When the car actually sputtered, jerking as it came to a stop, I was resigned to my fate. Apparently I was just a magnet for shit right now. Checking my phone for a signal again, I confirmed I was in a dead zone. Perfect. What the fuck am I going to do now? I tried to calm myself, think through the options. Okay. I could hike to a gas station or sit here and wait for a stranger to help me. Both seemed like choices that involved getting picked up by an axe-murdering serial killer, so they were equally stellar.
I leaned forward, resting my head against the steering wheel, and breathed out.
Calm. I breathed in.
Relax. I practiced the deep breathing I had learned in yoga. Yoga didn’t exactly prepare me for this. I breathed in and my breath turned into sobs. Deep, heaving, body-racking sobs. Once I started crying, I couldn’t stop, tears streaming down my face. I suddenly felt like I was gasping for air, choking. In my mind's eye, Billy's face flashed in front of mine, inches away, and I felt his hands, a vise grip around my neck, squeezing the life from me.
I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.
Pulling at the door handle, I stumbled out of the car, falling to my knees in the dirt and overgrown grass on the side of the road. I heard an engine, and knew I should be out there flagging down the vehicle, but I felt bile in the back of my throat, and then the contents of my stomach came up, burning. Even after I’d vomited, I knelt there dry-heaving and sobbing.
When I finally stopped, I wiped my mouth with my hand. My nose dripped, and I brushed it against the back of my hand, sniffling. Gross. The last time I’d cried was at my mother’s funeral. I felt like I’d just spilled out years worth of tears. It was like I’d expelled everything I’d been building up since I was fourteen.
I spit on the ground. My mouth tastes like crap. I need a piece of gum, I thought. Standing, I brushed the dirt from my jeans and straightened the scarf I’d tied around my neck earlier.
Fuck my life.
There he was, the biker I’d nearly side-swiped before, standing by my car, helmet in his hand. Motorcycles weren’t exactly quiet. How had I not heard him pull up? How could I have been that absorbed in my own shit that I hadn’t noticed?
Oh, crap. That meant he had to have seen me crying and throwing up. I felt heat rise to my face as I flushed with embarrassment. That was just great. My face was scarlet, I was sure. Then I looked at him. Really looked at him. Holy shit, he is hot. That made this doubly embarrassing.
Blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, blue eyes, chiseled jawline. He wasn't hot the way Billy had been attractive, compensating for some inner insecurity with all his pricey things. This guy was different. Absolutely nothing about him said money. But everything about him screamed raw masculinity. I had a brief fantasy of what he would look like naked, wondered whether the tattoos that snaked up his forearm covered the rest of his body as well, thought about how it would feel to have his body pressed against mine. What the hell was wrong with me that I was thinking about this biker that way, hours after Billy had choked me?
Way to go, Dani, I thought. Congratulations. You officially have the world’s worst taste in men. They should give out awards for that.
I wiped my nose again, aware I had to be standing there in front of him covered in vomit and snot. This day could not get any worse. Who cares what he thinks, anyway?
“You okay?” he asked.
“I ran out of gas,” I said, as if that would explain the vomiting and crying.
“Okay. But are you all right?” He gestured toward the grass where I had knelt. So he had seen everything.
“Yes.” I paused. “No. I’m having a really bad day.” I half expected him to laugh at me, the rich girl in the Mercedes, whining about having a rough life. But he didn’t laugh. He just nodded, looking at me.
“I can see that.”
“I’m sorry about nearly running you off the road before. I didn’t see you at all. I was going to stop, but you were still riding…” My voice trailed off, and I knew my excuse sounded lame, even as I spoke. I felt naked under the intensity of his stare.
“Okay then,” he said. “You want a lift to the gas station? I'm pretty sure there’s one a couple miles down the road here.”
“That would be great. Thank you,” I said. “I’m Dani.”
“Blaze.”
Blaze? What the hell kind of a name was Blaze? I opened my mouth, then closed it again. “Blaze?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for the help.”
He nodded, and I followed him to the motorcycle, a blacked out Harley Crossbones. “You ridden a bike before?”
“A couple of times.”
“Good,” he said. “Hang on tight. You have to move with me.” Move with him. That won’t be a problem, I thought.