Underwater by Brooke Moss Page A

side of the road. We didn’t spot Saxon until our front bumper was about four feet from the back of his legs.
    My dad hit the brakes and skidded to a noisy stop. Saxon jumped to the side, sliding a bit on the rain-slicked brush. His eyes wild and wide.
    “What the hell is he doing?” My dad slammed the car into park and ran a nervous hand through his hair. “Lunatic.”
    The heat started to flare in my stomach, and I grabbed the handle of my door. My dad’s hand came down firmly on my other arm. “No,” he growled. “He could be a transient. Stay in the car.”
    I shook off his grasp. “He’s not a hobo, Dad. I go to school with him.”
    My dad’s eyebrows went high on his forehead. “You go to school with that guy?”
    “Yeah.” I reached for the window button. “We’re friends.”
    My dad frowned. “How old is he?”
    I looked out the window at Saxon, who was squinting in the bright headlights while the rain pounded the top of his head and shoulders. Stifling a manic giggle, I realized how, er, intimidating Saxon looked. He was tall, muscular, and in desperate need of a haircut. He had matching tattoos on either side of his neck and was glaring at our car as though we’d deliberately tried to run him off of the road. Oh, and this was all on top of the fact that he was walking along a country road in the rain without a coat.
    “My age. A senior.” I bit the insides of my cheeks to keep from grinning like an idiot.
    My dad shut off the engine. “In grad school?”
    “Sandpoint High, Dad. Take a breather.” I pressed the window button. “Hey, Saxon!”
    His eyebrow relaxed and that half-grin tugged to life. “Luna?”
    My dad got out of the car and held an old paper menu from the coffee shop over his head as a makeshift umbrella. “What are you doing out here in the dark? I almost hit you.”
    My left eyebrow rose high on my forehead. My father only used that tone when he tried to appear intimidating. Apparently he was more bothered by Saxon than I had anticipated.
    Saxon raised a dripping hand in a small wave. “Good evening, sir. How are you tonight?”
    Pressing my lips together, I tried not to smile. Apparently the fact that he traipsed through the woods of Inland Northwest in the rain without the luxury of a coat hadn’t dampened his manners.
    My father didn’t answer Saxon’s question. Instead, he put one hand on the roof of our car and frowned. “You’re soaked. Are you headed somewhere?”
    “The rain doesn’t bother me, sir.” Saxon shook his hair out of his eyes, sending drops of water splashing onto the hood of the car. He caught my eye through the windshield and grinned. “I’m heading home.”
    I ignored my father gaping at me. “Aren’t you cold, Sax?” I called out the window.
    My father’s attention snapped back in Saxon’s direction just in time to see him shake his head. “Not really. I’m sort of…at home when it’s wet out.
    “Don’t you have a car?” My dad asked through gritted teeth.
    Saxon cleared his throat. “No, sir. I don’t have a license to drive a car.”
    My father’s jaw twitched. Apparently the fact that Saxon didn’t have a driver’s license was indicatory of a criminal background. I guess he chose to forget I didn’t have a driver’s license, either. Of course, it wasn’t for lack of trying. I’d been asking to learn how to drive for a year and a half, but because modified automobiles for paralyzed drivers were so expensive, and we were still drowning in medical bills, getting me behind the wheel wasn’t a priority.
    “Couldn’t you get a hold of your folks to come and get you?” Giving up on the now-soggy paper, my dad tossed it onto the backseat.
    Saxon gestured up the road. “No. They’re…not home right now. But it’s only a ways away. I’m just fine.”
    “Do you want a ride?” I asked without thinking. When both Saxon and my father turned their gazes on me, I added, “I mean, we’ve got plenty of room. And we’re