up. She dropped the phone back down in front of her, letting it hit the table with a thud.
"Hey!" the girl exclaimed. "What's your damage, lady?"
"They're people," Gabriella said, her voice shaking as she tried to hold it together. "Real people, with real lives, and people who love them. You want to talk about someone's death? Want some misfortune to find exciting? Go watch Grey's Anatomy."
Thick black smoke rolled out from beneath the hood of the truck, tainting the early morning sky. The stench singed Matty's nose, making him grimace when he inhaled. The sun was just starting to peek up over the horizon and already the day was off to a terrible start.
"So, uh... can I start worrying now or what?"
Matty cut his eyes at Genna as he turned the truck key for probably the tenth time, listening as the starter stuttered, but the engine refused to come to life. Cursing, he gave up and slammed his hands against the steering wheel.
Worry?
Yeah, it was time to start worrying.
Exasperated, he leaned back in the seat and stared through the grubby windshield at the long stretch of highway in front of them. Genna's gaze burned through him as perspiration rolled down the side of his face.
Matty was sweating, literally and figuratively.
He was so in over his head he was surprised he could still even breathe. It felt like the world was on his shoulders, pressing upon his chest, trying to suffocate him. It was a burden he willingly took on, a weight he was happy to carry if it meant Genna had less to worry about, but he could only do so much. He only knew so much. He had the best intentions, but he was nothing more than a guy—a guy with flaws and limitations, and little more than a fucking broken down truck.
"I don't know what to do," he admitted, offering the quiet concession as smoke surrounded them like an ominous black cloud.
"Well," Genna said, "lucky for you, I do."
Before he could ask what, Genna hopped out of the truck, slamming the door behind her. Matty climbed out and walked around to the back when she started that direction.
"There were some houses about a quarter of a mile back," she said, digging through the things they'd bought at the store. "They were right off the highway."
"You think we should go for help?"
"Something like that."
"I'll go—"
"Oh no, you won't," she said, cutting him off as she shoved something in her pocket, a smile touching her lips. "I will."
"But—"
"You heard me," she said, jabbing him in the chest with her pointer finger. "We've done it your way, Matty, and that's cool, but I'm not useless. And I swear to God, if you don't stop treating me with kid gloves, I'm going to punch you so hard you see stars for a week. I mean it. I'm not fragile. If I were, I would've already shattered by now."
Matty stood there, stunned by her outburst. Maybe she wasn't fragile, but she wasn't indestructible either. As much as she tried to conceal it, there was vulnerability beneath her hard exterior. He had seen as much the night before when she cracked, pent-up grief and fear shining through.
But he believed she meant it… he didn't doubt that she would hit him if he didn't take a step back, if he didn't give her space. So as hard as it was, as much as he hated it, he waved her away. "Go on then, Princess."
Grinning, Genna reached up on her tiptoes and planted a quick peck on his lips before turning away. Matty let down the truck's tailgate and plopped down on it, watching her strut down the highway.
Thirty minutes.
She had half an hour before he went after her. Instinctively, he glanced at his wrist, groaning when he came up empty. He never replaced his watch after Genna hustled it from him in their game of pool. Sighing, he leaned back on his elbows, not yet letting her leave his line of sight, his chest aching more the further away she got.
Maybe he'd make it twenty minutes instead.
She disappeared from the highway, cutting through some trees back toward the houses. Matty drummed his fingers on the rusty truck bed, impatiently counting in his head. How long had it been? Five minutes… ten… maybe fifteen?
It felt like hours to him.
Jumping to his feet, he wiped the sweat from his face with his shirt as he walked away from the truck. He'd made it a few steps when