Chapter 30.
928 Words
The first mile was a test of will. The second was a descent into a fever dream.
The desert was a graveyard of things that had tried and failed. They passed a rusted-out diner with its roof caved in and a sign for "World's Best Cherry Pie" that had faded into a ghostly gray. Harper found herself staring at a pile of discarded tires, seeing beauty in the way the rubber had cracked into intricate, reptilian patterns.
"It's like me," she murmured, her voice a dry thread. "The decay. It's actually kind of... artistic."
Kane stopped, turning to look at her. His eyes were dark with a mixture of frustration and something that looked dangerously like heartbreak. "Don't do that. Don't find metaphors in the dirt."
"Why not? It beats thinking about my kidneys," she retorted, but her knees buckled.
Kane caught her before she hit the gravel. He didn't say a word about her weight- or the lack of it. He didn't mention how her skin felt thin. He just reached down and swept her up into a bridal carry, his boots crunching decisively against the road.
"Kane, put me down. You'll give yourself a heatstroke," she protested feebly, her head lolling against his shoulder.
"Shut up, Harper," he muttered, his chest heaving. "You're a weapon, right? Just consider yourself in its holster."
Being carried by him was the most intimate thing she had ever experienced. It wasn't like the "special" moments her mother tried to curate. It was raw. She could hear the frantic, rhythmic thud of his heart through his jacket. She could smell the salt of his sweat and the lingering scent of the GTO's oil. He was struggling, his muscles tensing with every step, but he didn't slow down.
"Why are you doing this?" she whispered into the crook of his neck. "You could have left me at the car. You could have walked faster alone."
Kane didn't look at her. He kept his eyes fixed on the shimmering horizon where the jagged silhouette of The Rusty Star was finally beginning to take shape.
"Because I'm the driver," he said, his voice strained. "And I don't leave my cargo behind. Especially not when the cargo is the only thing that's made me feel like I'm not just nothing in three years."
They reached the tow station- a leaning shack of corrugated tin and a single, ancient gas pump- just as Harper felt the world starting to grey out at the edges.
Kane didn't set her down until they reached the shade of a rusted porch awning. He lowered her gently onto a bench made of a repurposed truck tailgate. He knelt in the dirt in front of her, his hands trembling as he fumbled with a canteen he'd bought from a silent attendant inside.
"Drink," he ordered, holding the water to her lips.
She drank, the lukewarm water tasting better than the finest champagne at The Vault. As she pulled away, she saw a smudge of grease on Kane's cheek. Without thinking, she reached out, her thumb brushing the dirt away.
Kane froze. The air between them was heavy, the only sound the distant whistle of the wind through the sagebrush. The world was falling apart around them- the car was dead, the sun was murderous, and Harper's body was failing; but in that small patch of shade, something new was growing.
"You're the most stubborn girl I've ever met," Kane whispered, his hand coming up to cover hers, pinning her palm against his cheek.
"And you're the worst kidnapper in history," she replied, her eyes stinging. "You're supposed to be cold and indifferent."
"I tried," he admitted, his gaze dropping to her lips. "I really tried, Brooks. But you're a rebel. And nobody can stay indifferent during a rebellion."
He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers, echoing the moment in the club. But here, in the middle of nowhere, with the smell of rust and the heat of the desert, it felt real. It felt like they weren't outrunning the clock anymore. For a few minutes, under the shade of a dying gas station, they were simply existing in the space between the ticks.
"You've only ever known the version of me that's sick, Kane," Harper whispered.
"Then it's my favorite version," he countered, his thumb grazing her jaw. "Because this version is brave enough to be in the middle of Nevada with me."
He pulled back slightly, the steel returning to his gaze. "We'll get the parts. I'll fix the cooling line, and we're going to get to that city. I'm not letting the desert win this one."
Harper closed her eyes, letting the steady thrum of his presence drown out the frantic rhythm of her own heart. "I know," she whispered. "I trust the driver."
The attendant, a man whose skin looked like weathered leather, shuffled out of the shack carrying a small toolbox and a rusted radiator hose. He didn't say a word, just set the tools down by Kane's feet.
Kane stood up, the movement slow and deliberate. He looked down at Harper, his expression softening for a fraction of a second. "Stay here. In the shade. If you move an inch, I'm locking you in the trunk when I get the car back."
"You wouldn't dare," Harper said.
"Try me," he countered with a faint, dangerous smirk.
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