Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
My heart is pounding with anticipation as I drive to the parking lot of Shannon’s. Sloan’s orange Chevy van is standing nearby, and I’m hoping to find her here.
I step out of my truck and make my way over to the side door, knocking. But there’s no answer.
Fuck, how is she gone already? North just got back thirty minutes ago, telling me they were done with their run.
I pull out my phone, ready to send her a text, when I hear the restaurant door close. I look up, and there she is, walking toward me, dressed in jeans and a gray sweater, looking as stunning as always with her hair in braids.
I missed that hairstyle on her.
“Good morning,” I greet, my smile stretching wide across my face because seeing her is like the sun rising on this cloudy day.
“What are you doing here?” she asks cautiously, her brows furrowing as she crosses her arms over her chest.
So, it seems we’re back to square one.
“I got you something,” I announce, my grin widening as I stride toward my truck. With a bit of effort, I open the bed to reveal the two boxes I had stashed up there.
“What is it?” Sloan asks, her curiosity piqued as she leans in for a closer look. I appreciate the fact that she’s showing some emotion other than a fuck-off vibe.
“It’s hoses and a new heater for your van,” I reply, a hint of enthusiasm in my voice. “I may not be much help with the installation, but I can keep you company while you fix everything up.”
“You bought me parts for the van?” She looks offended, a frown forming between her eyebrows. “Why would you do that? I don’t need your pity. I would have managed to buy them myself eventually.”
I take a step closer, reaching out a hand. After a moment’s hesitation, she doesn’t pull away, so I let my thumb gently glide over the spot between her brows, smoothing out the crease.
I’m surprised she allows it.
But the urge to touch her is like a primal need.
“I asked you to let me help you help yourself,” I explain earnestly, my tone soft. My hand moves from her brow to her upper arm, gently rubbing up and down for comfort. “I promised you we’d fix your security blanket. It’s damn well time I kept my promise.”
“Don’t you think it’s a little late for that?” She glares, though her eyes don’t reflect the same intensity.
“Late, no doubt,” I concede. “But is it too late?” I can’t quite hide the hope that creeps into my voice.
She bites her lip, and I can see the gears turning in her head as she contemplates whether or not to give in.
Please give in. Please let me do this for you.
Her gaze shifts to my right, lingering for a few moments. In that instant, she looks like she did when she did the reading as if listening and absorbing something that only she can hear.
Is somebody here with us?
Whoever it is, I hope they’re on my side.
It seems they are because, with reluctant acceptance, she nods and strides to the back of the truck. Effortlessly, she jumps up and reaches to lift a heavy box.
“Wait, let me,” I offer, but she has already grabbed the lighter one containing the hoses. She jumps down from the truck bed and places it on the ground near the front of the van.
I stand by, watching as she moves to the back of her van, retrieving tools.
When she returns to the front, I stand beside her, observing as she pops open the hood and peers inside.
It reveals a labyrinth of hoses and wires, and Sloan wastes no time getting to work.
Her hands move with precision as she looks for the broken hoses.
“God, you’re a mess, old girl,” she mutters, giving the side of the van a pat as if offering an apology.
“Do you think it’s salvageable?” I inquire, a sense of hope tinging my words. Deep down, I know the answer needs to be yes, if only for Sloan’s sake.
She can’t lose the van too.
“I’ll bring her back to life, no matter what,” she states determinedly, leaning down to grab a flashlight, a wrench, and a hose.
“Can I help?” I ask although I know the answer already. I know shit about cars.
“I don’t know, can you?” she challenges, raising an eyebrow. She then stands on her toes to lean over the hood, placing the hose on top of the engine while securing the flashlight between her teeth, her hands occupied with removing the damaged hose.
“Wait, let me,” I murmur, stepping up to her and gently taking the flashlight.
Our eyes lock briefly as I remove it from her mouth.
Her mouth lingers open for a second longer than necessary, and I can’t shake the visions coming to me—how she’s kneeling in front of me with that pretty mouth open like this, waiting for me to fill it with my cock.
Fuck.
Sporting a boner right now wouldn’t be the best way to convey my genuine intentions of helping her out, so I try to get back my focus. Her gaze remains locked with mine, so I clear my throat and offer, “I think I can manage to hold a flashlight.”
“If you say so,” she mutters, finally diverting her attention back to the hoses. “Here, can you give me some light… yes, perfect.”
I hold the flashlight steady, directing a light beam onto her workspace.
She works swiftly and efficiently, and I admire her in action.
She’s a force to be reckoned with, and watching her work is nothing short of impressive.
I stand beside her like an idiot, only able to hold the flashlight and watch in awe.
Sloan’s brows furrow in concentration as she works.
She’s so damned beautiful.
Her cheekbones, the subtle ridge of her nose, her full lashes—I find myself fixating on her delicate features.
A few strands of hair she left out of the braid to frame her face fall in front of her eyes, and despite her attempts to huff them out of the way, they persistently return.
Unable to resist, I gently push them behind her ear.
She gazes at me, her eyes searching my face, but when I remain silent, she simply offers a quiet “thanks” and returns to her task.
Finally, she starts tightening the new hose with a wrench. “Done. Now we can get your blood pumping again, Van-essa.”
“Van-essa?” I try my best not to laugh, but it’s just too adorable.
Why on earth would she call this pile of rust something so feminine?
“It’s her name.” She wipes her grimy hands on a rag she had slung over her shoulder when she got the tools.
“This huge orange monster doesn’t look anything like a Van-essa. It’s more like a Van-ce or a Dono-van, maybe Sully-van,” I jest.
Sloan looks at me with wide eyes for a moment before bursting into laughter, catching me off guard. I join in, and she can’t seem to stop, even letting out a little snort.
Adorable.
I’ve never witnessed anything as beautiful as Sloan Wilson caught in a fit of laughter.
“Sully-van?” she repeats through chuckles. “Fuck.”
Struggling to catch her breath, she places her hand on her belly, still cackling.
“Why Van-essa?” I inquire when her laughter subsides.
“I don’t know. It was my nan’s van, and she gave her the name.” She shrugs, but there is more to it, so I ask.
“Your nan…” Your nan you told us about, your nan who died?
Perfect icebreaker.
“She was the one who raised me. It was always the two of us,” Sloan responds, and when she mentions her grandmother, there’s a hint of sadness in her voice. “She had the gift too. Taught me all about it.”
The word gift is uttered with such disdain it makes me frown. Does she truly hate what she can do?
Or did people make her hate it?
“Tell me about her,” I gently push. Asking about the gift might close the doors I’ve finally managed to open between us again. It’s the more important question, but this topic is safer for now.
The fact that she’s talking to me like this is a wonder in and of itself.
“She was amazing. The best,” Sloan begins, her voice softening with fond memories.
“Always there for me. I never had friends. I was always the odd one out. Nobody wanted to talk or play with the weird child. Nobody wanted to hang out with the crazy girl. But she… she was my best friend. I needed nobody else because I had her.”
I can see tears well up in Sloan’s eyes, but she doesn’t allow them to fall. It’s as though she suddenly remembers who she’s talking to, and she shakes her head before lowering herself to the ground. She lays on her back and slowly maneuvers herself under the van.
“Fuck, I forgot the flashlight. Can you hand it to me? And a hose? Please?” she calls out from beneath the van, extending her hand so I can see it.
“Sure,” I mumble, trying to shake off the sadness that just rose inside me for her.
This woman had such a hard life. All I want to do is make it better.
Clearly, Sloan can take care of herself, and I’m just grateful to be here to support her in any way she’ll allow.
Please allow me to be here.
After successfully fixing everything that needed to be repaired under the van, she slides out and stands, turning to me with a smile, almost stopping my heart with the warmth of it.
Where did that just come from?
She just looked at me like she did before I fucked up.
“Done. Now, the more difficult part is getting out the old heater and installing the new one.”
I tilt my head, curious. “Why is that more difficult?”
I thought it would be like changing a refrigerator at home, pulling out the old one, unplugging it, and putting the new one in its place, plugging it in. Done.
Sloan sighs. “Because it burned through the cables,” she explains. “It might not be just a quick fix.”
She opens the van’s sliding door and gets in, allowing me to stand just outside, peering in. This is the first time I’ve had the opportunity to look a little closer, inspecting how she lives.
It’s small, really small, but cute. The wooden interior creates a cozy atmosphere, accentuated by the fairy lights hanging from the roof. The bed is in the back, dressed in earthy tones, save for the white heated blanket spread across it and the pink blanket hoodie from Nash that’s folded on top.
That’s where he disappeared to last night.