Good.
I drop the phone onto the table, and my eyes drift back to the heels sitting there like a reminder of a version of me I haven’t quite figured out how to be again. Yet.
Later, maybe.
I sink slowly onto the bed and exhale, tracking the patterns in the old carpet. But the quiet presses in just a little too closely, so I push back to my feet and grab my coat, shrugging it on again before I can think too hard.
“Alright, Maplewood,” I say under my breath as I head for the door. “Let’s try this again.”
First stop—food. Mostly because I refuse to become the girl who has a quiet breakdown in a motel room on an empty stomach.
Then, a job.
Chapter three
Oh good, more men in uniform!
Evan
There’s a length of hose dragging across the bay floor when I step around the back of the engine, the canvas still damp enough to leave a dark streak behind it as it moves.
I catch it before it snags, bracing my boot and hauling it straight. It resists where it’s twisted, so I stop and work the bend out with both hands, then feed it forward again.
Across from me, Colt’s at the open side compartment of the engine, checking fittings. Ghost’s got the med kit open at the table just inside the bay doors, moving through it piece by piece
And Fletch’s at the side step with a cloth in hand, polishing the truck.
“You missed a spot,” I say, without looking up.
“I’m circling back,” he replies.
I glance over. He’s been polishing the same patch for about five minutes.
“You’ve circled it three times.”
“Fourth time’s the charm.”
Colt snorts under his breath, shutting the compartment beside him with a loud bang. “He’s committed, I’ll give him that.”
I feed the last section of hose in and flatten it with the side of my hand, adjusting the lay until it sits clean. Better. Stepping back, I give it a quick once-over before stripping my gloves off and flexing my fingers.
My mind drifts for half a second—to school starting soon. To new timings, early starts, and figuring out drop-offs around shift changes. Wondering whether Herb and Leah can keep doing mornings, or if I need to figure something else out before it all hits at once.
I scrub a hand over the back of my neck and push it aside. I’ll deal with it later.
There’s music running low somewhere behind us, something that’s been on a while but has blended into the background. I don’t really clock it until Fletch drifts toward the speaker and nudges the volume up.
“…tell me whatcha wan—”
“Fletch.” Colt pauses by his compartment. “Turn it off.”
He leans back against the truck instead, a shit-eating grin plastered in place. “You say that every time I put it on.”
“Because every single time, you seem to know more of the choreography.”
“It’s a classic!” Fletch flicks the rag over his shoulder and gives a half-assed spin like he’s on stage. “If Posh were here, he’d get it.”
“Well, Beck’snothere, and neither is your dignity.”
