3000 Miles (A Wesley Stromberg/Emblem3 Fanfiction)

Chapter Four

If it hadn't been for a nice soccer mom transporting her kids to the Red River Classic, we'd have been searching for civilization for hours. I sat up front, disturbed by the never-fading smile that she wore. She had bright orange hair, which she'd pulled back in a tired, low ponytail, and the only makeup she wore was a dark red lipstick that washed out her already pale skin. She caught me looking at her, but she never stopped smiling.

"So what's waiting for you in Shreveport?"

"To be quite honest," I told her, thinking about my deceased car and the life savings that had drowned with it. "I'm not sure anymore."

Wesley, who had voluntarily wedged himself between the ten-year-old soccer girl and a six-year-old with glasses thicker than any pair I'd ever seen, placed an action figure on his knee and got into character.

"I am Loki of Asgard and I am burdened with glorious purpose!" He shouted in his best British accent.

"HULK SMASH!" The young boy growled, jabbing his action figure at Wesley's.

"Hey, not fair!" Wesley whined, dropping Loki by accident. "I didn't get to monologue!"

"Hulk..." The boy wound up as Wesley placed his toy back on his knee. "SMASH!"

Loki flew from Wesley's hands once again, crashing into the girl's window and startling her. "Mom!"

"Enough!" The mother shouted, her smile finally cracking. Just as quickly as she'd snapped, she returned to her normal self and leaned closer to me. "Don't have four kids, darling. I drink a bottle of wine a night and my husband doesn't even touch me anymore."

"Noted," I said uncomfortably, sinking low in my seat and meeting eyes with Wesley through the rearview.

He quickly returned to playing, snatching Iron Man from the kid's bag of toys. "Jarvis, find a way to calm the Hulk down. He needs a nap."

"Hulks don't take naps!" The kid shouted in character.

"There's only one Hulk, bro," Wesley explained. "And he's about to get SMASHED!"

After a series of pew-pew's and dramatic explosion noises, Wesley glanced up and gasped. "TURN RIGHT!"

I glanced to my right, unaware that we'd finally made it into a town, at a small dealership with shiny black and silver cars lined up perfectly on sidewalks. The woman turned in without question and parked on a curb.

"Are you sure you don't want to come to the tournament?" She asked, unlocking the door. "There's gonna be pony rides during the opening ceremony!"

"We'll pass," I insisted yet again.

Wesley had unbuckled and dashed from the car quicker than I had, taking all of the bags out of the trunk and placing them in front of a used GS 350. "Thanks for the ride again, but this is where our journey begins."

"Good luck!" I called to the girl in the back seat who didn't look up from her iPod.

The van pulled away as the twins in the middle seats cried for more animal crackers. After a huge breath of relief and air that didn't smell like sticky children, I turned to Wesley to inquire about our next plan of action. Before I could speak, he'd already extended a hand to a clean-cut man in black slacks and a mint green shirt.

"Excellent, let me make this quick," Wesley said as the man tried to introduce himself. "Convertible, dark blue. I have cash."

"Ah, well right this way, sir," he dealer said with a thick southern accent.

Before I knew it, Wesley was being handed the keys to a brand new Lexus IS C and I was gawking at a sleek and shiny convertible. He grinned proudly, beginning to pile things into the trunk while singing to himself.