9. Gabe
CHAPTER 9
GABE
I ’m seconds away from turning off the light when the phone rings.
Usually, I would ignore the phone. I’m not a great believer in talking on it.
But I have a different ringer set for my tow truck helpline, and the sound echoing through my house right now is that of someone in need. The very last thing I want to do right now is get out of bed, put on a coat, and head back out into the snow, but the next nearest guys who could help are miles away.
With a sigh, I fling off the covers and stalk down the stairs. I hope Carly’s asleep, or at the least, unbothered by the sound. It’s loud and annoying, but I’m sure she will understand the need for it.
I haven’t heard anything from her in a few hours, ever since I dropped off my mom’s old clothes in her room. It’s going to be weird seeing her wear them, but it’s not like my mom has any use for them anymore. I probably should have donated them after she and dad passed, but somehow I never got around to it.
I march to the kitchen and pick up my work phone. “Fox Motors, mechanic and tow truck. How can I help?” I answer in my very best customer service tone.
Phoebe is always telling me how I need to learn how to deal with customers better, and I’m always telling her that I’ve dealt with customers this way my whole life, and they’ve never complained yet.
I’m not here to be their friend. I’m here to rescue their cars.
Down the line, a woman sniffles.
“Gabe?” comes a familiar voice. “I’m so sorry.”
“Carly?” I splutter. “Why are you calling? Aren’t you upstairs? You could have just come and got me if you wanted me.”
“I’m not upstairs.” Her voice is thick with tears. Clearly, she was crying a lot before she called. “I took your truck.”
“You did what?” I explode.
She swallows thickly. “You have a business card in the cup holder, and I called the number. That’s how I knew to call you.”
I clench my fist, seething in rage. “Where are you now?”
“I’m not sure. Hold on.” I hear a rustling. Presumably that’s her looking on her phone so she can try and get some semblance of a GPS signal. “I’m at the intersection between Williams Street and Ford Road. There was a deer. It jumped out, and I got so scared, and then I spun and spun, and now I’m stuck in a snow drift, and I can’t get out.”
“Why do you have my truck?” It’s taking everything I have not to yell at her more. She’s clearly scared and afraid, so that wouldn’t help, and from the way she’s crying, she definitely feels guilty enough about doing it.
“My meeting,” she says so quietly I can barely hear it. “I wanted to get to my meeting. I thought that maybe I could drive and get there tonight, and I don’t know, find some way to get your truck back to you tomorrow. I thought it would all be okay.”
“What if I needed it tomorrow? What if I’d had an early job? What if you crashed badly and ruined my income as well as yours?”
“I’m so sorry,” she sniffles. “I don’t think it’s damaged. I just can’t dig myself out, not on my own.”
“I brought you into my home, and you’ve stolen from me.”
She lets out another sob instead of apologizing again, and I take a harsh breath. Never in my life have I met someone so rude and ungrateful as her. And that’s saying something because most people would call me pretty rude.
At least I have a sense of honor and right and wrong. I wouldn’t have stolen someone else’s vehicle, not like this.
If I was as mean as people say, I would leave her out to freeze and bar my door, forbid her from coming back. Force her to work it all out herself because if what I’m giving her isn’t enough, she sure as hell isn’t taking any more advantage of it.
But much as it pains me, I do know what’s right and wrong, and what’s wrong is leaving a beautiful woman out in the middle of the worst snowstorm I’ve seen in years, even if she stole my truck and crashed it.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” I huff and slam the phone down before she can reply.
Hopefully she’s smart enough to keep the engine on and sit there in the warmth until I get there. If it was just a deer, she probably slid on ice, and now she’s panicking. I have a shovel in the back and the truck’s four-wheel drive. That thing is designed to cope with weather like this.
I’ll be surprised if she’s really stuck at all.
I head upstairs, pull on my pants and a shirt, dig out my thickest winter coat and hat, and march off into the storm. Fortunately, Williams Street is only a few roads away. If I take the shortcut down Gilmore Crescent, it won’t take me long to get there.
By the time I turn up Ford Road, a thick layer of snow has settled on my shoulders. I shiver, shaking it off, and when I look up again, the red lights on the back of my truck start coming into view, ominous beams through the snow like evil eyes, or a warning.
The wind whips at my face, and I stomp hard through the drift, trying to get out some of my anger before I’m faced with Carly. This is all her fault, but she probably doesn’t deserve to be shouted at. Probably.
When I get to the truck, I see Carly shaking inside. To my relief, she does have the heat on, so it’s probably from tears rather than cold.
She’d better not try to justify this to me. There’s no way her meeting can be important enough to steal from the man who’s taking you into his home.
I knock hard on the window, and she jumps. Slowly, I open the door and glare at her. “Thank you for coming,” she sniffles. “I’m so sorry about all of this. I don’t know what I was thinking. I just?—”
“Save it,” I say. “Get out.”
Her shoulders slump, and I add, “And get in the passenger seat,” before she thinks that I really am leaving her out here in the cold forever.
She gets out of the truck, her tail between her legs. She slouches round to the passenger seat, and I slam the driver’s door shut, then take a step back to look at the situation.
More than anything, I think it’s the humiliation that made her call me. She clearly didn’t hit the deer, and she isn’t really stuck at all. It looks like slamming on the brakes made her spin out of control, which clearly panicked her and sent her off the side of the road. But the wheels are barely even snowed in, so I don’t think I’m going to have to do any digging.
I do a full circle of the truck, making sure that nothing is damaged. Then I jump into the driver’s seat and rev the engine. The truck lurches forward unhappily, its wheels spinning in the snow.
“Come on,” I mutter under my breath. Carly sits, staring at her feet, her fists clenched beside her. She has nothing to say, and she’s right about that.
I press harder on the gas, and the truck lurches forward again, jumping out of the snow and back onto the road. “There we go. Okay.”
I look at Carly and see silent tears falling from her eyes. I shouldn’t forgive her. I should throw her to Mrs. Andrews. I should say damn it all, I don’t care if she gets home safe or has nowhere to stay.
But much as I want to do that, I can’t.
“Let’s get you home,” I huff.
“Home?” she asks, the crease between her eyebrows deepening. “What do you mean home?”
“Do you want to stay at my house or not?”
She nods slowly. “Are you sure?”
“It’s either that or you freeze to death. Whichever you prefer.”
“Thank you,” she says quietly and doesn’t say another word.
This time, when she closes the door behind her to my guest room, I feel certain that she’s going to stay there. But I learned a long time ago that people aren’t to be trusted, so I make sure to take my truck keys with me to bed and slip them under my pillow.
Just in case.