Traction

A truck in a ditch, a blizzard closing in, and two best friends with too much unsaid between them. When the heater dies, the truth finally has nowhere left to hide.

The truck didn’t spin. It just slid. It was a slow, sickening drift, like the world had suddenly tilted forty-five degrees to the right and gravity had decided to do the rest. I didn't scream. I just gripped the oh-shit handle so hard I felt the plastic seam biting into my palm, watching the tree line rushing up to meet the passenger window.

Then came the crunch—metal against frozen earth, the snap of hidden branches—and the violent jolt that rattled my teeth. The engine sputtered, coughed once, and died. Then, silence. Absolute, heavy silence, broken only by the ticking of the cooling manifold and the wind hissing against the glass.

I stared at the dashboard. The little green light on the radio was still glowing, some indie band Saila liked whining about heartache. It felt stupid. Inappropriate.

"You okay?" Saila’s voice was low. Too calm. It was that controlled, level tone he used when he was trying very hard not to punch something.

I swallowed, tasting copper. I must have bitten my tongue. "Yeah. Yeah, I’m good."

He didn't look at me. He unbuckled his seatbelt, the click sounding like a gunshot in the small cab, and shoved his door open. A gust of freezing air swirled in, smelling of pine sap and exhaust fumes. Not that sharp, electric smell of a storm, but the dirty, grounded smell of an accident. He stepped out into the snow, his boots disappearing into the white powder.

I sat there for a second. My hands were shaking. Not from the cold, not yet. From the adrenaline. From the knowledge that I had been the one distracting him. I had been the one waving my phone in his face, showing him that stupid photo of his ex-girlfriend at the diner, pushing, prodding, looking for a reaction I never got.

I fumbled with my door handle. It was jammed against a snowbank. I had to shove it with my shoulder, grunting, until it cracked open enough for me to squeeze out. The cold hit me like a physical slap, wet and biting.

Saila was at the front of the truck, hands on his hips, staring at the front right tire. It was buried deep in a ditch that the snow had hidden perfectly. The bumper was crumpled against a fir tree the size of a telephone pole.

"Bad?" I asked. My voice sounded thin in the wind.

Saila didn't look up. He just kicked the snow near the tire. "Axle’s bent. Radiator’s probably cracked. We aren't driving out of this, Jimmy."

I shoved my hands into the pockets of my hoodie. I wasn't wearing a coat. I’d left it in the back seat because the heater had been blasting five minutes ago. "I can call AAA."

"No service," he said, finally turning to look at me. His eyes were dark, unreadable. Snowflakes caught in his eyelashes. "I checked before I got out. We’re five miles past the tower range."

"Oh." I looked around. The road was a white ribbon disappearing into the grey sky. The trees were tall, oppressive walls of black and green. "So, we walk?"

"In this?" He gestured at the sky. The snow was falling harder now, thick flakes that stuck to everything. "It's ten degrees, Jimmy. You’re wearing a hoodie. We’d make it a mile before you went hypothermic."

"I’m not a child," I snapped. It was a reflex. The defensiveness. "I can walk five miles."

"You’re shivering already."

"I’m fine."

He sighed, a puff of white steam escaping his lips. He looked tired. Not scared, just exhausted. With me. "Get back in the truck. I’m going to see if I can rig the tarp over the broken window so the wind doesn't kill us while we wait."

"Wait for what?"

"A plow. A logger. Anyone with a radio."

He turned his back on me, popping the hood to scavenge whatever he could. I stood there for a second, watching the snow gather on the shoulders of his Carhartt jacket. He looked so solid. Immovable. Even when he was pissed off, he knew exactly what to do. It made me want to scream.

I climbed back into the cab. It was already losing heat. The vinyl seat was cold against my jeans. I pulled my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around my legs. The radio had died completely now. Just the wind.

Ten minutes later, Saila climbed back in the driver's side. He had a heavy wool blanket he kept in the emergency kit and a flashlight. He slammed the door, shutting out the worst of the howl.

"Here," he said, tossing the blanket at me. It smelled like motor oil and old dog.

"I don't need it," I said, pushing it back. "You take it."

"Jimmy," he warned.

"I’m serious. You’re the one who was out there fixing things. I’m just the idiot who crashed us."

"I was driving," Saila said. He leaned his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes.

"Yeah, but I was..." I trailed off. I picked at a loose thread on my jeans. "I was being a dick."

He didn't answer. He just sat there, breathing evenly. The silence stretched, thin and tight like a wire. It was colder now. I could see my own breath fogging in the air. My toes were starting to go numb inside my Converse.

"Why do you put up with me?" I asked. The question slipped out before I could stop it. It was the question that had been rotting in my gut for months, ever since he started talking about moving to the city for that welding program.

Saila opened one eye. "Not now, Jules."

"No, seriously. I’m loud. I’m messy. I get us stranded in ditches because I can't keep my mouth shut about your ex. Why are we even friends?"

"We’re friends because our moms were friends," he mumbled, closing his eye again.

"That’s a crap reason. We’re twenty. We don't have to have playdates anymore."

He shifted, turning his body slightly toward me. The cab was small. His knee bumped mine. He didn't pull away. "Are you trying to start a fight? Is that the strategy? Keep the blood pressure up to stay warm?"

"I’m just asking."

"You’re spiraling."

"I am not spiraling!" I shouted, my voice cracking. "I am freezing to death in a ditch and you’re acting like it’s just another Tuesday! You’re always so... so..."

"So what?" His voice had an edge now. He sat up straighter.

"So perfect!" I threw my hands up, hitting the roof of the cab. "You never mess up. You never say the wrong thing. You just fix everything and look at me like I’m some charity case you’re stuck with."

Saila laughed. It was a dry, humorless sound. "Perfect. Right."

"You act like you don't care about anything!" I accused. "Sarah texts you, and you just delete it. I show you the photo, and you don't even blink. Do you feel anything? Or are you just a robot wrapped in flannel?"

"I deleted the text because I don't care about Sarah," Saila said. His voice dropped an octave. "And I didn't blink at the photo because I was trying to keep us on the road while you were shoving a phone in my face."

"Bullshit. You loved her."

"I dated her for three months in junior year, Jimmy. Get a grip."

"Then why don't you date anyone else?" I pressed. I knew I was crossing a line. I was sprinting across it. "It’s been two years. Everyone wants you. The girls at the diner ask me about you constantly. But you just hang out with me. Why?"

He stared at me. The shadows in the truck were getting deeper as the afternoon light faded into grey dusk. His jaw was tight. I could see the muscle feathering near his ear.

"Drop it," he said.

"No. I want to know. Maybe you just like having someone around who makes you look good by comparison. The screw-up sidekick."

"Is that what you think you are?" rarely had I seen him look genuinely angry, but he looked angry now. His brows drew together.

"It’s what I am, isn't it?" I felt tears pricking my eyes, hot and humiliating. "I’m the one who didn't get into college. I’m the one working at the gas station. I’m the one who drags you down."

"You’re an idiot," he said flatly.

"See! There it is."

"I didn't say you were a screw-up. I said you were an idiot for thinking that’s how I see you."

"Then tell me!" I unbuckled my seatbelt, needing to move, needing to get away from the suffocating proximity of him. I reached for the door handle. " tell me the truth or I’m walking."

"Jimmy, stop."

"I’m walking home!"

I shoved the door open again. The wind roared in, swirling snow around us immediately. I swung my legs out, ready to jump into the drifts.

A hand clamped around my wrist. It was warm and rough and incredibly strong.

"Get back in the truck," Saila growled.

"Let go!"

"You’ll die out there, you moron!" He yanked me back. I wasn't as strong as him. I never had been. He pulled me across the center console, dragging me away from the open door. I scrambled, kicking at the dashboard, panic rising in my throat.

He slammed the passenger door shut with his other hand, plunging us back into the semi-silence. But he didn't let go of my wrist. He pinned me against the seat, his body looming over mine. He was breathing hard now, his composure finally cracked.

"What is wrong with you?" he demanded, his face inches from mine. I could feel the heat radiating off him.

"Everything!" I yelled back. "Everything is wrong with me! That’s the point!"

"Nothing is wrong with you!" He shook me slightly. "God, you are so frustrating."

"Then let me go! Let me leave so you don't have to deal with me anymore!"

"I don't want you to leave!" The words tore out of him. Loud. Raw. They echoed in the small space.

We both froze. The air in the cab seemed to vibrate. Saila’s grip on my wrist loosened, but he didn't pull away. His eyes were searching mine, wide and terrified. It was the first time I’d ever seen Saila afraid.

"You..." I breathed, my heart hammering against my ribs. "You don't?"

He looked down at my wrist, then at my face. He looked like he was in pain. "No. I don't."

"Why?" It came out as a whisper.

Saila closed his eyes for a second, a look of defeat washing over his features. When he opened them, the anger was gone, replaced by something intense and heavy that made my stomach flip. "Because I’m not hanging out with you out of pity, Jimmy. I’m not ignoring Sarah because I’m heartbroken. I’m doing it because... God, you’re blind."

I stared at him. My brain was misfiring. "I don't... I don't get it."

"You really think I’d drive you to every shift when your car breaks down just to be nice?" he asked softly. "You think I’d spend every Friday night watching bad movies on your couch just because our moms were friends?"

He leaned in closer. I stopped breathing. The scent of him—woodsmoke, mint gum, and that underlying warmth—filled my head.

"I put up with you," he murmured, his thumb brushing the pulse point on my inner wrist, "because I’m in love with you. You absolute disaster."

The world stopped. The wind outside ceased to exist. The cold vanished. There was only the pressure of his hand on my wrist and the look in his eyes—naked, terrifying honesty.

"You... what?" My voice was barely audible.

"I love you," he said again, like he was testing the weight of the words. "I have for years. Since you broke your arm falling off my roof in tenth grade. Since before that."

I gaped at him. "But... I’m me."

A corner of his mouth twitched up. A sad, crooked smile. "Yeah. I know."

"And you’re... you."

"Apparently."

"I thought you hated me," I said. A tear finally escaped, hot and tracking through the dirt on my cheek. "I thought you were just waiting for an excuse to leave."

"I’m never leaving," Saila said fiercely. He moved his hand from my wrist to my neck, his thumb wiping away the tear. His skin was rough, calloused, but his touch was so gentle it made me shudder. "I’m not going anywhere without you."

My brain was trying to catch up, trying to rewrite five years of history in seconds. Every look, every silence, every time he’d defended me. It all slotted into place, terrifying and obvious.

"I..." I stammered. "I didn't know."

"I know you didn't."

"I think..." I looked at his lips. They were chapped. "I think I might be an idiot."

"We established that," he whispered.

Then he kissed me. It wasn't like in the movies. It wasn't graceful. It was desperate and clumsy. Our teeth clashed. He tasted like coffee and adrenaline. But then his hand tightened in my hair, tilting my head back, and the kiss deepened, becoming something slow and consuming.

I grabbed the front of his jacket, pulling him closer, needing to feel the solidity of him. I needed to know this was real. He made a low sound in his throat, a rumble that vibrated against my chest.

For a moment, we were just heat and friction in the freezing dark. I forgot about the truck. I forgot about the snow. I forgot about the feeling of uselessness that had dogged me for months. I just felt him.

When we pulled apart, we were both breathless. Our foreheads rested against each other. I could see the steam of our breath mingling.

"Okay?" he asked, his voice rough.

I nodded, dazed. "Okay."

He brushed his thumb over my bottom lip. "You’re freezing."

"I didn't notice."

He chuckled softly. He reached back and grabbed the wool blanket, unfolding it with one hand while keeping the other firmly on my neck, as if he was afraid I’d vanish if he let go. He draped the blanket over both of us, creating a small, dark cocoon.

"Come here," he said.

I didn't argue. I shimmied across the console, disregarding the gear stick digging into my hip, and curled up against him. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into his chest. He was a furnace. I buried my face in his neck, breathing him in.

"This is going to be uncomfortable," I mumbled into his jacket.

"Yeah," he agreed, resting his chin on top of my head. "My back is going to kill me tomorrow."

"Sorry about the truck."

"Truck’s insured. It’s just metal."

We sat there in the silence, but it wasn't heavy anymore. It felt safe. The wind buffeted the truck, shaking the frame, but it felt distant, like it couldn't touch us.

"So," I said after a while, my voice muffled by his coat. "Does this mean you’re not moving to the city?"

"I’m still moving," he said. I stiffened, but his arms tightened around me. "But I was hoping you’d come with me. Get out of this town. Figure out what you actually want to do instead of pumping gas."

I pulled back enough to look at him. "You want me to come with you?"

"I told you," he said, his eyes soft. "I’m not going anywhere without you."

A headlights beam swept across the back window, illuminating the cab in a harsh flash of white. We both flinched.

"Someone’s coming," Saila said, sounding almost disappointed.

"Probably a logger."

"Probably."

He didn't move to open the door. He just looked at me, his gaze tracing my face like he was memorizing it.

"We should signal them," I said.

"In a minute," he said. He leaned in and kissed me again, soft and lingering. "Just... give me a minute."

I closed my eyes, leaning into him. The cold was still there, waiting outside the glass, but inside, under the scratchy wool blanket, everything had changed.