn’t have the full story about why Canaan wasn’t in the band anymore, but anyone listening could tell how much the group meant to him. And the entitled asshole on the other end of the call was making that hard, and Renzo wanted to teach him a thing or two about friendship. Almost without permission from his brain, he stopped messing with the tire and got his own phone out.
This was stupid, the sort of stupid he’d vowed to avoid, and he was almost surely going to regret this, but he couldn’t stop himself from typing, I’ll do it. But we’re taking my truck. Okay?
