ruined tire and I changed it faster than I’ve ever changed a tire in sixty-one years of life. Hands moving on their own, muscle memory from ten thousand roadside repairs. Loosen the lugs, set the jack, pump it up, pull the wreck, hang the spare, run the nuts down, drop it, torque it. Done. My knees were screaming and my fingers were bleeding from the bent latch and I didn’t feel any of it.
While I worked, my head was already down the road, working the next problem.
Because these two couldn’t just drive off into the dark and hope. Rourke had a phone. He’d be calling people, calling that brother across the state line, maybe calling the law and spinning some story where Tasha was the criminal. He knew the car, knew the plate. And these kids had no money, no gas, and nowhere on this earth to go.
