Tidewoven Inc | The First Ride

Bennett doesn’t even open the door at first. He stands there on the passenger side, one hand hovering over the handle like he knows how momentous this is. Micah pretends he’s not watching, but of course he is. It’s his beat-up old SUV, the one he bought when he was just a kid, and Bennett is about to climb inside. She’s nothing but solid metal and memory and salt-bitten paint, and this is the first time anyone outside the Reyes family has ever been invited in.

He wonders briefly if he should tell Bennett about her name, Driftwood, but then decides against it. He can tell his passenger the next time. If there is a next time. He wasn’t sure if Bennett would ever want to ride in the car again. She ran, Micah made sure of that, but she wasn’t exactly a conventional vehicle, as Ellie was so fond of reminding him.

“Go on,” Micah says. It comes out tight. Sharper than he meant. His fingers clench once around the steering wheel, the old leather warm from his palm.

Bennett nods solemnly. He opens the door slowly. Driftwood creaks in that familiar way that sounds like a question. Bennett smiles at it.

Micah feels his chest hitch. Jesus. He should have cleaned the passenger footwell. He should have vacuumed the damn thing. He should have… something. Too late now. Micah forces himself to remain still, act like this whole thing isn’t tearing him apart inside, to have someone see inside of something that matters so much to him.

Bennett settles in and runs a careful hand over the dash. “She’s got history,” he says softly.

Micah swallows hard. “Yeah.” The engine grumbles to life. His shoulders loosen a fraction because Driftwood’s voice is steady. Bennett doesn’t flinch at the rattle, the shake, the way the whole frame sighs into motion.

A few minutes down the road, Bennett glances around, taking in every detail like he actually cares. And he does. Of course he does. Bennett notices people, places, things. He doesn’t skim life; he sees it. “She feel different when she’s on the highway?” Bennett asks.

Micah exhales through his nose, tension bleeding into the wind rushing through the cracked window. “Yeah. She opens up. Not fast. Never fast. But honest.”

Bennett grins. “That tracks.”

Silence settles between them. Not heavy. Not awkward. Just there.

Micah surprises himself by saying, quietly, “I don’t usually let people ride with me.”

Bennett doesn’t look over. Doesn’t make it weird. Just says, “I know.”

And somehow that makes it worse and better at the same time.

Driftwood hits a patch of uneven asphalt. The whole frame shudders. Micah’s hand shoots out slightly, instinctively bracing Bennett even though the man is buckled in and perfectly steady. Bennett notices. He doesn’t comment. He just lets Micah pull his hand back, slow and embarrassed.

“She’s a good home,” Bennett finally says, voice low. “I get why you protect her.”

Micah’s throat tightens. He keeps his eyes on the road. “Yeah.”

For the first time in a long time, Driftwood doesn’t feel too small for someone else. She feels shared. But in a quiet way. A chosen way. Micah drives on, trying not to think too hard about why that scares him and steadies him at the same time.

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