It was very cold. Really, really cold. The truck's heater had stopped working yesterday, probably the damn wiring again, and Nathan had long ago stopped really feeling his fingers. Forcing himself out of the semi-warmth of his sleeping bag, he shuffled out into the bitter wind, too-thin jacket (he couldn't find his warmer one, if, indeed, he'd remembered to bring it from Indiana, and he hadn't gotten around to buying a new one) doing little to stop his shivers. His collar turned up, he crouched under the hood of the truck, fiddling with various things, cursing under his breath.
He could be warm and dry in Jim's house. Could be huddled under covers, wrapped up in sweet skin, the biggest worry being whether or not he had the energy to make dinner. But this was better. It sucked, yes, but it was better to be apart.
Nate just kept telling himself that.
Now if only he could get that damn heat to work again.