3. Chance
3
CHANCE
I clenched my fists to keep from snatching Mandy’s hairband and tossing it in the trash. I’d forgotten the punch those wild curls packed, always looking like she’d just gotten out of bed after a hard, satisfying night of wild sex. That miserable bit of elastic ruined the effect.
My fingers also itched to unzip those coveralls and see if she still wore just a sports bra and spandex shorts beneath. I’d always loved her body, ample and generous rather than supermodel thin. She’d been blessed with curves that killed me—round hips, thick thighs. Breasts like ripe nectarines, so sweet, so?—
“…welcome home.”
I jerked myself out of my fantasy and desperately searched my mind, hoping it had caught what she’d just said. Something about my dad, but my mind had gone hazy when she’d started playing with her hair. Christ, years of hardcore SEAL training, honing my concentration and self-control, and minutes in her presence had blown it all away. We’d always had explosive chemistry, but I’d hoped it had faded.
Apparently not.
I cursed the way my pulse raced at the smudge of grease on Mandy’s full cheek, the dirt on her coveralls from a long morning of repairs. Just like old times.
Mandy had never minded getting dirty. That quality, among a million others, had captured my young heart to the point I’d barely been able to breathe without her. She’d challenged me like nobody else, not by nagging or needling, but just being her. Just by being her strong, hardworking self. She’d made me laugh, and she’d made me see stars, but more than anything, she’d had my back, right from the moment our paths had first crossed in high school. She’d been a freshman; I’d been a sophomore. After that, I’d found a refuge in this garage, a place to escape the escalating battles with my dad at home. I’d spent all my free time here, learning everything I could about engines from Mandy’s father. Mandy had been right there with us, offering tips of her own. She’d mock me sometimes for my rookie mistakes, but not in a mean way. We’d laughed all the time. We’d made each other so happy. It’d been great, until…
Until she tore my heart out and walked away.
“Chance?”
I straightened up, grinding my teeth. I had allowed my mind to wander again .
“Sorry,” I grumbled, scrubbing my face with my hands. “Where’s George? I’d love to say hi.”
Her shoulders slumped and the light faded from her beautiful hazel eyes. “Dad, uh, died two years ago. Heart attack.”
“What?” My chest tightened painfully, and I rubbed my sternum. “I’m sorry. I wish I’d known.” I had loved that man like a second father…sometimes more than I’d loved my own. Sure, George had issues, especially when it came to gambling, but the man had always treated me with respect and had shown infinite patience when I had first started working in the garage. Hearing the news now, I felt like I’d lost both fathers in the same day. It took all of me not to lift my middle finger and thrust it at God.
I’d have done my best to come home for the funeral if Mandy—hell, anyone —had told me. Regardless of how things had ended with her, I should have been able to pay my respects to the man who’d meant so much to me. But Mandy had gotten what she’d wanted. No communication whatsoever.
“Yeah.” She scratched her nose, leaving behind a film of dirt. “I inherited the garage and the house.” Something darkened her eyes and hardened her jaw, but I had no clue how to interpret it. Thrusting her shoulders back, she lifted her chin. “How are you?” Her skin flushed. “Stupid question, given where you were earlier. I mean, how was it…overseas? Are you just visiting, or are you home for good?”
Crossing my arms again, I shifted my weight evenly over my boots. “I’m retired, but I can’t say I’m home for good.” I shrugged. “I’ll know more once I figure out my next steps. As for how it was overseas…” A million responses flew to my tongue, but I cut them all off and hit her with the hardcore truth. “I don’t really want to talk about it. It’s in the past.”
Her eyes softened. “According to the veterans I’ve talked to, it’s never really in the past.”
Wasn’t that the truth? A person could leave a hard battle behind him, but the scars never went away. Not the scars from the action I’d endured overseas or the scars from how things ended between us. That night when we’d screamed at each other till I’d stormed away, only to storm back again the very next morning, a ring in my pocket and my speech all worked out. I’d been so sure we could figure this out. I’d had a list with ten reasons why. But Mandy hadn’t heard any of them. She’d broken up with me before I could say a word. Slammed the door in my face—and slammed the door on our future at the same time.
I resolutely pushed the memories away. The love we’d once shared had transcended words, but we’d been teenagers, with teenage hearts. Now, I’d matured, survived in places even Hell would reject, dealt death, and shook hands with the grim reaper a time or two myself. Those days with Mandy seemed like some idyllic dream. And yet, being in her presence again, inhaling that garage scent, the maelstrom of emotions felt as strong as ever. Stronger, even, battering my body with a whole new level of intensity. If I wasn’t careful, I’d find myself moving beyond the hurt and falling in love with her again…or admitting I never fell out of it.
Nope. That stops right now . I clapped my hands together and smirked when she jumped. That cut through the tension, and I offered a smile. “I’m here on business.”
Surprise lit her face. “You are?”
“Yep.” I rubbed my palms together. “Vince ordered some parts for me last week and one of them should be in today.”
“Oh, you must be the delivery from this morning.” She disappeared behind the counter, then popped back up with a medium-sized box. “There was no name on it, and I hadn’t had a minute to open it yet.”
“I’m hoping that’s my carburetor.”
Wielding an industrial razorblade, she sliced through the tape with ease. “It sure is.” She grinned, widening the flaps. “What’re you working on?”
I ambled to the front of the counter. “Years ago, Dad bought a ’67 Ford Mustang Shelby at an auction.”
Mandy whistled. “Nice.”
“Oh yeah.” I shrugged and leaned on the counter. “But I have no clue why he did it. He was never a mechanic. Handyman, definitely, but engines were not his thing.”
Mandy laughed, and the musical sound triggered a burst of nostalgia that was so sharp, it could’ve drilled right into my soul. “I remember when he tried to repair your lawn mower.”
Laughter rumbled in my chest. “He messed it up so bad?—”
“We had to scrounge engine parts from the scrapyard?—”
“To piece the mower back together,” I finished, just like old times.
Mandy beamed and shook her head. “Didn’t he have a Mustang when he was a teenager?”
“Um, yeah.” I cleared my throat, caught off guard that she’d remembered a detail I’d probably only mentioned once in some inane conversation. “Not a Shelby, but I guess that was a dream car of his. Either way, I’m determined to get her running.”
“Then I have no doubt she’ll be purring in no time.” Flaming red spots broke out on her cheeks, and I knew exactly what had crossed her mind. The same thought that had invaded mine. All those times I made her purr…and scream.
“Have a drink with me tonight,” I blurted, then blinked at the words echoing back at me.
Mandy’s jaw dropped, and she stared at me like I was an engine running without pistons.
I opened my mouth to retract the impulsive offer, but no words came out, and I shut it again. Maybe, just maybe, I should follow my impulse and see where it led us. Then, I could schedule the lobotomy I surely needed.
Mandy was staring. “Chance?”
I stared back. Part of me—the part still bleeding from her long-ago rejection—wanted to show her what she’d passed up. Make her feel what I’d felt—the loss, the regret. But also, I needed to understand why she’d walked away. I’d always wondered if she’d thought I couldn’t hack it in the Navy. If that was the case, well, she should know that I’d excelled . The Navy had shaped me into a man I was proud of, a man she could’ve been proud of, too, if she’d just stuck around.
Maybe I’d get lucky, and spending time with her now would prove that Mandy had become boring. We’d run through our shared memories, and that would be that. We’d discover that we had nothing left to talk about, nothing shared between us except some ancient history and the dregs of attraction.
Idiotic for sure, but at this point I’d try anything to put the past behind me.
“We can catch up. Unless you don’t?—”
“Okay, sure,” she answered over my lame attempt to give her an out. She bit her lip, and I wanted to suckle the abused flesh. “Um. That is, if you really meant to ask me out.”
No . “Yep.” I nodded like a stupid bobblehead, then grabbed the box. “Lunar Brewing Company still around?” I asked, naming a local pub that crafted their own beer as part of the ambience. We’d hung out there a lot when we weren’t in the shop or finding private places to screw each other senseless.
Mandy’s eyes softened and her grin widened. “Sure is. I’ll meet you there later. Seven okay?”
“Perfect.” I pivoted and forced myself not to run for the door. I had to get out before I did or said anything else.
On the sidewalk, I nodded to a group of ladies in their sixties headed for the salon. I recognized every one of them—and it was clear that they recognized me, too. Two of them acknowledged me, barely. The others lifted their chins, an old-fashioned snubbing. The second they moved past me, the air filled with whispers. One woman peered back at me, then went back to her conversation, barely bothering to lower her voice. I could still hear her, clear as a bell.
“My grandson came home once, and you should’ve seen his face. We went down to the school, of course, but that teacher?—”
“Oh, I know, I know . ‘If we expel one of them for fighting, we have to expel them both.’ But he wasn’t walking around with a face like squashed liver.” Old Mrs. Lewis shot me a glare. “The bully’s not the one with the split lip. Anyone can see that. Anyone with sense.”
The muscle in my jaw ticked, and I clutched the box to my chest. I’d known these women my whole life. Had trick-or-treated at their houses. Mrs. Lewis had fixed my boo-boos when I fell off my bike when I was six. She’d been sweet once. Had she changed, or had I?
I frowned. I had changed, but I’d never been a bully. And now I was grown, and damn it, I’d done well. I’d learned to come to terms with my anger and let go of the past. If the good people of Springwell couldn’t do the same, that was their problem, not mine. Let them fill their days with gossip. Let them chat it up loud. Let them dine out on Dad’s funeral, and on my return. On spotting me standing in front of my ex-girlfriend’s garage. Let them have their fun. I didn’t give a damn.
Mid-sigh, I froze, my sight lasering onto a black SUV parked just down the street. The side windows were tinted, but I had no trouble peering through the windshield and spying the same asshole who’d crowded Mandy’s space behind the counter.
The revulsion and fear on her face when I had first walked in had tripped all my SEAL instincts. It had taken everything I had not to jump the counter and toss the guy through the window. The only thing that had stopped me was how quickly her body language had changed when she’d realized who stood in the doorway.
But why would the guy still be hanging around the garage if he wasn’t happy with the service? Had his parting shot meant something totally different?
I crossed the street and vowed to keep an eye on the situation. I might just have a reason to stick around Springwell a little longer.