Crank

by Shauna Allen

  Her eyes honed in on mine and she frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” I avoided looking directly at her and fidgeted with my purse strap, looping it over my seatback.

  “Liar, liar, pants on fire. Everything okay with the baby?”

  Now, I met her sincere chocolate gaze. “Yes. I mean . . . as far as I know, yes. I feel good, no issues.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Blake do something? Do I need to kick his ass for you?”

  I belted out a laugh. “It’s fine.” I smiled as the same pretty bartender approached our table. I glanced down at the name embroidered on her lime green T-shirt just above the swinging monkey bar logo. I was right. Tori. Her return smile immediately made me like her. Genuine. With maybe a touch of heartache. I could empathize.

  “Evening, ladies.” She plopped down some cocktail napkins and a bowl of peanuts. “What can I get you to drink tonight?”

  “You playing waitress tonight? I thought you tended bar,” Rachel said, flipping her red locks over her shoulder and eyeing a tall guy in Wranglers as he passed.

  Tori gave a half-grimace, half-laugh. “I’m pretty much whatever they need around here.”

  “Ah,” Rachel said. “Then I’ll have a Bahama Mama please.” Her happy gaze roved from the cowboy’s ass to the stage as the band said they were taking a quick break and the sound system started blaring the first bars of “Ice, Ice, Baby.” She squealed and jumped up, tugging my arm. “Come on, Delilah, it’s our jam!”

  “You realize we’re not in high school anymore, right?”

  Rachel just stared.

  “And you’re an attorney?”

  She took another step toward the dance floor. “And your point?”

  Nostalgia and a touch of embarrassment rolled through me. Rach had always had a fun wild streak to match her bright hair. Growing up hadn’t changed her a bit, and I loved that about her.

  Ah, to hell with it. I slid off my chair with an apologetic smile for Tori. “I’ll have a virgin Piña Colada, please.”

  She nodded and spun toward the bar as Rachel tugged me to the dance floor. I let loose a laugh and let the bass fill my chest, bumping and grinding with my friend like we were young and carefree again.

  I saw Tori drop our drinks off and saunter away. Then, as my eyes circled the bar, I froze. There, at a table next to the dance floor were Jesse and Trace. I swallowed, my eyes automatically seeking Blake.

  “What’s wrong?” Rachel brushed my arm.

  “I . . .” Jesse noticed me, a beer bottle halfway to his lips. He tipped it slightly in my direction with a sad little smile and a small shake of his head.

  No.

  He knew I’d be looking for Blake, but he wasn’t here. Was I disappointed?

  I faced Rachel. “Nothing. Just need a drink.”

  Her eyes slid over my shoulder then darted quickly back to my face. “All right.” It was hard to tell in the dim lighting, but it looked like a flush was rising on her cheeks as she spun for our table. Maybe it was all the dancing. Then I remembered what Blake had said about Jesse being into Rach. I studied the back of my friend’s head . . . was the feeling mutual?

  As we slid into our seats and sipped our drinks, I sought her eyes to try and gauge her. She wouldn’t look at me, instead she studied the couples filtering onto the dance floor as Garth Brooks started singing about the dance.

  “So, Jesse, huh?”

  She spun her head toward me, her big brown eyes wide. “What?”

  I grinned. Yup. Definitely something there. I nodded toward the other side of the bar, where the subject of our discussion was moving away from his table, his focus on Trace as they laughed about something. “Jesse.”

  “What about him?” She picked up a straw and started fiddling.

  “Oh, come on. It’s totally obvious . . .” My words died off as he was suddenly there next to us, eyes pinned to Rach.

  “Ladies.”

  I smiled like an idiot. “Jesse. How’re you?”

  “Good.” His eyes had yet to leave Rachel’s face, but she was focused on her drink. “How are you, Rachel?”

  She finally peered up at him, an adorable blush creeping up her neck. I never thought I’d see the day my fearless friend would be gobsmacked by a man. “I . . .” She cleared her throat. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

  He held out his hand. “Care to dance?”

  Her eyes flicked to mine, wider than before. I gave her a tiny nod to prod her. She finally accepted his hand. “Uh, sure.”

  I couldn’t help it as happiness bubbled up inside me for her. I knew Jesse was a great guy, despite what landed him in prison, and I hoped they could have a little fun together. They both certainly deserved it.

  I sipped my Piña Colada and let my gaze roam the dark interior of the bar. Most of the tables were full now and the air was getting thick with the scents of perfume and alcohol and sweat. Standing in a corner, I spotted the young guy Blake had hired as a shop helper, his gaze laser focused on Jesse and Rachel, a frown drawing down his brows. Odd. Then, just like that, he was gone.

  My eyes scanned for him. Nothing. And no Micah or Blake.

  “You doing all right?”

  I shifted toward Tori’s voice. She was holding a tray deftly on one hand with a couple of mixed drinks and three beers. “Yes. Thank you.”

  “Well, you just flag me down when you’re ready for another drink.”

  “I will.”

  She smiled sweetly and spun away to head toward Jesse and Trace’s table. I watched as she set a beer in front of Trace and they exchanged a few words, his grin nearly lighting up the place.

  Rachel’s phone rang from her purse next to me, her girl power anthem loud and proud. I glanced over, but she was still dancing with Jesse, her cheek to his chest as he held her with a tenderness that made sudden tears clog my throat. I swallowed them back and took another drink.

  A ruckus from the pool tables caught my attention. I frowned when I spotted Candace Carmichael wrapped up with her latest boy toy as words were exchanged between him and a couple other guys. It finally broke up, but something about the guy with Candace was familiar.

  I squinted. Tried to make out his face.

  My heart slammed in my chest and my gaze flew to Jesse, hoping he hadn’t seen him. If so, there could be trouble. Joel Mackie was the reason Jesse had spent the last five years of his life in prison.

  Thankfully, Jesse’s entire focus was on my friend, his eyes closed as he brushed his chin across the crown of her head.

  Rachel’s phone rang again and I glared at her purse, wondering if I should answer it. It could be important . . .

  I finally yanked open her bag and pulled out her cell, glancing at the number. Not local. With one last look at her, I answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Rachel Chaseman?”

  “Uh, no. She’s unavailable, may I take a message?” I plugged my free ear to block out the music as the band started back up.

  “Please. This is Dan Hickman with the Wyoming Highway Patrol. We need to speak with her as soon as possible. It’s about her father.”

  “Uh . . .” My heart dropped to my knees. I glanced up and saw Rachel heading back to the table, a goofy grin on her face, Jesse’s hand to the small of her back.

  Rachel studied my face as they neared the table. “What’s wrong?” Her eyes darted from mine to the phone still pressed to my face.

  “Ma’am?” the officer said.

  I swallowed. “Yes. Just a moment, here she is.”

  I handed her the phone with a trembling hand, knowing the police never called with good news.

  Blake

  After I left Dee last night, I’d worked until I was stumbling and stupid with fatigue, then dumped myself into bed. Why did it have to be like that? Why did she have to keep bringing shit like that up? Couldn’t she see I was only trying to take care of her the best way I knew how?

  At one a.m., I was flipping and flopping in our squea
ky guest bed, wondering where the hell my wife was. I punched my pillow and rolled over to face the wall as frustration and anger and things I couldn’t even name roiled through me.

  Finally, I heard a car door and I scrambled to the window to peer between the blinds. Delilah, looking good enough to eat, fumbled with her purse and headed to the front door. I debated going to her, but in the end, I couldn’t help myself. I felt around the floor for the jeans I’d dropped there and yanked them on, leaving the button open as I stalked out the door.

  I met her in the entryway and her surprised gaze snapped to mine. “God. Blake.” Her hand flew to her throat. “You scared the shit outta me.”

  I watched as she took a visual inventory of my bare chest, crossed arms, and unsnapped jeans. “Sorry.”

  She moved to put her purse down and that was when I saw the tears in her eyes. I dropped my arms and approached. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

  Her spine straightened. “Nothing.”

  “Bullshit. Tell me. It’s not the baby, is it?”

  Wariness and surprise flitted through her big eyes. “No.”

  “Then what?”

  Her gaze softened. “Rachel’s dad was killed today in a car accident.”

  I studied her a moment then collected her into my arms. This had to have hit her hard, I knew how fond she was of Mr. Chaseman and how she loved Rachel. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.”

  She sniffled against my chest and let me hold her for a moment then pulled back. “It’s okay.”

  I shifted my weight as she dabbed her eyes. “So, that’s where you’ve been? With Rachel?”

  Her waterlogged eyes met mine. “Yeah. I helped her pack up and book a flight back to Wyoming.” She seemed to debate telling me something, then steeled her gaze as she slipped past me. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”

  I watched her back as she clipped down the hall in her boots. A second later, the bedroom door closed and I could’ve sworn I heard her sobs. I ran a hand across my head to cup my neck, debating whether to go comfort her. Every cell in my body wanted to hold my wife, but I knew she would just push me away. No matter what I did, this thing between us was starting to look more and more hopeless.

  I woke up to the buzzing of my cell phone and a crick in my neck. I flopped over with a groan and squinted against the light filtering in the mini-blinds. I picked up my phone and answered with my eyes still closed.

  “Yeah.”

  “Blake?”

  My eyes popped open at the vaguely familiar voice. “Yeah. Who’s this?”

  “It’s Spark McGraw,” he said, a gravelly laugh in his voice. “Been thinking about you and that Spyder. You ever sell that beauty?”

  I sat up and stifled a groan at my stiff back. I hated our guest bed. And the thought of Dee, warm and sexy and snuggly, in our bed did not help. Even the excitement of getting a personal call from one of my car idols wasn’t doing much to brighten my mood. What the fuck was wrong with me? I sucked it up and infused some non-assholeness into my voice. “Yeah, after several nibbles, I finally got a big bite. Just waiting to finalize the transfer of funds then it’ll be a done deal.”

  “That’s great. If you don’t mind, can I ask what you got for her? I’m thinking she’s worth at least a couple mill.”

  Standing, I caught my reflection in the mirror. Pathetic. “You’re pretty close. Just a little north of that, actually.”

  He chuckled. “Good job, son.” My heart lurched at his easy use of the word son. If only . . . “We’re gonna have to get together next time we find ourselves in the same town. I’d love to hear more about that restoration job and your shop.”

  I opened my mouth to agree, but he kept talking, leaving me to gape like a fish. “And I’ve got my eye on this nice little Ferrari. Maybe I’ll holler so you can help me out.”

  “I . . . I’m . . . that’d be great. Absolutely,” I stuttered like a starstruck idiot.

  He laughed again. “Great. I’ll check back with you soon. You take care, and let me know if that sale falls through. You never know . . .”

  “I sure will.”

  We hung up and I stood, staring at my phone, wondering if I’d dreamed that. My first reaction was to look for Delilah to share the news, but in a flash, I remembered where I was. Alone. “Damn.”

  I finally got my shit together and moved out of the room and down the hall to the kitchen. The air smelled faintly of coffee and Dee’s sweet, flowery soap. I glanced out at the driveway. She was already gone. Had I been hoping for something different? Kinda.

  I turned and found the coffeepot still on warm with my mug right next to it. Warmth curled through my belly. Grinning, I poured a cup and made myself some oatmeal. I noticed a pill bottle on the counter and examined it. Prenatal vitamins. Butterflies replaced the earlier warmth in my gut. “Hang in there, little baby,” I whispered.

  After breakfast, I grabbed a quick shower and yanked on some work clothes. I was anxious to tell the guys about Spark’s call. They’d be so stoked.

  As the Camaro idled in the cold December morning, I realized there were only a few days until Christmas. Would Dee and I spend it together like we always did? Surely she wouldn’t make other plans. Hell, I had no idea what that woman was thinking half the time, no less right now.

  Once the car was warmed up, I pulled out and took in the quiet neighborhood, cloaked in the remaining winter morning haze. All was quiet, and the Smith’s Christmas decorations were still lit up, orbs of red and green glowing like fuzzy crystals.

  Baybridge was just waking up as I drove through; People filing to their cars, the sun glinting through, breaking the fog. As I passed the Dunkin’ Donuts, a sudden dose of generosity overcame me and I pulled in to grab the guys a dozen.

  Inside, I ordered a mix of whatever pastries the cute little girl behind the counter wanted to give me. “Surprise me,” I said with a smile, inhaling the mouth-watering scents of sugar and coffee.

  The door opened behind me and the air suddenly changed. I didn’t have to turn around to know who was there, but like being unable to turn away from a train wreck, I had to look.

  “Dad.” He wasn’t going to accuse me of ignoring him this time.

  His sunken eyes met mine. “Son.”

  “How are you?” I forced myself to ask, even though it was fairly obvious by his gaunt frame that smelled like B.O. and the greasy hair that needed a cut.

  His eyes, the same color as mine, narrowed. “I’m alive.”

  I nodded once and turned back to the girl at the counter as she handed me my box of donuts. He didn’t have anything to say to me? No fake pleasantries, no berating, no ‘go to hell’ . . . nothing?

  I passed by him and he didn’t make eye contact. It was like I was any other stranger. I should’ve been relieved after all the years of torment I endured at his hands, but it left me feeling hollow. At least when he hated me, he was feeling something for me.

  I rolled that around my brain as I drove out of the lot, passing his rundown Dodge truck. He wouldn’t even bring it to me to work on. I slammed my palm on the steering wheel. Why the hell couldn’t he be proud of me? Show even an ounce of common courtesy . . . respect? Hadn’t I earned it?

  I glanced up into my bloodshot eyes in the rearview mirror, and the mess of my life smacked me in the face. Maybe I hadn’t earned it.

  Plans for upgrading the shop began to ripple through my mind. Maybe with this money from the Porsche, I could open a second location. Franchise. Wouldn’t that be something? Then no one could doubt that I’d grown out of the trailer park punk I once was. The one I still felt deep inside me sometimes when I wasn’t on guard.

  The sun had finally burned off most of the morning haze by the time I pulled into Jack ‘Em Up. I rounded to the back of the building and instantly knew something was off. The back door was slightly ajar, a sliver of pale light spilling out.

  I leapt from the car and ran to the door, my heart in my throat. What the hell?

  I slammed in the st
eel door and hit the bright fluorescent overhead lights.

  Oh. My. God.

  No.

  I raced through the shop searching fruitlessly, though I had no idea what I was doing. It couldn’t be gone. Just gone.

  But it was.

  My Porsche was gone and the shop was trashed, tool boxes toppled over, their contents spreading across the concrete floor, the scent of spilled car fluids intermingling and stifling.

  How . . . ?

  My eyes snapped to the alarm panel on the wall. It was hanging listlessly, wires cut.

  I sunk to my knees, my hands cupping my head to hold my spinning brain still. Oh, God, what was going to happen now? I couldn’t process what the fuck just happened.

  Finally, with some semblance of rational thought, I fumbled in my pocket and found my cell. Pushing to stand, I dialed the cops and stared at the empty space where my car had been. Deep, painful breaths struggled through my lungs.

  When the operator answered, I think I spoke clearly, but I truly had no idea what I said. We hung up just as the back door swung open, voices filtering in. I swung around, ready to pound somebody’s face in if they were back for more.

  “Dude. What . . . ?” Micah’s puzzled gaze swung from me to the bay and back, his eyes darkening. “What the fuck? Where’s the Spyder?”

  Trace and Jesse strolled in behind him, their faces registering their surprise. Then, as they saw the alarm, fierce anger.

  “I . . .” I raked a hand across my head as webs began to clear. “I don’t know. Gone.”

  Jesse approached, his eyes cautious. “You call the cops?”

  I nodded as my stomach sank. My dreams, shattered in the blink of an eye.

  Delilah

  “How are you today, dear?”

  I continued working on Mrs. Henderson’s left leg, letting my training work the knots from around her knee. “Fine. Thanks.”

  She studied me a moment, but didn’t comment.

  I’d been restless all last night, a torrent of emotions swirling through my mind. I was horribly sad for Rachel and hated that she had to face everything all alone, so far away. I loved her dad and wanted to be there so badly. My feelings for Blake were also unsettling. He loved me, I knew that. And it was getting harder and harder to keep fighting the pull of us. Of him. Especially when he waltzed around in those unsnapped, faded jeans.