Chapter Nine
Ever
The tire didn’t just go flat.
It gave up.
One second I was driving, thinking about whether I had enough whipped cream prepped for the night shift, and the next there was that awful thump-thump-thump sound that no one ever wanted to hear.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, easing my foot off the gas as the car pulled slightly to the right.
“Come on… come on…” I muttered, guiding it onto the shoulder.
The outskirts of Weston weren’t exactly the place you wanted car trouble. Too far out for anyone to casually pass by every few minutes.
Just… inconvenient.
I rolled to a stop, the thumping dying into silence, and sat there for a second with both hands still on the wheel.
Then I let my head fall back against the seat. “Perfect.”
Because of course this would happen.
Of course it would be today.
Of course it would be when I was already running late for closing.
I shoved the car into park and climbed out, the late afternoon sun hitting me harder than I expected. The air was warm, the kind that clung just enough to make everything feel slightly more irritating.
I walked around to the side and crouched down, already knowing what I’d see.
Flat.
Completely flat.
Not even a slow leak. Just… done.
I straightened and stared at it for a second, like it might magically fix itself if I looked hard enough.
It didn’t.
“Great,” I muttered.
I nudged it with the toe of my shoe.
Nothing.
Then, because apparently I’d lost all sense of dignity, I kicked it.
Not hard enough to hurt my foot but just enough to feel like I’d done something.
It didn’t help.
“Fantastic. That solved everything.” I sighed and dragged both hands through my hair, turning in a slow circle like maybe help would just appear if I gave it enough time.
It didn’t.
No cars.
No people.
Just the quiet stretch of road and the distant hum of town too far away to matter.
This would’ve been a great time to have Jesse around.
He’d said he’d be back tomorrow.
A lot of good dating someone did when you were stranded on the side of the road, and it wasn’t like I could even call him.
Not that he’d pick up, considering I hadn’t heard from him in two days.
Two.
Days.
I pressed my lips together and crossed my arms, leaning back against the side of the car.
“Awesome,” I muttered.
Because apparently, this was just my day.
This would also be a great time for my dad to magically appear, crack some joke about me not knowing how to change a tire, and then fix it in five minutes flat.
Except he was in the U.P. and probably not thinking about me stranded on the side of the road with a useless tire and no clue what to do next.
I tilted my head back and looked up at the sky, squinting slightly against the light. “A little help would be good here, God,” I said.
Then I closed my eyes.
For a second, I let myself lean into it.
The frustration.
The annoyance.
The why does this always happen when I’m alone feeling that sat heavy in my chest because this sucked.
No help.
No plan.
No idea what I was supposed to do next.
I exhaled slowly, trying to shake it off. “Okay,” I said to myself. “Figure it out.”
I opened my eyes and heard it.
The low, unmistakable rumble of a motorcycle engine in the distance.
My head snapped toward the road.
“Oh, thank God,” I breathed.
A bike came into view over the slight rise in the road, heading straight toward me. I pushed off the car, already stepping forward a little, my hand lifting in a small wave.
The bike got closer.
Closer.
And then my stomach dropped. “Oh no.”
Because I recognized it.
Recognized the bike.
Recognized the rider.
Jude.
“Oh Jesus.”
Every ounce of relief twisted into something else.
Something way more complicated.
Part of me, the smart part, knew this was good. Help was help. Didn’t matter who it came from.
The other part of me? The part that had been trying really hard to move on? That part wanted him to just keep riding.
Leave me stranded here for the rest of my life if that’s what it took.
He didn’t.
He slowed as he got closer, the engine dropping into a low rumble before he pulled in behind my car and killed it completely. The sudden quiet felt louder than the engine had.
I stood there, arms crossed over my chest without thinking, as he swung his leg off the bike.
And yeah.
That didn’t help.
Not even a little.
He moved like he always did—easy, confident, like his body just knew how to take up space without trying.
Faded jeans hugged his thighs, worn in all the right places.
A gray T-shirt stretched across his chest, the sleeves tight around his arms in a way that made it very clear he didn’t skip the gym or the physical labor that came with club life.
His cut sat over his shoulders with the Fallen Lords patch catching the light just enough to draw attention without screaming for it.
Backwards cap.
Sunglasses.
Scruff along his jaw that made him look just a little rougher than clean-cut.
Then he started walking toward me and I forgot how to breathe for a second.
I had moved on.
I had.
It was easier to believe that when he wasn’t walking toward me like the sexiest man on the planet.
“Car trouble?” he asked.
His voice was low and rough in a way that slid right under my skin before I could stop it.
I forced myself to nod and glanced down at the tire like that was safer. “No, I just felt like pulling over on the side of the road for fun.”
There it was.
Smartass.
He huffed out a quiet chuckle, stepping past me to get a better look at the tire. “Looks like you’re having a great time.”
“Best day of my life.”
He shook his head slightly, then reached up and pulled his cut off, draping it over the back of his bike before turning back to me.
“Got a spare and a jack?” he asked.
I blinked. “I… probably?” That sounded as confident as I felt, which was not at all.
“You probably?” he repeated, one brow lifting slightly.
I shrugged, crossing my arms again. “I don’t know. I’ve never had to use it.”
He looked at me for a second then tipped his chin toward the back of the car. “Pop the trunk.”
“I don’t need—”
He glanced up and down the empty stretch of road before looking back at me. “You got someone else coming to help you?”
The question sat there.
Heavy.
Honest.
“I would have someone coming,” I said, forcing my voice to stay even, “but they’re not in town.”
His head tilted slightly.
“Uh,” I added quickly, because apparently I couldn’t shut up, “Jesse is out of town visiting some friends. Otherwise, I would’ve called him.”
Jude didn’t say anything.
“Uh, I could call Lark,” I went on, because silence made me nervous. “She could—”
“Pop the trunk, Ever.”
The way he said my name, wrapped in it like he’d said it a hundred times and meant every single one, sent a shiver straight down my spine before I could stop it.
He just looked at me, waiting.
I swallowed and turned away quickly, fumbling for my keys as I headed to the back of the car.
Get it together.
I hit the button and the trunk popped open with a dull click.
Jude moved in right behind me, stepping up to the open trunk and immediately getting to work like he’d done this a thousand times before.
I hovered off to the side because apparently that was my role here.
He lifted the floor panel without hesitation, revealing the spare tucked neatly underneath along with the jack and tools.
“Well,” he said, glancing up at me briefly, “you’re in luck.”
“I always am,” I muttered.
He grabbed the spare, hauling it out with ease, and set it on the ground before pulling the jack free.
This was where things got… difficult. Because watching Jude do manual labor should not have been as distracting as it was, but it was.
His T-shirt pulled tight across his back as he crouched, muscles shifting under the fabric in a way that made it very clear he wasn’t just strong, but that he was used to being strong.
Used to doing things like this.
Fixing problems.
Handling shit.
I crossed my arms tighter, trying very hard not to stare.
I failed spectacularly.
He slid the jack under the car, adjusting it with practiced movements before starting to crank it up.
“Been busy at the Dairy Bar?” he asked, like this was normal.
“Yeah,” I said. “Always.”
“Closing tonight?”
“Yep.”
He nodded slightly, eyes focused on what he was doing.
Silence settled again and I didn’t know what to do with it.
For years, I’d imagined conversations with Jude.
Easy ones.
Flirty ones.
Ones where he finally noticed me.
Now?
Now I had nothing.
Nothing smart.
Nothing clever.
Nothing that didn’t feel forced.
So I stood there and watched him.
He grabbed the wrench next, loosening the bolts on the wheel with controlled, steady movements. His forearms flexed with each turn, veins visible just under the surface of his skin.
I dragged my gaze away, then right back because apparently, I had no self-control.
He worked efficiently, no wasted motion, no hesitation.
He pulled the flat tire off and set it aside, lifting the spare into place like it weighed nothing.
“You good?” he asked without looking at me.
“Yep,” I said quickly.
Too quickly.
He didn’t call me on it.
Just kept working.
Tightening the bolts and then lowering the car.
I stood there feeling like I was watching something I shouldn’t be. Like I was seeing a version of him I hadn’t let myself look at before.
He finished, tossed the tools back into the trunk, and lifted the flat tire in after them. Then he closed it with a solid thud.
For a second, neither of us moved. Then he reached back for his cut, sliding it on.
“Uh,” I said, “just let me know how much I owe you.”
He shook his head, adjusting the collar slightly before looking at me. “You don’t owe me anything, sweetheart,” he said. “I’m just glad I was here to help when you needed it.”
Sweetheart.
My brain short-circuited for half a second.
We just stood there looking at each other. And I, God, I would have given anything to know what he was thinking in that moment.
Anything.
“I should get to work,” I said, breaking it before I did something stupid.
He nodded once. “Uh, yeah. I’ll follow you. Make sure you’re good.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
He huffed out a quiet laugh, sliding his sunglasses back over his eyes. “Yeah, I do, baby. My dad and the club would have my ass if I didn’t.”
Baby.
That did not help, not even a little.
I nodded like that made sense and turned quickly, heading for the driver’s side before I could overthink it.
I climbed in, hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary as I started the car.
He was still there behind me.
I could feel it even without looking.
I pulled back onto the road, checking my mirrors out of habit, and there he was.
Right there, following me.
My chest felt tight.
Confusing, because this wasn’t supposed to affect me anymore.
I was done.
I had said I was done.
And yet, he showed up when I needed help.
I focused on the road and not thinking too much about the fact that he was right behind me the whole way.
We hit town quicker than I expected.
The Dairy Bar came into view, lights on, open sign glowing. I turned into the lot and parked in the back like I always did.
Jude pulled in behind me, engine cutting off a second later.
I hesitated for half a second, then leaned out the window and lifted my hand in a quick wave.
“Thanks,” I called.
Because I was not getting out of this car to have another conversation with him.
Absolutely not.
He gave me a small nod, and then he kicked his bike to life. And just like that, he was gone.
The roar of the engine faded as he pulled out of the lot and disappeared down the road.
I grabbed my bag and climbed out of the car, slamming the door shut harder than necessary before heading toward the back entrance.
The second I stepped inside, the familiar smell of the Dairy Bar wrapped around me.
I set my bag down, and moved behind the counter like I always did.
Like nothing had happened.
I grabbed a rag and started wiping because that was something I could control.
Something I understood, even if everything else suddenly felt a whole lot messier than it had that morning.