Supernova Souls - Ryan Upchurch

-2-

Ryan wakes up with a pounding headache and his alarm going off nonstop, plus two missed calls lighting up his phone screen. He grunts, reaching over to pick up his phone.

He rubbed his eyes and unlocked his phone, reaching back onto the nightstand for his gold, circle-framed glasses, then slipped them on so he could properly read the list of multiple notifications from his dear girlfriend.

With his glasses low on his nose he calls Riley back, her bitter words being the first thing he heard as he sat up in his bed and straightened his messy sheets. He'd kicked them almost fully out into the floor in his sleep.

"Where the hell are you? It's twelve forty five."

"What..? I'm at home, where else would I be?"

"Cheatham Dam. Like you said you'd be yesterday."

"Fuck- I'll be there in ten minutes."

He hung up on her before she could respond and give him another piece of her mind and tossed his phone back down onto his bedsheets with a sigh.

He changed back into what he wore yesterday, and lazily threw on the same hat as he was too lazy and rushed to get anything clean out. She was gonna be pissed if he didn't show up soon.

Ryan ran outside to his F-350, Waylon hot on his heels while he slammed the key into the ignition, the engine refusing to start. It cranked but did nothing more.

"Damn truck."

Ryan tried turning the key again only to be met by the truck's engine stalling, again refusing to start up like he needed it to.

He cusses the truck out while he rips the key from the ignition, climbing out of the lifted Ford. He pops the hood and closes the door behind him. "The hell's your problem now?" He asks the blue truck with a pissed off tone to his drawl while he opens the hood, messing with everything he knew to do to try fixing the truck.

Ryan ended up ruling out everything but a failing starter motor, and Lord knows he couldn't drive without his starter-so he had to take his other truck, a '96 step side Z71 named Stitches.

Ryan dropped the tailgate for Waylon just long enough for the dog to jump inside the bed then slammed it shut, followed by him locking it behind Waylon and he himself jumped into the cab then headed for Cheatham Dam with the window rolled down. The radio played on a lower volume than usual, low enough the hum of the tires almost drowned out the music completely.

Ryan could see Riley as soon as he turned into the parking lot. She was leaning against her blacked out 2004 Dodge Ram 1500 with her arms crossed, caramel blonde hair pulled back into a messy bun that had long golden strands falling from the updo and dressed in boot cut jeans that had daisies on the back pockets and a tight, form-fitting black tank top.

She looks up at him with a stone cold, pissed off look in her dark blue eyes while he throws his Chevy into park beside her Ram.

"'Bout time."

Ryan turned the key in the ignition and took the key out, slipped it in his pocket then climbed out of his truck while Riley walked up to his truck's bed to pet Waylon. "So.. what was your news?" He asked, hand on the truck's door as he pushed it closed.

"I've got a question for you first." She watched him with both a curious and suspicious glint in her eyes.

"Shoot." He dropped the tailgate down with a muted thud and sat down on it, patting his leg as if summoning Waylon. The dog panted, but waddled over to him and plopped down next to him on his side.

"Why were you so late?" She asked. She looked visibly uncomfortable and shivered, probably from the light yet bitter breeze floated through the Tennessee air. Ryan noticed, but decided to answer her before he reacted. "I slept in because I forgot about today, then my F-450 broke down and wouldn't start."