5. Chapter 5

Chapter five

Grady

“Are you trying to use telepathy to fix that transmission, or are you having a stroke?” Chet asks me, breaking me from the staring match I’m having with the piece of the engine sitting on the bench in front of me.

“What?” Blinking, I turn to him, his brows furrowed with curiosity.

“You were zoned out, man. I was watching you for several minutes before I finally decided to say something.”

I heave out a sigh. “I got distracted.”

“Seems to be a pattern with you lately.”

“What do you mean?”

Chet moves around me, grabbing a wrench from the toolbox. “I don’t know. For the past couple of months, you’ve been grumpier than normal. I swear, the crease between your eyebrows is permanent now.” He reaches up and pushes his thumb against the spot in question, and I shove his arm away.

“Don’t touch me. ”

Laughing, he backs away. “Then unclench, man. I mean, if you’re that wound up, download Tinder and try to find someone to help alleviate the tension. You know what I mean?”

Scowling at him, I turn back to the transmission and reach for the rag on the table. “That’s the last fucking thing I need.”

“I disagree. You need to get laid or buy a punching bag. One or the other, but you need something to pound into, if you catch my drift.”

“You can take your drift and shove it up your ass.”

Chet chuckles and then heads back to the car he’s working on. “I’m telling you…Tinder. You’ll feel better.”

Growling, I grab the driveshaft and prepare to replace the worn bushings as I ruminate over Chet’s advice.

Getting laid is what put me in this piss-poor mood in the first place. That head of curly hair, green eyes that continue to haunt me at night, and a smile with perfect pink lips that I can’t stop envisioning sucking my cock.

Scottie fucked me up for the second time in my life, and this time is even worse than the first because now I know what she feels like wrapped around me.

But it wasn’t just the sex. It was hearing her voice again, laughing with her, anticipating the next words that were going to come out of her mouth. She transported me back in time, to a point in my life where I was optimistic, still working toward something, still wondering what the next few years were going to bring.

Now, every day just feels dreary, annoying, and anything but optimistic, especially since Scottie walked out on me after our night together.

Her mom basically told me not to chase after her. How do you catch someone who doesn’t want to be caught? And better yet, why should I try? By leaving the way she did, she made it clear that she wanted nothing more from me than sex. Any other man would be ecstatic that a woman he slept with wasn’t expecting more.

But I’m not like other guys.

And Scottie isn’t like any other woman I’ve been with.

“Fuck, I’m pathetic,” I mumble to myself as my hands move on their own. Normally, I would use a project like this to drown out the noise in my head, to slip away from reality and give myself something else to focus on. But now, the only thing my brain seems to want to fixate on is a woman who exited my life again just as abruptly as she did the last time.

I glance back at the Nova, seeing Scottie splayed out on the hood again, my head buried between her legs as I lapped at her pussy, and my dick grows hard against my jeans. That night she told me I should rebuild that car, and fuck if I didn’t listen. In fact, I have a few parts coming next week and the seats are being reupholstered at the end of the month. The new headlights are installed, along with new gauges for the dash, and then it’s just a few tweaks to the motor—new spark plugs, pistons and piston rings, bearings, and gaskets—before registering her for the road so she’s legal for me to drive around anytime I want.

As I lay there that night, holding Scottie in my arms, I imagined the two of us cruising up and down the coast in that car, her wild curls flowing around her as the ocean breeze drifted in through the windows. Stopping on the side of the road so I could fuck her on the bench seat, then waiting until it got dark so I could bend her over the hood and fuck her again.

Now when I stare at the car, anger fills my chest, my jaw grows tight, and I curse myself for letting myself get wrapped up in a woman—an issue I’ve never had before .

“Grady, there’s a customer here that wants to ask you about a custom exhaust for their car.” Lindy, my receptionist and bookkeeper, pops her head into the garage, pulling me from my thoughts.

“I’ll be right there.”

She slides back behind the door that separates the reception area from the garage as I stand from the stool I was sitting on and head to the sink to wash the grease from my hands. Back when I was playing baseball, it was grass and dirt under my fingernails mixed with grease. Now it’s only grease that seeps its way into my skin, marking me with this new life, no matter how hard I scrub to get rid of it.

Although, come Monday, it’ll be both grease and dirt again. Much to my dismay, I agreed to try coaching the high school baseball team, yet another decision influenced by that night with Scottie. And even though I regret it now, I’m not going to back out. I made a commitment, and I’m going to see it through because that’s who I am—or at least, that’s who I’m trying to be, despite questioning my life choices daily. From what I’ve heard, that’s normal. But all I know is, normal sucks.

***

Sipping my beer as I lie back in my recliner, I watch the highlights on ESPN, much like I do every night. Thank God it’s Friday, which means I have tomorrow off. Chet manages the garage on Saturdays, and we’re only open until two in the afternoon, so he gets a few extra hours off as well.

My eyelids struggle to stay open as the words and images on the TV become blurry. I set my beer on the coffee table, fold my hands over my chest, and promise myself I’m only going to shut my eyes for a few minutes. Hours pass before the sound of breaking glass jolts me from a deep sleep.

My pulse instantly spikes. I jerk my head toward the window that overlooks my property, seeing flashes of light move around in the distance near the garage.

“What the fuck?” Launching myself from my recliner, I head for the window, peering through the blinds as a few figures move around the building, their flashlights casting shadows against the ground and walls. “Oh, hell no.” I stalk toward my room and head straight for my gun safe, entering the code and grabbing my shotgun. I shove a few shells in my pocket before slipping on my shoes and ripping my front door open.

I don’t plan on shooting anyone, but I know that the sound of a shotgun being cocked is enough to make anyone think twice about what they’ve done.

Carrington Cove might be a small town, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t bad seeds here like anywhere else. It’s moments like this that I’m glad I installed an alarm system in the garage when I bought the place from Mr. Rogers. He never saw the need for it, but I wanted to protect my investment. There’s a lot of money sitting in that shop, and as my phone vibrates in my pocket, alerting me that the sensors have been tripped and the police notified, I’m grateful the alarm is silent. It gives me a chance to surprise the intruders myself.

Noise and voices echo from inside the garage as I get closer. I think I saw three shadows, but there could be more men than that.

“Come on!” one of the voices whisper-shouts. “You’re running out of time.”

“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” another voice whispers back. I draw closer to the building, slipping inside the front door and tiptoeing through the office they just went through .

“Don’t be a pussy. You want to be on the team, right? Then prove it.”

The more I listen, the more aware I become that these voices don’t belong to men. Hell, one of the kids sounds like he just went through puberty.

Holding my gun, I debate what to do. I don’t want them to piss their pants, so I set the gun by the door and reach for my phone, ready to turn on the flashlight. I wait for the right moment to make my move. Sirens wail in the distance, so I know the police are almost here, but I’ll be damned if these kids get away before I get a chance to let them know whose business they fucked with.

“Hurry up!”

A loud crash of metal on metal assaults my ears, followed by laughter. When the sound of breaking glass follows in a matter of seconds, I rip open the door. “Hey!”

Three teenage boys twist to face me, eyes wide and terrified. The one holding the baseball bat drops it to the floor and freezes while one of the others screams, “Run!”

I barely have a second to realize the kid with the bat crushed the hood in on the Nova before they all take off in different directions. Since bat boy thought vandalizing my car was his idea of a fun Friday night, I run after him.

I lose track of where the other two boys went as I close in on bat boy, who is sprinting toward the back exit. With a quick lunge, I grab the hood of his jacket and yank him back.

“No!” he shouts as he falls to the concrete floor, still trying to wriggle free. But I pounce on him, pinning him to the ground beneath me, holding his hands at his sides.

“Gotcha, you little shit!”

“Get off of me! ”

“Yeah, like that’s going to happen.”

The sound of a boot hitting a door pulls my attention to the reception area, and three police officers come barreling into the garage, their guns poised.

“Hands in the air!” Frank, one of the officers I know fairly well, yells when he sees me pinning the kid to the floor.

“It’s me, Frank. I caught one of the kids who broke in, but the other two got away.”

The kid beneath me struggles to throw me off, but I’ve got a hundred pounds on him, easily. I’ve put on a shit ton of muscle because working out became one of the only things I could focus on after my career ended. But I give him points for at least continuing to put up a fight. He’s gonna need that gumption to get out of this.

Frank lowers his gun, signaling to the other two officers to do the same. “Where did the other two go?”

“Outside, I think. They probably slipped through the back.”

“Go check outside,” Frank tells his companions before walking over to us. “What’s your name, kid?” he asks the boy, who’s finally stopped moving.

He scowls up at Frank, his jaw clenched. “I’m not telling you.”

“Well, we can do this the hard way, then.” He reaches for the radio attached to his chest. “I’ve got a suspect in custody. Attempted burglary, trespassing, breaking and entering, and he’s not willing to talk. I’ll be bringing him in to stay the night in a cell. Get it ready for him, will ya?”

“You’re taking me to jail?” the kid cries out in disbelief.

“If you don’t want to talk, a night in a cell should help change your mind really quickly.”

“Fine. My name is Chase. Chase Warner,” he grates out and then looks up at me. “Can you get off of me now? ”

I glance up at Frank who nods. “I’ll put him in cuffs. He’s not going anywhere.”

Once I stand up and Frank secures the kid with his hands cuffed in front of him, sulking against the wall, I walk over to the Nova to assess the damage. Frank tries to get ahold of the kid’s parents.

“Fuck.” Staring at my car, I clench my jaw so hard my teeth threaten to crack. The hood is wrecked, dented so deep in the middle that I know there’s no salvaging it. One of the brand-new headlights I just replaced is shattered too.

Glaring back at the kid, I debate going over there and asking what the fuck his problem is, but Frank strides up to me before I can move. “His mom is on her way.”

“Good. Any luck catching the other two?”

Frank shakes his head. “Unfortunately, no. The best bet we have is getting the kid to squeal on his friends.”

“Snitches get stitches, Frank. The kid isn’t going to talk.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Once I tell the mom he’s facing charges of trespassing, vandalism, and breaking and entering, she might force him to talk.”

I snort. “Anything else we can charge him with?”

Frank leans closer to me, lowering his voice. “You’re certain you want to press charges?”

I gesture to my car. “Are you looking at the same classic car with the dented in hood and busted headlight that I am?”

Nodding, he takes a step back. “I get it, but he’s a kid.”

“Who broke into my garage, destroyed my car, and…”

Before I can finish, the door from the reception area swings open violently and the last person I expected to see races in. “Chase! Chase?”

“Scottie?” My feet move toward her on instinct .

“Grady,” she breathes out, her hair as wild as her eyes. “Where’s Chase?”

I spin my head around, wondering if I’m being punked. “Wait…”

“Oh my God.” She pushes past me, heading right for the kid, her robe open and flowing behind her.

Fuck.

The kid’s name is Chase.

Scottie’s son’s name is Chase.

This is Scottie’s son.

And my night just got a lot more fucking interesting.