Wheel You Marry Me?

CHAPTER 3.

I blinked hard against the blinding headlights of the car now idling in front of me. My heart pounded in my chest. Then a door creaked open, and I saw someone step out. A guy. Tall. Familiar silhouette.

And then... a chuckle.

"You're too fat, that's why you keep falling," he said, his voice laced with amusement.

Laughter erupted from the car.

"Bro, c'mon. Let's go. Leave Fatty alone," another voice called. "If she trips again, she might fall on you next time."

That voice, I knew it.

Ryan Tyler. Of course.

I gritted my teeth and tried to get up. Pain shot through my leg like fire. I gasped, then cried out as I crumpled back to the ground. My ankle throbbed so badly I couldn't even touch it without flinching.

Then I heard the unmistakable sound of wheels approaching. I looked up.

Ryan was right in front of me now, sitting in his wheelchair, staring at me with a mix of mockery and something I couldn't quite place. His smirk faded just a little when he saw my tear-streaked face.

"What do you want from me?!" I snapped. "Leave me alone!"

"Jesus, can you not yell? It's the middle of the night," he said, rolling his eyes.

I stared at him, shaking, overwhelmed by pain and anger and exhaustion. My voice cracked. "I just want to go home."

He looked down at my ankle. "You've probably sprained it."

"No kidding, genius," I muttered.

Ryan sighed and turned toward the car. "Douglas! I need your help!"

Moments later, Douglas jogged over. "What's up?"

"Help me get her in the car."

Douglas blinked. "Wait, what? I thought we were headed to that party."

"We'll go after. Just help me get her off the damn street."

"Are you kidding me? I'm not getting in that car," I said, backing away slightly, even though I knew I wasn't going anywhere. "What part of leave me alone don't you understand?!"

But Douglas didn't care what I wanted. He crouched down and, before I could protest again, scooped me into his arms like I weighed nothing.

"Put me down!" I yelled, squirming. "You can't just carry people like—"

"Chill," he muttered. "We're just giving you a ride."

In the car, I sat stiffly next to Douglas, my ankle elevated awkwardly on my backpack. Ryan was in the front seat with Scott, who stared at me through the rear view mirror like I was an alien. Then my phone rang.

"Ugh, what is that sound?" Scott groaned. "Who the hell uses that as a ringtone?"

"Baby Shark, seriously?" he added, laughing. "What are you, five?"

"It's for the babies I babysit," I snapped. "Not that it's any of your business."

I answered the call. "Hey, Jeffrey," I said, trying to sound calm.

"Aurora? Where are you? It's so late. Are you okay?" he asked, clearly worried.

"Yeah, I'm on my way home. I—uh—I hurt my ankle. But I'm fine."

By the time we pulled up in front of the house, Jeffrey was already outside, sitting on the porch like a little soldier waiting for his commander. When he saw the car, he rushed toward it.

The back door swung open and Douglas helped me out.

"What did you do to my sister?" Jeffrey demanded, stepping between us like he was ready to throw punches.

Douglas raised his hands. "Easy, man. She fell. We just gave her a ride."

"I asked what you did to her!" Jeffrey snapped again, voice sharp and protective.

Ryan turned to him, voice colder than before. "Kid. Relax. Your sister's got a sprained ankle, that's all."

Jeffrey gave Ryan a look that could cut steel before turning back to me. "You okay?"

"Yeah, Jeff. I'm okay," I said softly. "Let's go inside."

He wrapped his arm around my waist and helped me to the door. As I glanced back, Ryan was still watching me. His expression was unreadable.

I turned away and limped inside.

Jeffrey helped me settle on the couch and grabbed some ice. "What happened?" he asked gently as he pressed the cold pack to my ankle.

"Nothing," I muttered. "They didn't do anything. Just gave me a ride home."

Suddenly, we heard the creak of a door. My mum shuffled into the kitchen, hair a mess, eyes glassy.

"Why's there so much noise?" she muttered. "What are you kids doing up so late?"

We didn't answer. There hadn't been any real noise—just her usual paranoia.

She opened the fridge, then turned toward us. When she saw me on the couch, she squinted. "What happened to your leg, sweetie?"

Her voice was fake sweet. It always was when she was high.

"She sprained her ankle," Jeffrey answered.

She tsked and shook her head. "Still clumsy, huh? You know, honey, if you actually worked out that body—"

"Mum, please stop!" I snapped, my voice trembling. "Just stop. I've had a long day. I don't need you talking about my body right now."

I limped to my room and collapsed into bed, tears hot in my eyes. I don't even remember falling asleep.

The next morning

My alarm screamed at 6:30 AM. I hit snooze and buried my face in the pillow.

Then, a knock.

"Go away, Mum! I need to sleep!" I groaned.

"It's not Mum. It's Jeffrey," he said gently.

I sighed. "What is it, Jeff?"

"It's Mum... she's throwing stuff again. Please come help."

My chest tightened. I forced myself out of bed, every step a jolt to my ankle. The living room was a disaster. I followed the sound of glass shattering into the kitchen.

"Mum! Stop it!" I shouted as I saw her smashing cups onto the floor like they were paper.

"I can't find them," she muttered, shaking. "I can't find my pills."

"What pills? Mum, what are you talking about?"

"Don't lie to me! You threw them away, didn't you?" she screamed, hands trembling.

"I didn't throw anything away," I said, trying to keep my voice calm.

She stopped and slumped to the floor, crying. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, sweetie."

I hesitated for a moment, then sat beside her. I wrapped my arms around her, even though my hands were shaking. We cried together, in the middle of broken ceramic and broken dreams.

"Mum," I whispered. "You need help."

Jeffrey walked in, his face tight with worry, and gently helped us both to our feet.

"You've got school, Jeff," I told him, brushing my sleeve across my cheek. "Don't you have a test today?"

He nodded. "Chemistry."

"Okay. Go. I'll clean up."

He hesitated, then hugged me tightly. "Be careful with your ankle."

"I will."

It took me nearly two hours to clean the mess. We had no cups left, just shards and silence. I stood in the kitchen, surrounded by the wreckage of a home barely hanging on.

We were barely hanging on.

But I wasn't giving up. Not yet.