Page 45 of Working for the Runaway Bride

“You assured me there would be no further incidents.”

“I didn’t know they were coming.”

“You are responsible for maintaining appropriate boundaries between your personal life and your workplace.”

“I have.”

Principal Hargrove looks at the blood on my face. “Two men are fighting over you in the school parking lot.”

Principal Hargrove’s expression doesn’t soften. “This kind of drama is unacceptable at an elementary school,” she says. “Our parents trust us to provide a safe, stable environment for their children. You have demonstrated twice in one week that you cannot keep your personal choices from affecting that environment.”

Molly’s lips part. “What are you saying?”

“You’re terminated, effective immediately.”

CHAPTER

EIGHT

GRAYSON

The bruise on my face fades from purple to yellow. Everything else gets worse. Six days pass after Molly loses her job. She doesn’t call. She doesn’t answer my messages. The first night, I send one.

Please let me know you’re safe.

Nothing.

The next morning, I try again.

I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever I can to make this right.

The message is delivered, but she doesn’t respond.

I stop after that. Not because I stop worrying. Because she asked me to let her go and I’m trying to respect what she wants instead of deciding I know better. It nearly kills me.

I wake before sunrise, go to the garage, and work until I can barely hold a wrench. Then I return to a dark house where every room reminds me that no one is waiting for me.

Now the silence feels like punishment. Maybe it is. I took her away from my son. I can dress it up however I want. Carter cheated first. Molly left the wedding because she didn’t love him. She came to the garage. She kissed me back. More than kiss.

None of that changes what I did. I desired my son’s fiancée. I put my hands on her while his ring was still in her purse. I kissed her knowing exactly how much it would hurt him if he found out.

Then I drove her away from their wedding. Now the universe is balancing the scales. I took Molly from Carter, so it took her from me. Except she was never mine. I made sure of that.

I stand in the back bay of the garage, staring at the Chevelle.

The black paint reflects the fluorescent lights in long white lines. Every inch of it carries a memory.

The first time I got the engine to turn. The night I installed the transmission alone because Hank had gone home sick. The morning it finally started.

That sound changed my life.

I had been out of prison for nearly four years by then, but I still felt like an inmate on temporary release. I expected every opportunity to disappear. Every person who shook my hand would eventually learn the truth and pull away.

Then the engine roared to life.

Hank came running from the office, certain something had exploded. When he saw me behind the wheel, he laughed and slapped the roof so hard he left a handprint in the dust.

I sat there with my hands on the steering wheel and realized I had made something work. More than that, I had rebuilt something everyone else had given up on. That car taught me a ruined thing can become beautiful again.