Nope. Not happening. I’d be fine. I was almost there. There were no signs, but there didn’t need to be. If you took this road for long enough, you’d end up in the center of the little town of Edgewood, population around twenty thousand—up to triple that in the summer when the tourists came to play in the wilderness areas of Adirondack Park.
The radio played a vibrant version of “Let It Snow” as I peered through the windshield—how appropriate. I was close. I was so close. I could practically see the streetlamps in the distance. I could see the—
Deer!
It jumped right out in front of my car, freezing in the glare of my headlights. I jerked my wheel hard to the right, toward the shoulder. Jump away, jump away! The deer didn’t move, but I still missed it by inches.
I didn’t miss the snowbank, though. I hit it with the front right corner of the car, which crumpled with an ear-splitting crunch and sent the rest of the car careening in a half spin until the whole thing ended up lodged sideways in the bank. My airbag saved me from hitting the steering wheel, but I still felt like I got punched in the face as I sat there afterward, quietly stunned as my brain tried to process what my body had just gone through.
“—it snow, let it snow, let it snow! When we finally kiss good night—” I shut off the radio in a daze.
“Fuck,” I whispered. “Holy—fuck.”
Where was my phone? Shit. I needed to call someone. I needed help. There was no way I was getting my car out of this snowbank by myself. I knew that much without trying. I’d need a tow.
I fumbled for my phone and stared at it for a moment. I should call…um…my insurance, to let them know about the accident? Hal, to let him know I’d be late? A tow company? In the end, though, the only numbers my fingers could reliably find were 9-1-1.
“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”
“Um…” C’mon, brain. “It’s not really an emergency, but, ah…I crashed my car.”
“Are you or anyone else involved in the accident injured, sir?”
“It’s just me, and…no. Not really. Not much.”
I thought I heard the operator sigh. “Sir, if you’ll give me your location, I’ll notify the local police department to come and assist you.”
Right. Not an emergency. I passed on my information and was told to expect someone within the next ten to fifteen minutes. “It’s the best we can do in this weather, sir,” the operator informed me, and I got it. There had to be a lot of people crashing thanks to this snowstorm, and mine was a single car, non-injury accident. I wasn’t exactly a top priority.
My engine wasn’t running, but the inside of my car was still marginally warmer than the outside of it, even now that the passenger-side window was cracked. I sat there and did my best to stave off serious case of the “what-ifs.” It wasn’t working.
What if I’d hit the snowbank harder? What if I’d rammed the deer? What if I’d died on a country road a week before Christmas and made Hal feel guilty about me being an idiot forever? How would the girls take it? Shit. It didn’t bear thinking about.
At least I hadn’t hit anyone else. That was a mercy.
I scrubbed my trembling hands over my face, wincing a little at the pressure it put on my right cheek. That was going to bruise. My jaw bristled with a five o’clock shadow, and my hair had gone from stiff to floppy after hours melting under the blast of the heater. I had to look like a total disaster right now. Ha, a perfect match for my car.
Like a match flaring up in the darkness, a pair of headlights appeared through the falling snow ahead of me. I resisted the urge to get out and wave them over to my side of the road—if it was the police, they’d stop. If it wasn’t, then I’d do better letting them drive on and get home to their own family anyway.
The vehicle, a Jeep with an Edgewood PD logo on the side of it, pulled in across the road from me, leaving its headlights on. A figure got out from the driver’s side and headed over to me, one hand holding up a flashlight. I tried to roll down my window—nothing. The battery must have gotten fucked up, too. Great. I heaved a sigh then opened the door and got out of the car.
“Hi there, Officer,” I said, waving a hand before crossing my arms over my chest—shit, it was cold out here. I could barely see the person behind the glare of their light. “I’m really hoping that you’re my ride.”
For a long moment, there was no reply, and I wondered where I’d gone wrong. Was this not really a cop? Was I about to get murdered by a flashlight-wielding serial killer?
Calm down the lizard brain, man.
“Yep,” the guy said at last. His voice was a little rough, like he’d just downed a shot of whiskey. “That’s me.”
A shiver ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold. Maybe this crash wasn’t the worst thing ever, if it meant getting rescued by this guy.
Chapter Two
Dominic
Dinah’s Diner was the first place you saw coming into Edgewood and the last place you passed leaving it. It was the unofficial hangout of the force, with good food that was fairly cheap, as long as you didn’t mind Dinah listening over your shoulder as calls came in over the radio. I was halfway through a plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes when I got the call from dispatch with word of a car accident on Route 10. No injuries, but the car was undriveable, from the sound of things, and the guy needed someone to come and pick him up.
I sighed and put my fork down. I was the only person in the diner tonight other than Dinah and her husband Troy, who doubled as the line cook. It was just seven thirty, but with this weather, nobody else was dumb enough to be out and about. As Edgewood’s officer on call until tomorrow morning, it meant that this and whatever any other unlucky soul or drunk dumbass decided to do in the next twelve hours was all on me. Dinah, a plump redhead in her sixties wearing a handmade gingham apron over her Metallica T-shirt and jeans, patted me on the hand before pointedly filling my travel mug with coffee.
So much for catching up on my reading.
“What’s the name of the guy I’m off to rescue?” I asked over my radio as I set a twenty down on the table. Dinah scowled at me, but I put my plate on top of it and resolutely didn’t let her pull it out and bring me half of it back as change.
“Uh, hang on…looks like a Mr. Max Robertson.”
I’d just taken a sip of my fresh hot coffee, and hearing that name promptly sent it down the wrong tube. I coughed, trying not to swallow my tongue as I came to grips with what I was hearing. Max Robertson? Back in Edgewood? Or, you know, on the road five minutes outside of it. Shit, I hadn’t thought about him in…
Days, at least. It had been days. It wasn’t reasonable to think about your first crush any more often than that, and I was a reasonable guy.