Free Razor's Edge (Afflictions) by Racquel Reck Page B

to see if Tryst can get me a demo CD. It’d be nice to have his voice in the car on a long drive.
    And…there I go again. My mind wanders to a tall, sexy man with ice-blue eyes. I can’t get Morgan off the brain. Him on stage, singing as though he was always meant to be there. The look he gave me. I shudder, remembering his stare. It wasn’t meant for me, but for the crowd.
    Still, I can’t stop the visions from Saturday night at my shop. They blast on repeat. The way he was toward Ben, all accepting of him. He’s great with kids, but that could’ve been a front. If I were a different person, if I didn’t have a kid to worry about, I might try to hook up with him. But Ben’s feelings are more important to me than some one-night fling with a sweet, sexy guy. 
    "Mom, look out!"
    I jerk the wheel to avoid a huge buck. The tires skid on the icy road. Heart in my throat, I grip the wheel. “Hang on, Duders.”
    I try to gain some semblance of control. Ben is screaming in the back. A cloud of white blankets my windshield. Panic and the sheer fear for my son’s life catapult my lungs from my chest.
    Boom!
     
    Morgan
     
    The road ahead of me is dark. Snowflakes hit my window so fast the wipers could blow a gasket trying to keep up. Tryst and Wiley talk away as I stare at the winter blanket in front of me. Squinting, I try to make out where the road and snow banks meet. Damn, I can’t see more than five feet in front of me.
    Tryst leans over and turns up the volume on the radio.
    Even though it’s one of my favorite bands my concentration doesn’t need the blare of Slipknot, so I move to turn it down, but pause as the angry screaming cuts off. It’s followed by emergency beeps, then the recording of the emergency broadcaster. "A state of emergency has been issued for the following counties..." I listen to the long list and ours pops up at the end.
    The DJ’s voice cuts back in. "If you’re driving, we advise you to get off the road. It’s really coming down out there, guys. Get to your destinations swiftly, but safely."
    The music cuts back in and I turn down the radio. I need to pay attention to the road.
    "Hey, man." Tryst goes for the volume. "I like Psychosocial."
    "I need to concentrate." My voice is harsher than I intended. Not being able to spark up a blunt is only adding to my frustration. I’m not only worried about my life, but Wiley’s and Tryst’s, too. God, I hate Michigan. It’s January and last week it was fifty out, but tonight we have Mr. Winter breathing icy vengeance.
    Tryst doesn’t say anything, just reclines his seat.
    In the back, Wiley’s drumming his fingers on the window. Fucking drummers . Wiley has an ADHD complex as big as Canada. His tapping is annoying the crap out of me.
    Red taillights flare from the side of the road. I look for a second, but keep my eyes on course. My stomach sinks. That bad feeling I got snowboarding on the mountain is back.
    Tryst turns around, staring back at the car that banked itself on the side of the road.
    Now Wiley’s looking, too. "Aren’t you gonna stop? They might need help."
    "They shoulda driven slower." I know it’s a harsh thing to say, not very “good Samaritan” of me, but why would I stop? It’s been a damn epidemic around here—people pretending to be in trouble. When you pull over to help them, they jack your ass. Yeah, I’m not in the mood for being shot and robbed.
    Wiley shakes his head. "We can’t just leave them. You’re being an asshole."
    Guess I’m an ass then. "Remember I-96 and Gloster? I know you heard about that jacking."
    "Seriously?" Tryst looks back again and so do I. Red taillights are no longer there, eaten up by the distance, dark and falling snow. "It’s really coming down and there’s a State of Emergency on the roads. I highly doubt someone purposely ran into a snow bank in hopes someone worth robbing would stop."
    Tryst’s right. Still, there is this overwhelming sense of dread, and I just want to get