"Now, remember, clutch in, shift to first." David points towards the blue Pontiac's worn gear shift. "Ease off the clutch slowly while you press down on the gas." His voice is so patient, kind and encouraging. A total contrast to the gruff instructions I got from Mom just two months ago.

The engine lurches forward, sputtering like a startled cat, before settling into a hesitant hum. I grip the steering wheel a little tighter, heart pounding, knuckles white against the worn leather.

Dave's presence beside me is a source of quiet comfort. The awkwardness of the kiss from the previous night lingers — a silent question mark hanging in the air.

I choose to focus on the delicate dance of clutch and gas pedal instead as morning sunlight streams through the smeared windshield, painting the empty parking lot in a golden glow.

Monday. Our fourth day on the road, after yet another night spent in the "comfort" of the car seats. The meager cash stash we began with is dwindling faster than either of us anticipated, partly due to that Van Halen concert. 

But hey, I regret nothing. And I'm not worried. We'll sleep somewhere close to Las Vegas and from there, it'll just be a little over four hours to L.A.

Tomorrow at around this time, I'm gonna see my Dad. He'll figure something out about the money, that much I know. Right now, all that matters is my lesson, this quiet hum of the engine, and the heat radiating from the body beside me.

The morning air got unexpectedly chilly and Dave insisted on lending me his jacket despite the rising sun. Now, bundled in denim and leather that carries his scent, I feel a comfortable weight that goes beyond just warmth. It's a tangible reminder of what transpired the night before.

David smoothly helps me shift gears, his hand accidentally brushing against my knee while reaching for the shifter, sending a jolt of electricity through me.

"That's enough learning for today, don't you think?" He winks, the gesture playful, yet undeniably suggestive. 

My cheeks flush and I touch my lips, the memory of the previous night's kiss still vivid.

The sudden blare of music cuts through the unspoken words. Dave turns up the radio, and the opening riff of a familiar Van Halen song washes over us. A blush deepens on my face – the song is the one we danced to at the concert.

We switch seats and we are on our way, though he pulls the car to a stop at the exit of the supermarket parking lot, the engine sighing softly. Then he gazes out the window at a line of semi-trucks ready to rumble down the highway.

"Look at those beasts," he murmurs, a hint of awe in his voice. "Always dreamt of driving one of those across the country. "Maybe someday, huh?"

The thought of Dave behind the wheel of a hulking semi-truck conjures an image so outlandish it makes me laugh.

"Maybe," I joke back. "Like, just promise not to leave me in a cloud of diesel fumes in the middle of nowhere."

He grins a slow, easy grin that sends butterflies fluttering in my stomach. "Wouldn't dream of it. Besides, the view wouldn't be nearly as good without you here."

The compliment hangs heavy in the air, leaving me speechless for a moment. The radio continues to blare, Van Halen's energetic music filling the car, as Dave goes silent too.

I follow his gaze: beyond the glass, stands a pair of rigs pulling huge trailers hulking semi-trucks, their chrome grilles gleaming defiantly in the night.

In a way, truckers are like nomads of the open road, their steel steeds their only companions. Each one a mystery, carrying a cargo of unknown goods and a driver harboring stories etched in miles.

Where are they headed, those men and women behind the wheels? Are they chasing deadlines, delivering dreams in the form of packaged goods or simply escaping something back home like I was?

My mind conjures images of sun-baked highways gaping towards distant horizons. Endless stretches of asphalt whispering tales of freedom and loneliness in equal measure.

Do they miss birthdays, anniversaries, the warmth of familiar faces?

Or does the open road offer them liberation, like it does to me? A chance to escape the routines and expectations that weighed me down?

Experience something new?

A sharp rap on the car window makes me flinch, my thoughts startled from the unexpected intrusion. Dave, his gaze still locked with mine, turns his head slowly towards the source of the sound.

There, standing beside the driver's door, is a family of two. A woman, her face etched with worry, flanks a little boy clutching a worn teddy bear.

"Excuse me," the woman begins, her voice barely a whisper. "I know this is strange, but..."

Dave leans forward, lowering the window slightly.

"We need to get to Lawson. It's just outside of Denver, maybe... an hour away?" A beat of silence follows her declaration.

Dave glances at me, question in his eyes.

The raw desperation in the woman's voice tugs at my heartstrings. It's true we were already running low on funds, but Lawson isn't a detour. It's on our way to Las Vegas, so it won't stretch our resources thinner. "We can take you," I blurt out.

The woman's face lights up. "You sure? Oh, Ethan and I'd be eternally grateful."

Dave looks at me again, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. He seems to have read my mind, or perhaps he felt that same tug of empathy. With a nod, he turns back to the family.

"Hop in. Lawson it is."

"Can I pleeease sit in the front?" "Ethan" shuffles forward, his oversized t-shirt with a faded He-Man logo hanging loosely on his thin frame. "It's just that... I get a little car sick in the back."

The woman kneels down beside him, a hand on his shoulder. "Honey, it's okay. We can sit in the back. Just try to keep your eyes closed and focus on your deep breaths."

David Rivera and I exchange looks and I give him a slight, encouraging nod, switching to the backseat.

A gentle smile I've grown to adore softens Dave's features. "Not a problem. We can make sure Ethan gets some fresh air upfront."

Relief washes over the woman's face as she helps Ethan climb into the passenger seat. He clutches his toy tightly, its fur matted with love and a missing button adding to its charm.

Ethan then offers a shy smile, his big, nervous eyes meeting Dave's. I recognize his teddy bear – it's the Brave Heart Lion, a bright orange Care Bear with a bold red heart symbol stitched on its chest.

"Thanks, mister," he mumbles, clutching Brave Heart Lion a little tighter.

Dave returns the smile, a warmth radiating from his eyes. "No problem, champ. Just hold on tight and we'll get you to Lawson in no time."

As the woman settles into the back seat next to me, a tote bag adorned with a faded floral pattern resting on her lap, she turns to me with a grateful smile. "Hey, thank you so much once more. I'm Sarah, and this little car sick mess is Ethan." She gestures towards the boy, who's already engrossed in a conversation with Dave about their favorite superheroes.

"April," I reply, returning the smile. "It's no trouble at all. We were headed that way anyway."

A weight settles in my stomach as I steal a glance at Sarah's outfit. The high-waisted mom jeans and floral blouse are a stark contrast to my own ripped jeans and vintage band t-shirt. But beneath the surface, I see a reflection of myself – Sarah is a young woman facing uncertainty too, clinging to hope for a better future.

We're both on a journey, and for a little while at least, our paths are converging.

"Told you someone would stop, didn't I?" Ethan turns around to stick his tongue out at his mom.

Dave raises his eyebrows. "Oh, so she didn't believe you?" 

"Nope. She kept saying "Suppose nobody stops for us?" But I knew you would, all right. It's all a matter of knowing how to handle the situation. It's all in that old thumb, see?" Ethan lifts his thumb, self-importance written all over his cute face.

As the boy returns to the conversation about who'd win in a duel between He-Man and Optimus Prime, Sarah smiles at me. "Thank you so much again. This is a lifesaver."

"It's not a problem at all, Sarah. Do you live in Lawson?"

"We're moving there." Sarah's voice is a little strained. "Actually, we'll be living with my mother for a while. Things aren't... that good with my husband," she adds with a whisper. "I don't mind telling you because we'll probably never meet again."

She's kind of right. Co-passenger strangers come into our lives with a fresh set of eyes and ears and the knowledge we'll never see this person again can be weirdly liberating. We don't have to worry about them sharing our secrets or our story impacting our ongoing relationship.

"So sorry to hear," I whisper back.

Sarah straightens up. "I hope for the best, I always do. Let's just say we need a fresh start. Lawson is closer to my family, so it seemed like the best option for Ethan and me right now." She reaches out and squeezes her son's hand affectionately.

The image of Sarah raising Ethan alone makes a memory surface – Dave's hesitant words about his own situation back home. His mom remarried, he mentioned, and he suddenly had three younger step siblings to look after.

"Ethan must be excited about a new school," I say, trying to lighten the mood.

Ethan, momentarily distracted from his superhero debate with Dave, pipes up from the front seat. "You bet. But you know what? I'm gonna miss my old friends." His voice, though small, holds a tinge of sadness.

Dave glances back at me through the rearview mirror and winks. "Hey buddy, don't you worry about that. New schools mean new friends! You'll be surprised how many cool kids you get to meet in Lawson."

The frown on Ethan's face softens a little. "You think they have a He-Man club at the new school?" he finally asks, a sliver of hope creeping into his voice.

Dave chuckles. "I wouldn't know about a He-Man club, champ, but I bet you can find some superhero fans there for sure. Maybe you can even be the one to introduce them to the awesome power of He-Man!"

Ethan's face breaks into a wide grin, and I can totally tell that the prospect of being the superhero expert at his new school completely erases his earlier anxiety.

I watch the interaction unfold, a flicker of warmth spreading through me. Dave's easy connection with Ethan is so impressive.

Sarah puts my thoughts into words. "You're a natural with kids, you know, Dave."

"Well, I do have a couple of younger step siblings back home." He clears his throat and adds: "Mom remarried recently so... there's a fair share of superhero battles at family gatherings."

"Sounds lively." Ethan's mom smiles. "How admirable. You're so young, and already so responsible. It takes a special kind of person to step up and be there for younger siblings, even when they're not blood related."

Dave shifts awkwardly in his seat, and just stiffly nods, his gaze flitting between the passing scenery and Sarah's expectant face in the rearview mirror.

Although he isn't necessarily showing it, I can tell it means a lot to him that Sarah is making a big fuss about this.

I wonder how many times he's felt unwanted. I wonder how long he's felt lonely.

🗽🚘✉️❤️🏖️

A wry smile tugs at my lips as Dave announces our arrival with a playful flourish. "Next stop, Lawson! All Ethans, disembark!"

Ethan bounces out of the car, already chattering about being thirsty. Dave wrestles open his orange juice box with surprising ease. The picture they make – a lanky teenager and an energetic child – it just gives me the warm fuzzies all over.

There's something about seeing David Rivera in this dad/older brother role that's incredibly sweet, and I love every part of it.

Completely out of the blue, Dave kneels to fix Ethan's shoelace that has come undone. Then he gives Ethan a goofy grin and a superhero salute.

"Remember, little man," he says. "Be brave like Brave Heart Lion, your bear. Everything's gonna be awesome at your new school."

Sarah sweeps us both into a hug, her eyes moist with tears and shining with gratitude. "Thank you so much once again. This meant the world to us. Knowing that there are still good, kind people out there. You made us believe that our new life is off to a great start. That everything is going to be alright."

We wave goodbye to the duo in a particularly busy, centric Lawson street and as soon as they disappear around the corner, I can't help but turn towards Dave with millions of questions on the tip of my tongue.

"Is this the same David Rivera who talks about his step siblings all grumpy-like?"

"The very same." He leans against the car hood with an adorable yawn, and a lazy shrug.

"I see. I've never witnessed this mentor side of you before, where you dispense Care Bear wisdom and give superhero encouragement."

"What can I say? I am like a box full of surprises, Lewis." He chuckles, but the smile doesn't reach his thoughtful brown eyes.

His usual jokey, devil-may-care facade is gone, replaced by a peculiar expression.

"I agree with Sarah, you know." I lean against the car to stand by his side, reveling in the warmth emanation from his body.

"About what?" He raises a brow. "About how I'm a special kind of person to step up and be there for my step siblings? They are more like this... sudden, unexpected responsibility thrust upon me."

"David, you have such a natural way of putting people at ease. You're incredibly patient, and kind. This will definitely come in handy when you... you know. Face your family back home."

"You think so?" He scratches the nape of his neck awkwardly with his left hand and takes mine with his right.

"I do." My breath hitches, very aware we are now holding hands, still without addressing the last night kiss. "You adapt so well to every situation. To everything life throws at you. Just like you reassured Ethan about the new school and... making new friends. I think you can handle whatever awaits you."

"It's all just so hard, Lewis." His fingers interlace with mine. "I shouldn't be raising those kids. They're... they're nothing to me. I'm not their brother. Not for real. And I shouldn't be playing a dad role to them, either."

"But you care about them. I know you do. You have such a kind heart and a strength beyond your years. It's all gonna work out in the end. You'll see."

His Adam's apple bobs. "Yeah, maybe I got caught up way too much in the shouldn'ts. I keep thinking, "my life shouldn't be like this," instead of trying to accept it the way it is. Just... Deal with it."

"You will, in time."

"And, you know..." Dave swallows, looking away from me. "The worst part is that I constantly blame mom and dad for it all. I'm so angry at them. If they had made it work... if they hadn't divorced... Maybe my brother wouldn't be in prison now. Maybe I wouldn't be in this situation."

"Don't think like that, Dave." My mind goes back to one of the latest Dad's letters. "Something my father wrote to me this spring made me rethink the way I behaved towards mom. Until I blew up again, that is but... I think he's right. Our parents are humans, like us. And they make mistakes too."

I steal a glance at him, but his face is an unreadable mask. I'm not sure if I'm giving David Rivera what he needs – a pep talk, a shoulder to cry on, or maybe just quiet understanding. My mind races through a million possibilities, each one feeling utterly inadequate. Finally, I decide on the simplest gesture.

Reaching out hesitantly, I brush my fingers against his arm. When he doesn't flinch, taking that as a silent invitation, I lean closer, the scent of his familiar aftershave washing over me. It's a comforting anchor, a reminder of the boy beneath the tough exterior.

With a gentle sigh, I rest my head on Dave's chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat is a soothing counterpoint to the total chaos in my head. My fingers curl around the fabric of his t-shirt.

"Will you tell me... what the letter said?" His voice is husky and deep.

"It said:

"Huh. Never saw it that way. Your dad is a very smart person. I'd really love to meet him." Dave sighs, leaning his chin on the top of my head.

Lifting my face slightly, I pepper light comforting kisses across his stubbly cheek and forehead — each one a silent expression of empathy.

It's not the fiery passion of the kiss we shared at the Van Halen concert. This is different: just a tender exploration of a deeper connection. My silent promise of support without any expectations. Maybe, just maybe, it was exactly what David Rivera needs at this moment.

There'll be time to explore our feelings later, when the dust settles, and we both know where we stand and what we want.

But what I want right now is to simply be there for him.

To be his comforting presence; his safe harbor.