1. Breakdowns & Freakouts
"We're lost!" Alice wailed from the passenger seat for perhaps the hundredth time since we had exited the freeway.
"Yes, Alice. You've told me. Several times. Repeating it doesn't make us un-lost," I growled through gritted teeth. I eyed my friend from behind my dark sunglasses, noting she was still slouched up against the door with a sullen expression on her face. "This was your idea," I reminded her, gesturing wildly at the miles of nothingness that surrounded us.
"But it's Route 66! There's supposed to be stuff on it!"
"Maybe fifty years ago," I grumbled, sighing as I squeezed my hands around the steering wheel. We had been lost for hours, trying to follow the elusive Route 66. My poor BMW wasn't meant for gravel or dirt roads that kicked up dust behind us like a bad Western. It didn't help matters that it had been making a weird noise since a particularly large pothole several miles back. I would give anything to be on the five at rush hour right now. Anything would be better than this.
Alice and I were traveling cross country for my mother's wedding. For some unfathomable reason, instead of hopping a flight out of LAX to Chicago, we'd gotten it into our heads to go on the great American road trip. We'd talked about driving cross country since graduating from college, but had never gotten around to it. Renee's wedding was the perfect excuse.
At least I had thought so until we got to about Texas. By Texas, I was ready for an airplane with five screaming babies, if it meant I didn't have to spend another minute in the car.
Why I had ever let Alice convince me to stop for the night in Springfield, Missouri, so that we could take Route 66 the rest of the way into St. Louis, was beyond me. We should have just stayed on the freeway. Or better yet, I should have told her we were skipping St. Louis altogether, and kept driving straight to Chicago—no more stops.
It had started with the damn thermometer in Baker, before we'd even made it out of California, and it hadn't stopped. Alice wanted to see every last hokey tourist trap along the way. At first, it had been fun. I'd taken silly pictures with my Blackberry and sent them en masse to our friends back in L.A., and I'd been all for a stop in Vegas. We meandered south from there, hitting the Hoover Dam and Grand Canyon before shooting out across New Mexico.
But by the time we were somewhere in the middle of Oklahoma—and seen nothing but corn for eighty miles—I just wanted to be in Jacksonville on the beach. I should have put my foot down then; I should have just told Alice to shut up and go to sleep.
But noooooo, I thought to myself, glaring from the driver's seat. Alice said, let's take Route 66! There has to be something fun for us to see! I'm tired of the freeway. In my head, Alice's voice was that of a five-year-old three seconds from a temper tantrum. I don't wanna take the freeway anymore!
The GPS had been searching for satellites for over an hour. We hadn't seen a proper town for thirty miles. We were running out of gas, and I was running out of patience.
"Oh my god!" Alice squealed, gesturing wildly. I frowned, pulling myself out of my thoughts. If it's a sign for anything that starts with "world's largest" I'm leaving her here.
It wasn't. It was a faded and battered green road sign reading "Climax Springs, 10 miles."
"Climax Springs?" I snorted. I couldn't help myself. "You've got to be shitting me."
"Think they have a gas station?"
"They better. Or we're walking the rest of the way to St. Louis."
"Maybe they'll have one of those cute diners!"
"Yeah, maybe," I muttered without enthusiasm. I turned my attention back to the road, my stomach churning at the thought of yet another diner meal. Alice seemed to have a stomach lined with lead; I wasn't so lucky. I couldn't wait to find a Whole Foods and drown myself in organic vegetables.
I highly doubted that anyone in the town of Climax Springs had even so much as heard of Whole Foods.
Reaching forward, I turned the music up, my mood brightened by the thought of getting out of the damn car in the not-so-distant future. If this town had a gas station, in theory we could get directions back to civilization.
I vowed to stick to the freeways for the rest of the drive, no matter how much Alice bitched. We were done taking scenic routes, and we were done making stops. When we got to St. Louis, we would find a Hilton, go to bed, and hit the road first thing.
Maybe I can dump a handful of Benadryl in her morning coffee. That'll shut her up for a few hours.
I'm losing my mind. I need to get out of this fucking car.
My imagination was running away with me. It had been bad enough that I kept thinking the car was making funny noises; now I was imagining ways to drug my best friend into silence.
I really needed to get out of the car for a few hours.
Singing along to the radio, my eyes scanned the road ahead of us, paranoid about getting pulled over as we zipped along at seventy. I hadn't seen a cop since Springfield, but then again, we hadn't even really seen that many other cars for some time.
This is fucking axe-murderer country. Fucking Alice. Fucking Route 66.
The sign had said it was ten miles to Climax Springs, and we had gone seven. There was still no sign of life, with the exception of the occasional trailer set far back from the road. I was beginning to grow paranoid; somewhere in New Mexico, we had come across a town with a population of one-hundred and twenty poor souls. The town line sign had been in someone's driveway. I was becoming seriously concerned Climax Springs would be a repeat.
"Oh thank god," I muttered when I finally spied a gas station up ahead on the left. Alice perked up in the passenger seat, and I was suddenly desperate to be out of the car. I floored the gas pedal, shooting us forward with an ominous grinding of gears.
"What was that?"
"You heard it too?" I looked over at Alice, biting down on my lip and willing myself not to cry. We were in the middle of fuck-all nowhere, and my car was making terrible noises. We had been on the road for over a week, and even if I managed to get reception on my Blackberry anytime soon, the nearest AAA had to be back in Springfield.
"Maybe it was just a stick in the road or something," she suggested brightly as I turned into the gas station, dust flying up behind us. The road was paved, but it was so filthy, and in such bad repair, that it didn't make much of a difference.
"Yeah, maybe."
Worst. Idea. Ever. I'm never leaving L.A. again.
The car jerked to a stop at one of the two sad-looking gas pumps. They looked to be older than both Alice and I combined, and there was definitely no option to swipe my credit card. Doing my best to ignore the sickening sound my car had made when I killed the engine, I turned to Alice with a sigh.
"I'm going to run inside and see if I can get directions back to the freeway."
"Ask if there's a diner."
"I was planning on it."
I'm putting Benadryl in your eggs.
I flashed a smile at Alice before I threw the car door open. The heat hit me like a furnace, the air thick and humid. It was barely eleven in the morning, and it already felt hotter than hell.
Pool, beer, central air; pool, beer, central air.
Repeating my mantra, I crossed the gas station parking lot, doing my best to ignore the heap of rust parked off to the side of the building. Two guys sat in the back of the pickup, in the midst of what seemed to be a lively conversation. One of them was laughing so hard I thought he was going to fall out of the truck.
The sun glinted off the can in his hand. With a sudden rush of horror, I realized it was a beer.
It's nowhere near noon! Where the hell are we? Who drinks at a gas station? At eleven in the morning! Ugh! I need to get out of here. Fucking Alice.
With a huff, I yanked on the door to the gas station as hard as I could—and nearly pulled my arm out of its socket. It was locked.
"Mother fuck," I growled, looking around. It was then that I noticed the sign taped to the door. A hasty scribble covered the paper with a simple message: Gone to town. Be back soon.
"Town? Where the fuck is town?"
I wanted to stomp my feet. I almost did, but I didn't want to ruin my boots. Christian Louboutins didn't come cheap.
"He's be back soon. He just gone to town for a spell."
Oh great. An overly friendly drunk is talking to me.
"Um, okay. How far to the nearest gas station?" I asked, turning to the two guys sitting in the back of the pickup. I winced at drawing their attention, wondering if these two had simply kept drinking from the night before. It definitely looked like they hadn't changed their clothes for a few days.
The one with the beer can was wearing ripped jeans with mud stains across the thighs, like he had been continuously wiping his hands on them. He wore what had once upon a time been a white T-shirt, with an unbuttoned red plaid shirt over it. The sleeves had been ripped off of both shirts, exposing impressive biceps.
He grinned drunkenly at his friend. "Whatdaya say, Edward? Town 'bout twenty, thurty?"
Edward glanced in my direction, a crooked smile working its way across his face. He was dressed no less hideously. His shorts had once been camo pants, obviously hacked across the knees. I suspected he had done it himself, probably with a kitchen knife by the looks of it. He also wore a black wife-beater with holes sporadically exposing a pale chest. Judging by how tan his arms were, I was nearly positive he was sporting one hell of a farmer's tan in the shape of that damn shirt.
The hideous outfit did little to hide his broad shoulders and muscular arms.
"Yeah, thinks so. Twenty, thurty, sounds 'bout right to me."
I wanted to slap them both. They were definitely drunk. I glanced down at my watch with a sigh; it was five to eleven.
"Okay, I think I have twenty minutes of gas left. How do I get there?"
"Ma'am, yous not gonna make it there. That there car made a terrible ruckus when it done turned off." Edward grinned up at me for a moment before setting his beer down and jumping to the ground. "I don't reckon yous goin' a whole lot of nowhere." He wiped his hands off on his pants, fixing his stare on me from beneath the rim of a torn baseball cap; it was so badly beaten up that I couldn't even make out the name of the team.
"Are you a mechanic?" I asked hesitantly, uncertain I wanted a drunk man anywhere near my car. I was beginning to seriously contemplate murdering Alice.
Where the fuck is Alice, anyway?
"Nah, but Jasper is. He owns this place." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, and I had to choke back a snort at the name.
Climax Springs Quick Lube? Are you shitting me?
"Okay. And when is he going to be back?"
"Dunno." Edward grinned again, his deep green eyes dancing with merriment. He motioned to his friend and the dilapidated truck before he told me, "Emmett and me would be glad to keep yous company while yous waitin'. We gotta wait for Jasper to come back anyhows. Truck's just 'bout outta gas."
I wanted to cry. My hopes of a hot shower and stiff drink were rapidly fading, leaving me with two drunken country boys. Staring down at the dusty asphalt, I caught sight of Edward's shoes—untied work boots, caked in mud along the bottom.
"Bella? What's taking so long?" Alice finally walked up, the heels of her boots clicking on the pavement. We had both thought it might be fun to dress the part for our road trip; jeans shorts, plaid shirts, and killer cowboy boots—if cowboys had ever been to Paris. She glanced over at Edward, and then beyond him to Emmett, who offered up a lolling grin. "Who's your new friend?"
"Name's Edward. Please to meet ya. That one there's Emmett." He nodded his head back toward the truck. "I's just tellin' yer friend here that Jasper'll be back in a bit. Then y'all can have 'em take a look under yer hood."
"Excuse me?"
"Edward thinks there's something wrong with the BMW," I told her, suddenly thankful the heat had already turned my cheeks red. "The guy who owns this place is apparently a mechanic. He should be back soon."
"I see." Alice's eyes shot between me and the two guys, before finally settling on the beer can Emmett still held. He was too busy staring at my boobs to notice her glare. "When exactly is soon?"
"Dunno." Edward laughed, a deep throaty laugh. I noticed he didn't offer her up the same lopsided grin he'd had for me. "'Bout an hour or three, be'd my guess."
"An hour or three," I repeated, dumbfounded.
"Yep. Wanna beer?"
"Do I want a beer?"
"We's gots plenty!" Emmett called. When I turned my eyes on him, he was swinging his feet back and forth like a toddler.
"It's eleven o'clock."
"Is it? Huh. We's been here 'bout an hour, so I reckon Jasper'll be back soon. Beer's cold."
I looked over at Alice, exchanging a look. They'd been here for over an hour. They had started drinking at ten in the morning—or maybe they'd just never stopped from the night before.
"No thanks, we'll pass." I glanced over my shoulder, back at my poor car. I wondered if it was worth trying to start it up, or if Edward had been right about the terrible noise. He seemed like he knew what he was talking about...but he was also god knew how many beers deep.
"If you can just point us in the right direction, I think we'll try for that other gas station. I'd really like to get into St. Louis as soon as possible." And back to civilization, I tacked on silently.
"Don't thinks yer gonna make it, ma'am. It's an awful hot day for a walk. 'Specially in them there shit kickers." Edward nodded toward my feet. I noticed his gaze lingered just a little longer than it should have on my legs as he brought his eyes back up.
Did he seriously just call the Louboutins shit kickers?
"Bella. My name is Bella. Please stop calling me ma'am. I'm not old enough for that. This is Alice."
"Nice to meet ya, Miss Bella. What're you two girls doin' so far off the interstate?"
Now it's "Miss Bella"? What the hell? And please god, please, just fucking enunciate.
"We were going to take Route 66 from Springfield to St. Louis," Alice jumped in, a bright grin on her face. "We're on a road trip."
"Yer a long way from theres." Edward chuckled again, turning to me with his lopsided grin. "Yous musta gotten all sorts of turned 'round. That there road is mighty hard to foller if yer not from 'round here."
"I noticed." I shifted my weight, my feet hurting from standing in the ridiculously high heels. They looked cute, but they weren't good for long conversations in gas station parking lots. "Do you happen to have a bottle of water in that cooler?"
"Nah. Just beer. Gots no need for water."
"Water's for pussies!" Emmett laughed to himself, flopping back into the bed of the truck with his legs still dangling.
"How many beers has he had?" I asked warily, peering at Emmett. He was still laughing to himself, clutching his chest with his free hand. As I watched, he tried to bring the beer can to his lips, but only managed to dump it all over himself. He sat up sputtering, staring at the can as if it'd taken on a life of its own.
"Couple two three." Edward must have seen the look at on my face, because he sounded amused as he turned to join my stare. "He's just like that. Think Ma done dropped him too many times when we's was boys."
"He's your brother?"
"Yep. I's older by eleven months."
I thought you were supposed to space kids out. Jesus. His mother must have gotten knocked up right after he was born! I blushed as soon as the thought went through my head. It was one thing to constantly berate my own mother in my head, but I felt bad judging a stranger's mother while I stood right in front of him.
Emmett had managed to haul himself out of the truck, and was now ambling toward us. He slung an arm around his brother's shoulder, taking a swig off his beer. "You girls from St. Louie?"
Alice burst out laughing, and I shot her a nasty look. "No, we're from L.A. on our way to Chicago."
"Oh yeah? City of Angels, ain't that right? Never been there. Never been nowhere outta Missouri."
Never been out of Missouri?
"My mom's getting married," I explained, unsure what else to say. I couldn't imagine if I'd never been out of California. This wasn't the first trip I'd taken with Alice, and it wouldn't be the last. We had met in college at UCLA, and been virtually inseparable ever since. Besides the family trips—my dad was in Washington, and my mom in Florida; Alice's parents lived in Washington, DC—we had spent our spring breaks together. "Alice and I thought it'd be nice to drive."
"Yous drove all the way from Caliefornia?" Emmett's eyes got wide, as if we had just told him we were from the moon. "Damn, that there's a long way."
"Yeah," I agreed. I was starting to think maybe I would have one of those beers; I was going to need it to keep this conversation going.
AN: Giant thanks goes out to our lovely betas, Bookgeek80 & Maggie Cullen, as well as the lovely pre-readers, venis_envy & AGirlReckoning. Thanks bunches for helping us bring Hickward to life!
Interstate 5 is locally known as "the five" in the LA area.
Baker, California, is home to the world's tallest thermometer.
Let us know what you think! Love to all, NowforRuin and MsRason