Max A Carjacking
Max
A Carjacking
I wake to the sound of Benny whining. Pulling the comforter over me, I sink deeper into my pillow. As the warmth and softness of my sheets envelop me, the alarm clock on my bedside table blares like a foghorn on a silent night.
"No, need more sleep." I swing my arm over to the offending device and attempt to hit the snooze button, but a wet, rough tongue streaks down the side of my face as tiny fur-covered paws pad my chest.
"Ugh… fine. I’m up, Benny." My three-month-old beagle sits back on his haunches as I give up and sling the covers off of me. "But you aren’t going on the pee pad this time. It’s time to be a man, Benny."
It was a late night, with too many beers and too many jokes about my face looking worse after a run-in with Sadie than it did after a gnarly fight on the ice.
Walking to the back door of the cottage I rent, I twist the knob and sling it open to let Benny do his business.
Instead, he looks at me with his big puppy eyes and sits down.
"Benny, we talked about this." I wave my arm toward the small backyard, but he doubles down by curling up at my feet. "The grass is soft. I even lay in it sometimes, I promise."
Benny cowers, a look of disgust on his little wrinkly face, and I release a frustrated breath.
"Okay, fine. You win." I close the door, locking it, before turning to grab a pee pad from the small closet tucked behind the door.
As soon as he sees it, he leaps to his feet and spins in a circle.
Laying it out, I make my way to the kitchen and give him some privacy.
Checking my phone, I see there’s a missed text.
Coach Perkins
When you wake your ass up, come to the rink. I have some job news.
Benny waddles into the kitchen, pulling my focus. The little guy is adorable in every way except that he is apparently the only dog who has an aversion to grass. It’s not just when it’s raining—which I’d actually understand, but he insists on using the bathroom indoors every time.
I scoop him up, cradling him in one arm while I pour myself some coffee. Thank God for auto-brewing.
"What do you think, Ben? Am I getting a job today?
" He looks at me with confused eyes and then puts a paw over his face in what I can assume is embarrassment—for me and my hopeful nature. "Don’t give me that. You’re supposed to be my wing-dog.
Encouraging, ever heard of it? This is the exact reason Grandma Mabel got you for me. "
I’m sure my mom didn’t actually rescue Benny with the intent of him giving me a pep-talk.
But she did explicitly say that he would make a good companion and keep me out of trouble.
Come to think of it, maybe my mom somehow bribed my dog into his terrible potty habits with the sole purpose of making sure I don’t spend my suddenly abundant free time wasting away at the bar.
Somehow, it wouldn’t surprise me if she had that kind of talent—Mabel’s ability to get her way knows no bounds—and there’s nothing she wants more than for me to be settled.
"What do you say, Ben? You gonna help your dad today?" He licks my bicep, and I take that as a yes. "Alright, let’s get ready and see if we can con someone into hiring us."
After a much-needed shower, I grab my bag, toss my skates and a couple of pee-pads inside, and wrap my hands around my keys while heading for the door.
Coach is always happy when I bring Benny with me.
The kids love him, and I think the man secretly does too.
I figure I might as well let him get his fix while I get in a workout—after we talk.
I secure Benny’s leash, lock the door behind us, and we hop in my truck. The drive to the rink is quick, but when I’m about a block away, my phone dings with another text.
Howie
Any chance you’re free today?
I pull into the parking lot, coasting into a free space near the door before responding.
Just headed to the rink to talk to Perkins. What’s up?
Howie
Sadie got a flat. We’re at lunch now, but I was hoping you could fix it. I have to go back to work after this, or I’d do it myself.
I glance at Benny, waiting patiently in his safety harness on the seat next to me. "Should we fix the girl’s car, Ben?" He turns his head to the side and stares at me. "She did this to my face, might be a good way of showing her I’m one of the nice guys so she’ll stop beating me up."
What happened yesterday was an accident, but a part of me isn’t mad about the time I spent hanging out with Sadie.
She’s funny and too easy to get riled up.
It was nice to talk to someone new, to joke and laugh with a person outside my usual circle.
And something about her puts me at ease.
Like maybe she also has something going on that everyone else seems to want to talk about—except her.
Yeah, where’s it at?
Howie
On Crow, by the rink. She called Sid already, but with the conversation we just had, she needs a win. I don’t want her to pay for it. Also, we need to talk later…
Got it.
My stomach lurches. Now I really want to know what’s going on with her.
If Howie thinks she needs a win, she isn’t just on vacation.
Stepping out of my truck, my focus immediately goes a couple of blocks down where Sid’s tow truck is lifting the same black sedan she got into yesterday onto his flatbed.
I quickly unhook Benny, grab his leash, and we run toward the scene. I’m huffing right outside Sid’s window in a matter of minutes. He smirks at me as he idly pushes the button to bring the flatbed forward.
"Max, funny seeing you here."
I smother a small, ironic laugh. "Yeah? This one is mine."
"Not today, Max. You and your brother can’t just go around stealing my business for damsels in distress. Looks like it’s just a flat, but it'll probably need a new rim—that’s good money for me."
Over the last few months, we’ve had an unfortunate number of car problems. Olive got a brand new one and immediately hit a fire hydrant to avoid a squirrel.
Nora backed over a parking pylon at the grocery store.
And Ariella… let’s just say she spends more time driving on the sidewalk than the road lately.
"Take it off the truck."
He looks at me sideways, like I’ve officially lost my mind, and maybe I have.
"Max, I—"
I hold a hand up, stopping him from telling me he can’t.
"You can, and you will." I run a hand through my hair. "Take it off the truck."
Sid shakes his head back and forth but pushes the button that will bring it back where I need it. "You fucking owe me, Max. And I’m pretty sure Sadie won’t be happy about this either. She called me for a reason."
I smirk at him, then round the back of the tow truck to assist with unhooking the straps securing it. "As long as I’m the one she’s mad at, why do you care?"
"Fine… but I’m not breaking the news."
"Never said you had to. Just don’t mention it to her." I shrug and finish unwrapping the neon green tow strap from around her wheel well. "I’ll have it returned to her tonight."
After Sid does his last checks to make sure everything is disconnected, he hops into his truck and pulls away, only to stop a second later. "Hey, Max. You’re gonna need these," he calls before tossing her keys in my direction.
I catch them with a nod and a smile that lingers until I look at the bundle in my palm—a Golden City Flames keychain stares back at me.
I never took her for a hockey fan. The endless studying in high school and now just her vibe doesn’t really scream sports fan, but maybe she’s multifaceted.
I turn it over in my hand, engraved on the back, one word catches my eye: Staff.
I thought she worked with kids? Why wouldn't she tell me, of all people, that she works in my sport?
Union Tavern doesn’t really have a parking lot.
There’re spaces out front, on the street, and a few in the back alley for staff.
But those are strictly monitored, and Howie’s uncle Lonnie doesn’t play nice with anyone who dares to snag one.
So when he told me to pull Sadie’s car around back when we talked earlier, I was a little nervous.
Now that I’m actually doing it, I feel like I’m breaking all sorts of rules.
It’s exhilarating in a way, or maybe that’s just the anticipation of seeing her face when she realizes I’m her mechanic.
I slide out of the front seat, bending so I don’t hit my forehead on the way out.
It’s a sedan, but it feels like it was made for people much smaller than I am.
I round the vehicle, locking the car with the button on the fob, and head toward the back door.
It swings open when I’m only a few feet away, and Howie marches out.
"Everything turn out okay?"
I hold the keys up. "I drove here just fine, so I’d say so."
Howie runs a hand through his red hair and paces. "So, two things." His face twists before turning pale. "She doesn’t know you fixed the car. I sorta thought you’d enjoy delivering that message after… well, after your face. Oh, and I think she’s been cursed."
I lean against the brick wall next to the door, confused and a little thankful. I don’t know what about Sadie is so interesting to me, but I’m looking forward to sparring with her again.
"Cursed? Like because she has bad luck?"
Howie’s eyes nearly double in size. "No, Max. Like how Olive was cursed."
That makes me laugh. There’s no way. I saw both of her arms just yesterday, and she was completely tattoo-free.
Olive had a changing tattoo that displayed her emotions.
I wouldn’t have missed that. Also, I know Irina left after everything went down.
Sam personally searched every inch of this town looking for her after he and Olive reconnected.
He was on a mission to make sure nothing like that ever happened again—even if it helped him find his future wife.
"I’m serious, Max." He crosses his arms, tension radiating off him. "She has this book, and when she wrote in the answer to one of the clues earlier, the pencil lead turned gold. Like magically."
"Yeah, okay. But that might just be one of those color-changing papers. You know, like we used to get invisible ink pens at the book fair."
"I never did." Howie's voice is low, a grumble mixed with a whisper.
"You know what I mean. There’s an explanation."
"Did you know she has sisters?"
"The Mal girl, yeah?"
"No, Irina." Howie starts to pace again. "Beth and Josephine, from 1793."
The diner I’ve been going to my entire life is run by a witch’s sisters? I find that hard to believe, yet it’s shockingly not the craziest thing I’ve heard this year. I feel like there would have been signs. Wouldn't we have seen her there?
"Let’s say that’s true. Is the color-changing ink the thing that’s wrong with Sadie? The reason she came home?"
He hangs his head. "No. But she should be the one to decide if she wants to share what’s going on. Sadie is private. I can’t cross that line."
"But you will tell me she’s been cursed by a witch?" I raise an eyebrow at him. That seems a bit backward.
"She doesn’t really believe in magic. I mean, she knows it’s weird, and the things that have happened are unexplainable.
She’s not as closed off to it as your brother was, but she’s in denial.
I had to tell someone who’s lived it, or at least knows it’s real.
" Howie blows out a deep breath. "I helped keep a secret the last time. I can’t do it by myself, especially when I work so much these days.
Lonnie barely lets me out of here. She might need help. "
I walk up to him and pat him on the shoulder. "I got you, bud. If she needs help, I’m available. But I think we need to let her decide if she wants my help. I’ve already committed a carjacking… I can’t exactly run in there and start talking about her being hexed."
I push past Howie, jingling the keys so he understands where I’m headed, and pull open the back door.
As I walk inside, I can tell it’s busy, especially for a Monday night.
There’s a Gators game on, and from the T.V.
screen it appears that Liam Montgomery, their star shortstop, just threw someone out from deep in the hole.
Scanning the bar, I spot Sadie sitting with a bubbly blonde in one of the back booths.
Babs, one of the regular bartenders, pushes past me with a tray full of drinks.
"Hey, Max. Snagged this for ya when you walked in.
" She slides a bottle of lager into my palm before continuing to a rowdy table near the front.
I tip the beer to my lips, letting the smooth and tangy taste coat my throat while I continue my trek.
"Hey, ladies." I halt near the edge of Sadie’s booth. "Girls' night on a Monday?"
"Max…" My name rolls off Sadie’s tongue as the other woman smirks. "I’m so sorry about your fa—"
"What’s wrong with my face? Did I cut myself shaving or something?"
The blonde one laughs, but Sadie rolls her eyes. "Jesus, Sadie. You told me you head-butted him, but it looks like you beat the shit out of him." The other woman’s face gives away everything she’s thinking—her eyes bulge and her cheeks turn pink.
"I’m tough, and I hear the ladies love a man with battle scars." I can’t help myself. A smile tips my lips up. "But that’s not really why I’m here." I hold the keys up, dangling them above the table.
"How did you get those?" Sadie’s eyes are now the ones doubled in size.
I glance between the two women, debating how long I should keep the mystery going. "Found them. I’m Max, by the way, since Sadie here hasn’t bothered to introduce me." I set my beer on their table, reaching my hand out to the blonde.
"Mallory Hayes." Her dainty one pushes into my palm, giving me a firmer than expected handshake. "But my friends call me Mal. I’m Sadie’s sister—older and funnier."
I laugh. She is witty. I’ll give her that. "Hayes? Like Seb Hayes?"
"Guilty." She holds up her left hand, flashing a diamond ring toward me. "That’s why we’re out on a Monday. He goes back on shift tomorrow."
I’ve known Sebastian Hayes since I was a kid. He was in Sam’s class and is an all-around good guy. He works at the fire department and has helped rescue Mr. Pickles from a tree at least three times that I know of.
"Nice, you’ll have to tell him I said hello—"
"Alright, Mr. Small Talk… my keys? Where did you supposedly find them? Tell me what’s going on." Sadie crosses her arms, huffing a little.
I smirk at her, motioning for her to scoot over in the booth. When she does, I slide in right next to her, my fist still clutching the thing she covets.
"Tell me, Mal, is your sister always this bossy?"