He spares her a quick glance before he smiles. “I only packed one suit and now I need a dry cleaner. You don’t know a place, do you?” With a shrug, he tugs at the bottom of his jacket. “Big meeting tomorrow.”
“No idea. Sorry.” His accent is familiar, but I can’t place it. Hazards of moving as much as I do. Hell, everything about the guy makes me nervous, though he’s being friendly enough. But Frank taught me to be forgettable. To blend in. And this is anything but blending in.
Fumbling for Raelynn’s hand, I urge her toward the corner. But it’s not until we’re in the car that my heart rate returns to normal.
The roof job only took me four hours, so on the way home, I pop into a mom-and-pop hardware store in Maple Leaf. Half a dozen customers roam the aisles, but it’s not busy. It never is. Mitchell, one of the supervisors, waves when he sees me. “New project this week?” he asks.
“Yeah. Doing some work for a friend. She’s got one of those old Howell heaters and a serious electrical problem.” I toss a pack of fuses into my basket, then drop to one knee so I can check out the store’s wire supply.
“She?” Mitchell leans against the shelf, playing with the ID card hanging from his belt. “Is she hot?”
My knuckles crack, my hands shaking for a second until I ball them into fists. “She is a friend. And I doubt she’d want me to answer that question. Have a little respect.” Once I find the right spool of wire, I push to my feet. “You don’t have sisters, do you?”
“Two brothers. Why?” He follows me to the next aisle, puffing out his chest like he’s ready for a fight. “You got something to say?”
Shit.
The last thing I want is a brawl with a guy who thinks women were put on this earth for his amusement. I should find another hardware store, but the owners, Bert and Martha, have been in business since I lived here with Frank, and he always said they were good people.
“Pretty sure you’ve got a line forming at the register, Mitch. Might want to go check on that.”
He turns, swears under his breath, and rushes up the aisle.
Unfortunately, when I finish shopping, he’s the only one working checkout. By the time I pay for all the shit I need to fix Raelynn’s heater, I want to punch the guy in the face. But that would make me memorable—and probably get me arrested—so I keep my mouth shut and hurry out to my car with a bag in each hand and the spool of wire tucked under my arm.
Tires squeal as I close the trunk, and I turn toward the sound.
A black blur speeds toward me. “Look out!” someone shouts.
I scramble over the back of the car. My foot slips, sending me crashing to the ground. Throbbing pain radiates from the back of my head. Metal screeches. The old Honda shudders. An engine roars, then fades, leaving a silence so consuming, it’s like the whole world suddenly…stopped.
Until Bert shouts, “Call 911, Martha!”
“No!” I shake my head—big mistake—and try to get up. I don’t make it, collapsing against the car behind me. My whole body trembles.
He didn’t slow down. Didn’t stop.
Thin fingers wrap around my bicep. “Come on, son. Let’s get you back inside.” Bert tugs on my arm. “You can lean on me.”
Spots swim in front of my eyes for a second. Fuck. Do I have a concussion? My hip aches, and the world isn’t entirely level anymore. Or steady.
“Martha, where the hell are you?” Bert calls. “This boy needs an ambulance.”
“No ambulance,” I protest. “I’m fine.”
Martha pats the pockets of her Gray’s Hardware apron as she crosses the parking lot. “You are not fine, young man. You’re bleeding!”
I reach up, finding a cut on my temple sticky with blood. “Did you see the other car?” My trunk looks like a wrecking ball slammed into it. But I’m alive, and all I want is to get the hell out of here.
“It was black,” Bert says.
Martha jabs him in the shoulder. “You need your eyes checked. It was green.”
“You lost your glasses a week ago. It was black!” The two bicker over the color, which direction the car went, and whether I have a concussion for so long, I start limping away.
My hands are still shaking, but I unlock the door and start the engine before they notice. One of the tires wobbles a little, but I manage to back out of the space without the rear bumper falling off.
Bert calls after me. Hitting the gas harder than I should, I peel out of the lot.
