Black Ice

Stranded in a blizzard with the one person he's trying to escape, Jared is forced to confront the distance between them. A ride home turns into a collision of frozen tempers and hidden truths.

It wasn’t the cold that bothered him. It was the principle of the thing. But also, yeah, it was the cold. The kind that didn’t just sit on the skin but chewed right through the denim of his jeans and gnawed on the bone. Jared kicked a chunk of gray, compacted slush away from his sneaker, instantly regretting the movement as a fresh wave of freezing air shot up his ankle. Stupid.

He was stupid. The situation was stupid. And the fact that he was walking three miles back to town because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut was the crowning jewel on a tiara of bad decisions.

The wind screamed across the flat, open fields, whipping snow horizontally. It stung his face like handfuls of sand. Visibility was garbage—maybe ten feet in front of him, just enough to see the white line on the shoulder of the highway disappearing into the gray void. He jammed his hands deeper into his pockets, hunched his shoulders, and kept walking. If he stopped, he’d probably freeze to death, and then they’d find him in the spring, a tragic, Jared-shaped popsicle that everyone would pretend to be sad about for a week before moving on to football season.

Especially Devon. Devon would probably be annoyed that the funeral interfered with his shift at the garage.

The thought of Devon made Jared walk faster, fueled by a sharp, burning spike of humiliation in his chest. He could still hear the conversation from twenty minutes ago, echoing in his head louder than the wind. He’d been around the corner, near the lockers. Devon had been talking to Tyler. Just two guys, leaning against the wall, voices low.

“Man, you’re always shadowing him,” Tyler had said. A laugh. A distinct, mocking sound.

And Devon, in that low, rumbling baritone that Jared hated—he absolutely hated it—had replied, “Yeah, well. Doesn’t have anyone else looking out for him, does he? I’m kind of stuck with it.”

Stuck with it. Stuck with him.

Jared had turned around and walked out the double doors right then. didn’t even grab his heavy coat from his locker. Just the hoodie he was wearing. He’d rather lose a few toes to frostbite than look Devon in the eye and see that dull, obligatory pity. The charity work. The promise Devon’s mom probably made him swear to: *Look after Jared, he’s a bit sensitive, he doesn’t fit in.*

A roar cut through the wind behind him. Twin beams of yellow light swept over the snow, casting long, frantic shadows against the treeline. Jared didn’t turn. He walked closer to the ditch, head down, praying it was a plow or a semi or anyone other than who he knew it was.

The engine noise dropped to a growl. Tires crunched heavily on the gravel shoulder. The vehicle crept up beside him, a massive, rusted-out obsession of black steel and lift kits. The passenger window rolled down with an electric whine.

“Get in.”

Jared kept walking. He stared straight ahead at the swirling white chaos. “No.”

“Jared.” The truck rolled at walking pace, keeping level with him. “It’s ten degrees out. Get in the truck.”

“I’m walking. It’s good cardio.”

“You’re shaking so hard I can hear your teeth rattling from here,” Devon said. His voice was flat. Not angry, not worried. Just factual. That annoyed Jared more than anything. The utter lack of reaction.

“Go away, Devon. Seriously. Go hang out with Tyler. I’m sure he misses you.”

The truck braked hard. The heavy door slammed, and then boots crunched on the asphalt. Jared didn’t stop, but he barely got two steps before a hand grabbed the back of his hoodie—not rough, but firm enough to halt his momentum.

“Let go,” Jared snapped, spinning around. He slapped at Devon’s arm, his coordination clumsy from the cold.

Devon stood there like a wall. He was wearing a canvas Carhartt jacket that looked like it had survived a war, grease stains on the cuffs, collar turned up against the wind. He looked immense against the white backdrop, solid and unmovable. His dark hair was wet with snow, plastered to his forehead.

“You’re an idiot,” Devon said. He reached out, ignoring Jared’s flailing hand, and opened the passenger door of the truck. “Get inside before you get hypothermia and I have to explain to your mom why you’re dead.”

“Oh, God forbid you have to explain anything,” Jared spat, his voice cracking. “Wouldn’t want to inconvenience you. wouldn’t want you to be *stuck* with the cleanup.”

Devon paused. His eyes, dark and unreadable, narrowed slightly. He didn’t ask what that meant. He just stepped forward, invading Jared’s space, blocking the wind with his body. He smelled like diesel, old coffee, and that specific metallic tang of the auto shop. It was a smell Jared had associated with safety since they were kids, which made him want to scream.

“In. Now,” Devon ordered.

Jared was shivering violently now. His defiance was losing the war against biology. He glared at Devon one last time, trying to inject as much venom as he could into his chattering teeth, then climbed up into the cab. He slammed the door as hard as he could. It didn’t make a satisfying sound; just a dull, heavy thud.

Devon walked around the front, climbed in the driver’s side, and put the truck in gear. The heater was blasting, blowing hot, dry air that made Jared’s frozen skin prickle and burn.

They drove in silence. The wipers slapped back and forth, fighting a losing battle against the snow. *Thwack-hiss. Thwack-hiss.*

Jared pressed his knees against the dashboard, curling into himself. He refused to look at Devon. He looked at the glove box. He looked at the dangling air freshener—a faded green pine tree. He looked at the clutter in the center console: a handful of bolts, a roll of electrical tape, a half-empty bag of sunflower seeds.

Devon didn’t drive toward Jared’s house. He took the turn toward the edge of town, toward the old service station his dad owned.

“Wrong way,” Jared muttered, his voice hoarse.

“Roads to the subdivision are gonna be drifted over,” Devon said, eyes on the road. His hands gripped the steering wheel at ten and two, knuckles white. “Plows haven’t been out that way yet. We’re going to the shop. I need to close up properly anyway.”

“I can walk from the main road.”

“Shut up, Jared.”

It wasn’t said with malice. It was tired. It was the voice of someone dealing with a toddler who wouldn’t put on their shoes. Jared felt a hot lump form in his throat. He hated this dynamic. He hated that he was always the frantic one, the messy one, and Devon was the anchor. The anchor that resented being dropped.

The truck rumbled over the metal grate of the shop’s driveway. The garage was a low, cinderblock building with peeling blue paint. The ‘OPEN’ neon sign buzzed in the window, flickering erratically. Devon killed the engine. The silence that rushed in was heavy, suffocating.

“Stay here,” Devon said, opening his door.

“I’m not a dog,” Jared snapped.

Devon ignored him, hopping out and jogging to the bay door. He hauled it open, the chain rattling, then came back, restarted the truck, and pulled it inside the bay. The sudden change in light was jarring—from the gray gloom of the storm to the harsh, yellow hum of industrial halogen tubes.

Devon killed the engine again. The bay door rattled shut behind them, sealing them in.

Jared opened his door and jumped down. His legs felt like jelly. The concrete floor was stained with years of oil and coolant. The shop was cold, but not wind-chill cold. It was a damp, still chill that smelled of rubber and rust.

Devon was already moving, checking the locks on the tool chests. He didn’t look at Jared. “There’s a space heater in the office. Go turn it on.”

“I’m not staying,” Jared said. He stood by the front fender of the truck, arms crossed over his chest, hugging himself. “I’m calling my mom.”

“Lines are probably down,” Devon said, wiping his hands on a rag he pulled from his back pocket. “And cell service is dead in this weather. You know that.”

Jared pulled his phone out. No bars. “Perfect. Just perfect.” He shoved it back into his pocket. “Fine. I’ll wait. But don’t pretend like you want me here.”

Devon stopped wiping his hands. He tossed the rag onto a workbench with a wet slap. He turned slowly to face Jared, leaning back against a stack of tires. He looked dangerous like this—calm, large, and quiet. The sleeves of his jacket were pushed up, revealing forearms corded with muscle and smeared with grease.

“What is your problem today?” Devon asked. Low voice. The dangerous kind.

“My problem?” Jared laughed. It sounded brittle. “I don’t have a problem. I’m just trying to relieve you of your burden.”

Devon tilted his head. “My burden.”

“Yeah. Me. The charity case.” Jared started pacing. He couldn’t stand still. The energy inside him was vibrating, frantic. He gestured wildly. “I heard you, Devon. I heard you talking to Tyler. ‘Stuck with it.’ That’s what you said. Like I’m some stray dog you have to feed because no one else will.”

Devon’s expression didn’t change, but his posture stiffened. “You were eavesdropping.”

“I was walking by! I didn’t mean to hear your... your performance review of our friendship!” Jared kicked a loose nut across the floor. It skittered under a sedan up on the lift. “God, it makes so much sense now. The rides to school. Sitting with me at lunch when the other guys are ignoring me. It’s just... work. It’s obligation.”

“Is that what you think?”

“It’s what you said!” Jared shouted. The sound echoed off the metal roof. “You’re stuck with me! Well, congrats, Devon. Shift’s over. You can clock out. I don’t need you to look out for me. I don’t need your pity rides. I don’t need *you*.”

The silence that followed was absolute. The heater in the corner clicked and whirred, struggling to come to life. Outside, the wind howled, battering the metal siding.

Devon pushed off the tires. He walked toward Jared. Slow steps. deliberate.

Jared backed up until his hips hit the workbench. “Don’t,” he warned. “Don’t try to spin this.”

Devon stopped a foot away. Close enough that Jared could feel the heat radiating off him. Close enough to see the flecks of gold in Devon’s dark brown eyes. Close enough to see the pulse jumping in Devon’s jaw.

“You listen to half a sentence and think you know everything,” Devon said quietly. “You always do that. You assume the worst, especially about yourself.”

“I heard what I heard.”

“You heard me say I was stuck with it,” Devon corrected. “You didn’t hear the rest.”

“What rest? ‘Stuck with it because his mom is crazy’? ‘Stuck with it because he’s pathetic’?”

“Stuck with it,” Devon repeated, his voice dropping an octave, rougher now, “because I can’t seem to make myself give a damn about anyone else. Because Tyler was trying to set me up with his cousin, and I told him I wasn’t interested. He asked why I’m always around you. And I said I’m stuck with it.”

Jared blinked. His brain stuttered, trying to reprocess the information. “What?”

“I’m stuck, Jared,” Devon said. He reached out, his hand hovering near Jared’s face before he dropped it to the workbench, gripping the edge of the metal. “I’ve been stuck on you since we were twelve. And it’s annoying as hell, because you’re difficult, and you’re cynical, and you never wear a damn coat, but... there isn’t anyone else. There’s just you.”

Jared’s breath hitched. He felt like the floor had tilted sideways. “You... what? You mean...”

“I mean I’m not babysitting you,” Devon growled. “I’m in love with you, you absolute moron.”

The words hung in the cold air, stark and undeniable. Jared stared at him. He looked for the joke. He looked for the punchline or the pity. He saw nothing but a raw, terrifying intensity in Devon’s face. Devon looked almost angry about it, like the confession had been clawed out of him.

“You called me a moron,” Jared whispered.

“You are,” Devon said. But his eyes softened. The anger drained away, leaving something exposed and vulnerable that Jared had never seen before. “You were walking on the highway in a blizzard because you thought I didn’t want you around. If that’s not moronic behavior, I don’t know what is.”

“I thought...” Jared started, but his voice failed him. He looked down at Devon’s hand on the workbench. It was inches from his own. His heart was hammering against his ribs, a frantic, bird-like rhythm. “I thought you were just... tolerating me.”

“Tolerating you would be easier,” Devon muttered. “This? Worrying about you? Watching you stare at the sky while you walk into traffic? Wondering if you’re ever going to look at me and see something other than your neighbor? This is exhausting.”

Jared laughed. A short, wet sound. “I’m exhausting?”

“Incredibly.”

Devon moved then. He stepped into the sliver of space remaining between them. He reached out, and this time he didn’t drop his hand. He cupped Jared’s face. His palm was rough, calloused, and warm. His thumb brushed over Jared’s cheekbone, wiping away a stray drop of melting snow.

“Your face is freezing,” Devon murmured.

“I walked three miles,” Jared defended weakly.

“Half a mile. At best.”

“Felt like three.”

Devon’s gaze dropped to Jared’s lips, then back up to his eyes. The question was there. Silent, heavy, terrified.

Jared didn’t pull away. He leaned into the touch, closing his eyes for a second. The smell of grease and diesel was overwhelming, dizzying. It smelled like home. It smelled like Devon.

“So,” Jared said, opening his eyes. He felt breathless. “You’re not... charity work?”

“Shut up about the charity work,” Devon said. His thumb traced the line of Jared’s jaw. “Unless you’re offering.”

“Offering what?”

“To stop talking and let me do what I’ve wanted to do since freshman year.”

Jared’s hands found the front of Devon’s jacket. He gripped the heavy canvas, bunching it in his fists. He felt grounded. For the first time all day—maybe for the first time in years—he didn’t feel like he was floating away.

“Do it,” Jared whispered. “If you don’t, I’m gonna kick you.”

Devon huffed a laugh, a warm puff of air against Jared’s skin. Then he leaned down and kissed him.

It wasn’t a movie kiss. It was clumsy at first, a collision of cold noses and hesitant pressure. Devon tasted like coffee. His lips were chapped. But then the hesitation broke, and Devon groaned low in his throat, pressing closer, pinning Jared against the workbench. The kiss deepened, becoming hungry, desperate, a release of years of silence and misunderstood glances.

Jared’s head spun. He wrapped his arms around Devon’s neck, pulling him down, tangling his fingers in the damp hair at the nape of Devon’s neck. The cold of the garage faded. The storm outside ceased to exist. There was only the heat of Devon’s body, the weight of him, the rough slide of his hands moving from Jared’s face to his waist, pulling him flush against him.

They broke apart gasping, foreheads resting against each other. puffs of white breath mingled in the space between them.

“Okay,” Jared breathed. “Okay. I believe you.”

“Good,” Devon rasped. He kept his eyes closed, his grip on Jared’s waist tightening. “Because I’m not saying it again.”

“You might have to.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

They stood there for a long time, just breathing, the hum of the fluorescent lights buzzing over them. The tension that had defined their friendship for so long wasn’t gone, but it had changed. It wasn’t a wall anymore. It was a wire, live and humming, connecting them.

“My truck is low on gas,” Devon said suddenly, not moving.

“Okay?”

“And the roads are getting worse. We’re probably not getting out of here tonight.”

Jared pulled back slightly to look at him. “So we’re stuck here?”

Devon smirked. It was a small, crooked thing. “Looks like it.”

“With a space heater and a bag of sunflower seeds.”

“And each other.”

Jared rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t fight the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Cheese. pure cheese.”

“You love it.”

“I might.”

A loud bang from outside made them both jump. The wind had thrown something against the bay door—a branch, maybe, or a loose piece of siding. The lights overhead flickered once. Twice. Then, with a distinct *pop*, the garage plunged into absolute darkness.