Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
WILLOW
T he sun is just starting to dip below the mountains when I finally lock up Sweetly Yours for the night. It’s been a long day, and all I can think about is getting home, taking a hot shower, and relaxing with Brock.
As I walk toward my car, I fish my keys out of my bag, but something catches my eye when I get closer. The back of the car looks off—lower than usual. My stomach tightens as I step around to the rear, and sure enough, both back tires are completely flat, the rubber sagging onto the pavement.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter, crouching down to get a closer look. There’s no mistaking it—they’re not just low on air; they’re shredded.
Frustration bubbles up as I straighten, glancing around the empty parking lot. I grab my phone from my bag and hover my thumb over Brock’s number. He’s supposed to come over tonight, and the last thing I want is to bother him with this. But what choice do I have? Still, I can’t exactly leave the car here overnight.
I bite my lip and call him. He picks up on the second ring, his deep voice instantly soothing. “Hey, baby.”
“Hey,” I say softly, leaning against the car. “So, um, I’ve got a bit of a situation.”
“What’s going on?” he asks, his voice immediately sharpening with concern.
“I walked out to get in my car and noticed that my back two tires are flat. I must have run over something on the way here and not even realized it.
“Give me ten minutes, and I’ll be there to change it.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I say, shaking my head even though he can’t see me. “I was going to figure it out—”
“Willow,” he cuts me off, his voice firm but full of affection. “Stop. I’m your man. It’s my job to take care of you.”
The way he says it—so matter-of-fact, like it’s the simplest truth in the world—sends a warmth spreading through my chest.
“Okay,” I say softly. “Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me, baby. I’ll see you in ten.”
The gravel crunches under Brock’s truck as it pulls into the parking lot, his headlights slicing through the shadows of the early evening. Relief floods through me as he steps out, his broad shoulders and steady stride instantly making me feel safer.
He doesn’t waste any time, heading straight for me with that purposeful energy that always makes me feel like everything’s going to be okay.
“Alright, baby,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “Let’s take a look.”
I point to the front tire, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s flat. I was about to call roadside assistance, but you said—”
“Don’t worry about that,” he cuts in gently, crouching down next to the tire. “I’ve got it.”
He runs his hand over the rubber, his eyes narrowing as his fingers trace along the surface. His jaw tightens, and something in his expression shifts.
“Willow,” he says, his tone sharper now. “Come here.”
I step closer, wrapping my arms around myself as a cool breeze brushes past. “What’s wrong?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he straightens and moves to the back of the car, crouching down again. My stomach twists as I follow him.
“Shit,” he mutters under his breath, his voice tight.
“What?” I ask, my heart starting to race.
He stands slowly, his broad frame radiating tension as he turns to face me. “It’s not just one tire, Willow. Both back tires are slashed.”
My stomach flips. “Slashed? Are you sure?”
He nods, his lips pressing into a thin line. “It’s deliberate. Clean cuts.”
I crouch next to him, staring at the neat, straight line along the side of the back tire. My throat tightens, and I feel a wave of unease wash over me.
“Who would do this?” I whisper, my voice trembling.
Brock straightens, pulling out his phone. His movements are slow and deliberate, the kind of calm that comes right before a storm.
“What are you doing?” I ask, wrapping my arms tighter around myself.
“Calling the cops,” he says firmly, already dialing. “This wasn’t random, and we’re not ignoring it.”
“Brock—” I start, but he raises a hand, cutting me off.
“This isn’t up for debate,” he says, his voice steady but laced with steel. “Someone targeted you, and we’re going to figure out who.”
The cops arrive fifteen minutes later, their flashing lights painting the parking lot in shades of red and blue. Brock stands beside me, his hand resting protectively on my back as the two officers approach.
“Evening,” the older one says, nodding at Brock. “You’re the one who called?”
“Yeah,” Brock replies, his voice clipped. “Both back tires slashed. Clean cuts.”
The officers crouch down, inspecting the damage, while the younger one pulls out a notepad. He glances up at me. “Do you know anyone who might have a reason to do this?”
I shake my head quickly, my voice catching in my throat. “No. I don’t have any enemies. At least... not that I know of.”
The older officer straightens, brushing his hands off. “Whoever did this knew what they were doing. It’s not some amateur prank—this was intentional.”
Brock stiffens beside me, his hand pressing more firmly against my back. “So what’s the next step?”
“We’ll file a report,” the officer says. “We’ll keep an eye on the area and see if anything suspicious pops up. In the meantime, if you think of anyone who might have a reason to do this, let us know.”
“I will,” I say softly, though my mind is spinning.
After the cops leave, Brock leans against his truck, his arms crossed as he watches me. His expression is still furious, but his eyes are full of concern.
“This wasn’t random, Willow,” he says, his voice low. “Someone’s sending a message.”
“I don’t know who would do this,” I say, shaking my head.
He studies me for a long moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re sure?”
I hesitate, Tessa’s face flashing in my mind. But slashing tires? That’s a step too far... isn’t it?
“I’m sure,” I say quietly, my voice firm.
Brock’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he steps forward and pulls me into his arms, wrapping me in a hug that feels protective and grounding all at once.
“I’m going to take care of this,” he murmurs, his voice rough but steady. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
I close my eyes, letting myself sink into the warmth of his embrace. But even as I stand there, safe in his arms, a nagging thought lingers in the back of my mind, What if it was her?