The Late Shortcut

A blown tire on a muddy backroad forces Casey and Liam into a confrontation that strips away their defenses.

The truck hit the pothole with a sound like a gunshot, a violent, metal-on-metal *crack* that vibrated straight up through the floorboards and into Casey’s teeth. The cab lurched hard to the right, gravity suddenly angry and insistent, pulling them toward the ditch. Liam didn’t yell. He didn’t even gasp. His hands just locked onto the steering wheel, knuckles bleaching white instantly, his forearms cording with the strain of wrestling two tons of fishtailing steel.

Casey, on the other hand, made a noise that was somewhere between a squeak and a curse, grabbing the

grab handle above the door as the seatbelt locked tight across his chest, knocking the wind out of him. The world outside the window was a blur of grey rain and brown scrub brush, spinning too fast.

Then, with a shuddering groan of suspension, they stopped. The front passenger side was dipped low, uncomfortably intimate with the mud.

Silence rushed back in, heavy and ringing, broken only by the aggressive *thwack-hisss* of the windshield wipers beating time against the glass and the hiss of rain on the hot hood. The engine sputtered once, then died.

Casey exhaled, a shaky, rattling sound. "Oh my god. Liam. Are you…?"

Liam stared straight ahead through the windshield. His jaw was set so hard a muscle feathered near his ear. He didn't look at Casey. He reached out, turned the key to the off position, and pulled it out of the ignition. The metal keys jingled—a tiny, cheerful sound that felt obscene in the quiet.

"I'm fine," Liam said. His voice was low, flat. Controlled. It was the voice he used when he was trying very hard not to be Liam-who-punches-drywall and trying to be Liam-the-adult. It terrified Casey.

"I didn't see it," Casey blurted out, the guilt already churning in his gut like battery acid. "I swear, it was just a puddle, I didn't think it was that deep, I thought…"

"Stay here," Liam said. He unbuckled his seatbelt. The mechanism clicked loudly.

"I can help," Casey said, reaching for his own buckle. His fingers felt clumsy, numb at the tips.

"Casey. Stay. Here." Liam turned his head then, just enough to catch Casey’s eye. His gaze was dark, unreadable, shadowed by the brim of his ball cap. "It's pouring. You're wearing canvas sneakers. You'll slip."

"I'm not useless, Liam," Casey snapped, the fear transmuting into defensiveness. He hated that look. That calm, protective, *I'll-handle-it* look that made Casey feel like a child, or worse, a liability. "It's my fault we took this road. I'm helping."

Liam didn't argue. He just opened his door, letting in a gust of wet, freezing air that smelled of damp asphalt and pine rot, and stepped out into the deluge. The door slammed shut, sealing Casey in the rapidly cooling cab.

Casey watched through the rain-streaked window as Liam walked around the front of the truck. Liam’s shoulders were hunched against the downpour, his flannel shirt darkening instantly across the back. He crouched by the front tire, vanishing from view.

Casey sat there for exactly ten seconds. The guilt was a physical weight, pressing down on his sternum. He looked at his hands—clean, soft, ink-stained from his drawing class earlier. Useless hands. He gritted his teeth, popped his door open, and jumped out.

The cold hit him like a physical slap. The rain wasn't just rain; it was ice water thrown from a bucket. His sneakers sank immediately into three inches of sucking clay mud. He almost wiped out, his arms windmilling, but he caught himself on the side mirror.

"I told you to stay inside," Liam’s voice came from near the ground, tight with strain.

Casey squelched his way to the front. The truck looked sad, listing heavily. The tire wasn't just flat; it was shredded, a rubber carcass chewed up by the rim. And the angle… the angle looked wrong.

"Is it bad?" Casey asked, wiping water out of his eyes. His hair was already plastered to his skull.

Liam was on his knees in the mud. He didn't look up. He was running a hand along the wheel well, probing something underneath. "Rim’s bent. Axle might be okay. But the tire is trash."

"We have a spare," Casey said quickly. "In the bed. I saw it."

"Yeah. We have a spare." Liam stood up. He towered over Casey, wet and imposing. The rain dripped from the brim of his cap, veiling his eyes. "Go get the flashlight from the glove box. And the jack handle from behind the seat."

Casey scrambled to obey, eager for a task. He slipped back into the cab, rummaging through the mess of receipts and old gum wrappers in the glove box until he found the heavy Maglite. He grabbed the jack kit from behind the bench seat and hurried back out.

For the next twenty minutes, the only sounds were the rain, the grunt of effort from Liam, and the metallic clanking of tools. Casey held the flashlight, his arm shaking from the cold and the tension. The beam wavered over Liam’s hands—rough, scarred hands that moved with a practiced, brutal efficiency. Liam wrestled the lug nuts off, tossing them into the hubcap he’d set upside down in the mud.

"Hold it steady," Liam muttered, fitting the spare onto the bolts.

"I'm trying," Casey said, his teeth chattering. "It's f-freezing."

"Almost done." Liam’s shirt was soaked through, clinging to the broad expanse of his back. He leaned into the tire wrench, tightening the nuts. His biceps strained against the wet fabric. Even in this disaster, Casey felt that familiar, stupid pull in his chest—that ache of watching Liam exist.

And then, it happened.

Casey shifted his weight, trying to get a better angle with the light. His foot slipped on a slick patch of clay. He flailed, his leg kicking out involuntarily. His sneaker connected with the hubcap.

Time seemed to slow down. Casey watched, horrified, as the hubcap flipped. The lug nuts—shiny, silver, essential—spilled out into the deep, churning slurry of mud and tall grass beside the road.

"No," Casey whispered.

Liam froze. He was mid-turn on the wrench. He didn't move for a long second. Then, slowly, he lowered the wrench and looked at the empty hubcap, then at the mud.

"Liam, I…" Casey dropped to his knees, plunging his hands into the freezing muck. "I'll find them. I saw where they went."

Liam stood up. He wiped his hands on his jeans, leaving dark grease streaks on the wet denim. He didn't help search.

"They’re gone, Casey."

"No, they're not! They're right here!" Casey clawed at the mud, his fingers numb, scraping against rocks and roots. The cold was biting into his bones now. "I can find them. Just shine the light here."

"Casey. Stop."

"I can fix it!" Casey’s voice cracked. He felt tears hot behind his eyes, mixing with the rain. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I made us take this road. I'm sorry I kicked the thing. I'm sorry I'm such a screw-up!"

"Casey!" Liam barked. It wasn't a shout, but it cut through the rain like a knife.

Casey stopped digging. He stayed on his knees, panting, staring down at his mud-coated hands. He was shivering violently now, and he wasn't sure if it was the cold or the panic. He couldn't look up. If he looked up and saw disgust in Liam’s eyes, he would break. He would actually shatter.

"Just say it," Casey whispered to the mud. "Just tell me I'm an idiot. Tell me you wish you hadn't brought me."

"Get in the truck," Liam said. His voice was frighteningly quiet.

"No! I need to find the—"

"Leave the damn nuts! Get in the truck before you get hypothermia!" Liam grabbed Casey by the back of his jacket and hauled him up. It wasn't gentle. It was a rough, desperate pull.

Casey stumbled, his footing lost, and crashed into Liam’s chest. For a second, he was enveloped in the smell of wet wool, motor oil, and Liam’s body heat. Then Liam was shoving him toward the passenger door, opening it, and practically throwing him inside.

Liam climbed in the driver’s side a second later, slamming the door against the rain. The silence of the cab returned, but now it was suffocating. The windows were already fogging up from their breath.

Casey huddled against the door, hugging his knees. He was shaking so hard the seat vibrated. He wiped his muddy hands on his jeans, but it just smeared the filth everywhere. He felt wretched. Small. Stupid.

Liam sat staring at the steering wheel. He took a deep breath, held it, and let it out. He took off his cap and ran a hand through his damp, dark hair. Water dripped from his nose.

"We have three nuts on the wheel," Liam said eventually. "That’s enough to hold it if we drive slow. I found two in the mud before you started digging. The third was still on the wrench."

Casey let out a wet, hiccupping breath. "Oh."

"We're five miles from the main road. No cell service here. We’ll sleep here until the rain lets up, or we try to limp it out on three lugs."

"I'm sorry," Casey said again, the words tasting like ash. "I ruin everything. I know I do. You have this… this plan, and you're always so together, and I just come along and break things."

Liam didn't answer. He reached into the back seat and grabbed an old wool blanket. He tossed it into Casey’s lap.

"Put that on. You're shaking."

"Don't ignore me!" Casey turned, anger flaring up to mask the hurt. "Yell at me! God, Liam, just yell at me! Stop being so… so perfect and stoic and handling me. I'm not a job!"

Liam turned his head slowly. In the dim light of the dashboard, his eyes were dark pools. "You want me to yell?"

"Yes! If you're mad, be mad!"

"I'm not mad about the truck, Casey!" Liam’s voice rose, cracking the veneer of calm. He slammed his hand against the steering wheel. "I don't give a damn about the truck! It's a piece of junk!"

"Then why do you look like you want to kill someone?" Casey yelled back, leaning across the console. "Why won't you look at me?"

"Because you scared the hell out of me!" Liam shouted. He turned fully toward Casey, his chest heaving. "You jumped out into the road! In the mud! You almost slid under the chassis when the jack was unstable! Do you have any idea…" He cut himself off, looking away, his jaw working.

Casey blinked, the fight draining out of him. "I… I was just trying to help."

"You don't think," Liam muttered, staring out the rain-washed window. "You never think about yourself. You just… act. And I have to watch. I have to watch you almost get hurt, constantly."

"I can take care of myself," Casey whispered, though it sounded weak even to his own ears.

"Can you?" Liam looked back at him. His expression had shifted. The anger was gone, replaced by something raw and terrified. "Because from where I'm sitting, Casey, you treat your safety like it's optional. And I can't… I can't handle that."

Casey stared at him. The air in the cab felt suddenly thick, charged with static. He saw the way Liam’s hand was trembling on his knee—not from cold, but from adrenaline.

"Why do you care?" Casey asked. His voice was barely audible over the rain. "Why does it matter so much if I get a few bruises? It’s just me."

Liam let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. He looked at Casey like he was speaking a foreign language. "Just you?"

Liam moved then. He unbuckled his seatbelt and shifted across the bench seat. The space between them vanished. He reached out, his rough, grease-stained hand cupping Casey’s jaw, his thumb brushing over Casey’s cheekbone. His skin was cold, but the touch burned.

"You think you're 'just you'?" Liam’s voice was a rough murmur, vibrating in the small space between them. "Casey. Look at me."

Casey looked. He saw the storm in Liam’s eyes—the frustration, the fear, and something else. Something deep and terrifyingly soft.

"I don't care about the shortcut," Liam said, his thumb tracing the line of Casey’s lip. "I don't care about the mud or the tire. But when you slipped… when I saw you fall… my heart stopped. It actually stopped."

"Liam…"

"I can't lose you," Liam said. The admission hung in the air, heavy and absolute. "I can't. I don't know how to be… this… without you."

Casey’s breath hitched. He realized, with a sudden, dizzying clarity, that he had been reading the silence all wrong. It wasn't judgment. It was terror. Liam wasn't managing a burden; he was protecting a lifeline.

"I'm here," Casey whispered, leaning into Liam’s hand. He brought his own hand up, muddy and trembling, to cover Liam’s. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

Liam closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Casey’s. He let out a long, shuddering breath, the tension finally leaving his frame. "You drive me crazy," he murmured against Casey’s skin.

"I know," Casey breathed, a small, watery smile touching his lips. "I'm really good at it."

"Yeah. You are."

Liam turned his head slightly, his nose brushing against Casey’s. The shift was subtle, a question asked in the friction of skin against skin. Casey answered by tilting his head back, closing the distance.

The kiss wasn't like in the movies. It tasted like rain and copper and stale coffee. It was messy and desperate. Liam’s other hand came up to grip the back of Casey’s neck, his fingers tangling in the damp hair, holding him steady, holding him close. Casey made a small sound in his throat and clutched at the front of Liam’s flannel shirt, pulling him in, anchoring himself.

It was a release of months of unsaid things, of glances held too long and touches pulled back too soon. It was an argument and an apology all at once.

When they broke apart, they didn't go far. Liam stayed close, his forehead resting against Casey’s temple, his breathing heavy.

"Okay?" Liam asked, his voice rough.

"Yeah," Casey whispered. He felt warm. Warmer than he had ever been. "Yeah. Okay."

Liam pulled back just enough to look at him. He used his thumb to wipe a smudge of mud from Casey’s chin. "You're a mess."

"You're one to talk," Casey retorted, though there was no heat in it. He traced a grease stain on Liam’s collarbone. "So. What now?"

Liam glanced at the fogged-up windows, then back at Casey. His eyes were half-lidded, heavy with an emotion Casey was only just beginning to understand.

"Now," Liam said, pulling the wool blanket up to cover both of their shoulders, creating a small, dark cocoon within the cab. "We wait for the rain to stop. And you don't move an inch from here."

Casey settled back against the seat, Liam’s arm heavy and solid around him. He listened to the rain drumming on the roof, a chaotic rhythm that suddenly sounded like a heartbeat. "I can do that," Casey murmured, closing his eyes.

"Good," Liam said, pressing a kiss to the top of Casey’s head. "Good."