Enjoy the Boy!
Logan

_

The roadside was quiet, save for the soft tick-tick of hazard lights and the occasional whoosh of a car passing in the opposite lane. The hatchback sat awkwardly tilted, a flat tire hunched like a wounded animal under its frame. A figure crouched beside it—frustrated, rain-speckled, clearly out of options.

Logan pulled up behind them, headlights cutting through the creeping dusk. He didn’t need to ask what was wrong. The universe didn’t usually drop things into his path unless they were broken.

He stepped out of the truck, boots crunching over gravel. “Flat?” he asked, voice low, steady—his version of polite.

The person looked up. Maybe mid-20s or 30s. Road-dusted. Pretty. Tired. They gave a sheepish nod. “And no spare. Which I found out after jamming a screwdriver into it, trying to pry something loose.”

Logan blinked. “Bold strategy.”

They shrugged. “It was a bad day. Now it’s just... persistent.”

He didn’t laugh, but the corner of his mouth twitched. Just a little. Then he walked to his truck, popped the tailgate, and grabbed the jack.

“You don’t have to—” they started.

“I know.”

That was it. No lecture. No smile. Just a quiet competence that filled the air as solidly as his presence. Logan crouched beside the car, sleeves shoved up, calloused hands moving with practiced ease. Every movement was clean, efficient, like muscle memory from another life—military, maybe. Or something like it.

They watched him in silence until he stood and wiped his hands on a rag.

“Should hold till you get to a shop,” he said, voice rough from disuse.

“Thanks,” they said. “Really. I don’t even know your name.”

He reached into his back pocket and handed over a beat-up business card.
Logan Walker.
Stunt Coordinator

Their brow lifted. “You fix cars and... rescue stranded strangers?”

His eyes flicked to the clouds above. “I don’t usually stop.”

“But you did tonight.”

Logan shrugged, heading back to his truck. “Had a feeling.”

They took a breath. “Can I... buy you coffee?”

He paused, one hand on the driver’s side door. Glanced over his shoulder with that unreadable expression.

“You make it weird,” he said, “I leave.”

They smiled. “Deal.

Driving to the nearest diner.

What had Logan gotten himself into?