Chapter 6
Scotty
The garage is quiet again.
Her taillights fade down the road until there’s nothing but the echo of gravel and my heart beating too damn loud in the silence.
Fuck, I should’ve just done it. I should’ve kissed her.
What’s the point in holding back when we both know what’s sitting between us?
Adrienne knows who I am, what I am. She’s seen my world up close: late nights, calloused palms, and dirty fingernails that will never be clean enough to look good in a tux, a half-fixed ranch that is in need of a lot of TLC that I haven’t had the time for.
She knows exactly what I can offer her… and what I can’t.
And still, she keeps looking at me like that.
I drag a hand down my face and laugh bitterly. “You’re a damn coward, Bescher.”
For years, I told myself keeping my distance was the right thing to do.
Not just because kissing her would break something we couldn’t fix, but because I think I’ve always known that deep down, Adrienne has wanted to leave this town.
She thrived when she was away for college in Chicago and then Boston, and couldn’t shut up about her internship in LA.
Her brothers and I never heard the end of it.
And after her admission the other night that she isn’t sure what she wants anymore, I get the feeling that running away from it all might still be on the table.
But tonight, when she looked up at me, her breath unsteady, lips parted, I wanted nothing more than to close that last inch and find out if she still tastes like every dream I’ve never let myself have.
But instead, you walked away again like the damn coward you are.
I shove the rag into my back pocket and head for the light switch, flipping them off one by one until the garage is swallowed in darkness. The only thing left is the faint orange glow from the office window and the steady hum of the soda machine in the corner.
When I step outside, I take a second to look up at the clear sky, my eyes quickly scanning for the constellations Adrienne pointed out the other night.
My head says I did the right thing. That Adrienne Slade isn’t meant for a man like me.
She’s got an empire at her fingertips, a family name that opens every door, a mind that could outthink most of the country before breakfast. And me?
I’ve got a high school education, a career in a garage I don’t even own, a rundown ranch, and two old lady horses who not only listen to me bitch most nights, but they also understand me better than most people.
But my heart… Christ, my heart doesn’t care.
It wants her. All of her. The laugh that bubbles out of her when she wins an argument.
The way she smells like sweet honey and wildflowers even after a day in the shop.
The look she gives me when she’s pretending she’s not scared of what this could turn into.
My heart wants a life with her, mornings tangled in her sheets, nights spent on my porch with her legs in my lap, and the stars hanging low above us.
But my head… my practical, broken, too-damn-honest head keeps reminding me I’m just thinking with my dick. That wanting her isn’t the same as deserving her.
By the time I pull into the ranch, I’m wound so tight I could snap. The porch light flickers as I kill the engine and step out.
Shit, another fucking thing I need to fix.
Rose and Priscilla neigh softly from the barn, sensing my arrival. I lean against the truck door and stare out at the dark pasture. The air smells like hay and the faint trace of her perfume that somehow clings to my shirt.
“You’re losing it,” I mutter, scrubbing a hand over my jaw.
I don’t bother turning on the lights as I step inside my house and wander through the kitchen.
I strip my shirt off, toss it toward the hamper that’s sitting in the hallway, and fall onto the couch.
The ceiling fan spins slowly above me. I close my eyes to get some relief, but all I see is her, lips parted, waiting.
Even after jerking off in the shower twice, I still can’t fucking sleep. Instead, I spend half the night tossing and turning, trying to talk myself out of fucking this all up.
By morning, I feel like a ghost wearing my own skin. The coffee’s too bitter, the sun too bright. Everything just grates on my nerves.
The guys are already at the shop when I roll in later than usual. Something that never happens and doesn’t go unnoticed. Pete’s blasting old George Strait on the radio while Caleb and Derek argue about torque specs. Normally, the noise grounds me. Today, it’s just static.
I’m under the hood of an F-250 when Pete sidles up beside me, chewing on a toothpick and grinning like an idiot. “You look like shit, boss.”
“Thanks,” I grunt.
“Rough night?”
“Didn’t sleep.”
He whistles low. “Uh huh. That wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain lady, would it?”
I shoot him a look sharp enough to cut. “Get back to work.”
He just laughs, holding his hands up. “Hey, I’m not judging. Just saying, you’ve had that ‘woman problem’ face all morning.”
“Don’t have woman problems.”
“Sure you don’t.” He smirks, walking off. “And I don’t have a gambling problem.”
I mutter a curse under my breath, tightening the last bolt just a little too hard.
By midmorning, I’m in the office trying to focus on payroll when Dolly sticks her head in. She’s carrying a stack of invoices and that same knowing smile she gets when she’s about to pry.
“Morning,” she says, sliding the papers onto my desk. “You eat yet?”
“Not hungry.”
“That bad, huh?” She leans against the doorframe, crossing her arms. “You’ve been off all day.”
“Just tired.”
Her eyes flicker with amusement. “I saw you made it to the bonfire Saturday.”
I nod, not looking up from the computer. I know what she’s doing; she’s shit at hiding when she’s digging for information.
“I saw you and Adrienne out by the fire. Looked… cozy.”
I stop writing and look up at her. “We were talking about the Mustang.”
Dolly lets out a little laugh, one brow arched high. “Honey, you really gonna stand there and feed me that line?”
I frown. “Because it’s the truth.”
“Mm-hmm. And I’m supposed to believe two people who can’t stop making eyes at each other just talk about carburetors and timing belts?”
I push back from the desk with a sigh. “You’re reading too much into it, Dolly. It’s not about being into each other.”
She tilts her head. “No?”
“No,” I say firmly, though even to my own ears it sounds like I’m trying to convince myself. “Yeah, she’s gorgeous. Everyone knows that. But that doesn’t mean we make sense.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning she and I aren’t compatible,” I mutter, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck. “Besides, we’ve been friends for over a decade, I’m not going to screw it all up for what? One night?”
Dolly crosses her arms, studying me like I’m a particularly slow student. “You know what that sounds like?”
“What?”
“Excuses.”
I huff out a short laugh. “It’s reality.”
“God, what’s with you men?” She groans. “Why would you ruin it? Why couldn’t it be something more than one night? It’s like you automatically assume it’s doomed.”
“Don’t be ignorant, Dolly. We both know my reputation and the kind of happily ever after I can offer a woman.”
She shakes her head, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Reality is, you like her. And she likes you. Everyone in town can see it plain as day. Hell, I saw it when we were kids, the way you look at her like she hung the damn moon.”
“Dolly,” I warn.
“Don’t ‘Dolly’ me,” she quips, her tone turning serious. “You think you’re protecting her by staying away, but from what I’ve seen and what I know about her, she doesn’t need protection; she needs someone real. Someone who won’t bullshit her or tiptoe around her because of her last name.”
I shake my head, staring at the floor. “That’s not me.”
“You sure about that?”
“I’m positive.”
She lets the silence hang for a beat, then leans in a little. “So you’re telling me if she walked in right now, looked you in the eye, and told you she wanted you—you wouldn’t go for it?”
My throat tightens, and I glance over my shoulder as if she really did just walk in. “That’s not gonna happen.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I meet her gaze with my most earnest expression. “No, I wouldn’t. Because it’d be a mistake. She deserves more than what I’ve got.”
Dolly exhales, soft but heavy. “You know, Scotty, for a man who can rebuild an engine with his eyes closed, you sure don’t understand how people work. She doesn’t want ‘more.’ She wants real. And last I checked, you’re about as real as they come.”
I try to laugh it off, but it comes out rough. “You should go before Ranger starts calling to see if I’m holding you hostage here.”
She rolls her eyes, but her smile lingers. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t tell you. That girl’s not just in your head anymore, cowboy. She’s under your skin.”
When the door shuts behind her, I stare at the empty doorway, her words echoing in the quiet.
Under my skin. Yeah. That’s the damn problem.
When Dolly’s gone, the shop feels too damn quiet. Just the hum of the lights and the faint buzz of the radio, one of the guys left on low. I tell myself to shake it off, get back to work.
I grab a torque wrench and dive into the F-250 I’d been working on all morning.
The last few hours of the day bleed together.
One by one, the crew clocks out, shouting goodnights as the bay doors rumble shut behind them.
I grunt a reply, not even looking up. When the last truck rolls away, I don’t notice right off.
It’s only when the radio slips into static and the silence folds in that I realize it’s just me.
I lean back against the workbench, roll my shoulders, and stretch the stiffness out of my arms. The fluorescent lights buzz above me, bright and cold. I should go home. Feed the horses. Get some sleep.
But instead, I drift toward the Mustang.