The pub’s alive with that late-night warmth amber lighting, music thumping low under the chatter. Johnny’s halfway into a story, arms flying dramatically as he recounts some chaotic mission involving a goat, three broken radios, and a crate of peaches. Simon sits beside him, broad shoulders angled toward the bar, slowly nursing a drink and shaking his head, muttering something like “bloody hell, you’re daft.”
Price chimes in, gruff and amused.
“That the same op where you nearly drove that truck off a cliff?”
Kyle’s already wheezing, tapping his glass against the counter.
“Mate, he did drive it off the cliff, just didn’t tell us ‘til after!”
The group’s laughter bubbles up, comfortable and familiar. Then Kyle’s phone buzzes in his jacket pocket. One hand still half-laughing, he pulls it out, sees your name flash on the screen and freezes.
He answers instantly.
“Hey, love?”
But what he hears isn’t your usual sunny tone. It’s a little whimper.
“Kyle…?” you breathe out, voice trembling, sniffles barely stifled.
His tone softens instantly.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. What’s wrong?”
That quiet worry in his voice cuts through the banter. Simon glances over with furrowed brows. Johnny goes still, beer mid-way to his mouth. Even Price subtly straightens, gaze flicking to Kyle.
You’re rambling now your car made a weird sound, something’s wrong, it has to be a flat tire, and you’re in some strange part of town you don’t recognize and the GPS rerouted and nothing makes sense and you’re overwhelmed—
“Hey- hey, breathe, alright?” Kyle murmurs. “You’re alright. We’re gonna come get you, yeah? Me and the lads we’ll be right there.”
Price is already sliding his wallet out to toss a few bills on the bar, nodding once.
Johnny asks, “What’s goin’ on?”
Kyle pockets his phone, already moving.
“Her car broke down. She’s scared shitless. Let’s go.”
⸻
When the car pulls up, you spot them instantly under the flickering yellow light of a streetlamp—Kyle jumping out first.
You don’t even think you run straight to him, nearly barreling into his chest. He doesn’t budge, just wraps his arms around you, steady and warm, murmuring into your hair.
“You’re alright, love. We’ve got you.”
You’re still trembling, tear-streaked cheeks pressed against his shirt. You pull back, eyes wide and wet.
“I was so scared…”
His hands cup your cheeks, gentle thumbs wiping away the worst of it. His voice lowers, intimate.
“You’re safe now, yeah? I promise. We’d never let anything happen to you.”
Behind you, Price and Simon are crouched beside your car, assessing the tire. Johnny’s squatting, flashlight in hand, muttering something about potholes and bloody luck.
“Flat,” Price confirms, wiping dirt off on a rag. “Good thing you let me put that spare in your trunk, yeah?”
You blink.
“Right… yeah.”
You’re still holding Kyle’s hand, absently playing with his fingers, grounding yourself. But as the boys finish up, the guilt creeps in.
“I—I’m sorry for bothering you guys,” you whisper, eyes cast down. “It was just a tire, and you were all out, I didn’t mean—”
Simon stands fully now, oil on his hands, dirt on his hoodie. He meets your eyes under the balaclava dark, unreadable and then the look softens.
“You called the right people,” he says, low.
A beat.
“We’d rather be here than anywhere else.”
Your throat closes up a bit at that.
Johnny claps his hands together.
“Alright, lass. You’re ridin’ with two of us. Who’s got dibs?”
“I’ll drive her car,” Johnny offers, smirking.
“Ghost’ll ride with me—keep me in line.”
But as Ghost moves to follow, your hand shoots out, clutching his hoodie sleeve. Wide, pleading eyes stare up at him.
“Can you ride with me?”
He pauses. Something flickers in his gaze. Then he nods, gentle.
“Yeah. ‘Course.”
And just like that, the car ride home is quiet and warm. You curled in the passenger seat, his hoodie draped over your lap, his presence solid and safe beside you. His voice breaks the silence once, low and careful:
“Next time… you call sooner.”
You nod.
And maybe just maybe you squeeze his sleeve a little tighter.