Page 17 of Ice Mechanic

My calls are in vain because she’s already come to a standstill.

And it’s not because of me.

A scrawny guy has her by the wrist and is leaning way too close to her face.

The moment I see his hand on her, lightning strikes behind my eyes and thunder claps from somewhere in the distance.

I’m moving before I can really think it through.

One minute, I’m standing a distance away. The next, I’m holding April’s wrist and dragging her behind me, going toe-to-toe with the guy in a mechanic jumpsuit.

“Who the h—” The guy’s eyes widen when he sees my face. “Chance McLanley?”

“April,” I say, turning to her. “You okay?”

She nods and slips her hand out of mine, massaging it lightly.

The guy sidesteps me and approaches her again. “April, come on. Don’t be like this.”

“I said not now, Evan.”

“How much longer are you going to ignore my calls?”

“Back off, man. She clearly doesn’t want to talk to you.” I shove his shoulder.

Eyes on the ground and voice a quiet croak, April says, “It’s okay, Chance.”

I passed third grade. I know the definition of ‘okay’. And it’s as clear as day that this isn’t okay at all.

“Huge fan, McLanely. But give me and my girlfriend some space,” Evan says.

My fingers curl at my sides because I instinctively dislike this guy. His beady eyes travel to my fists and he smirks.

“There’s no sin bin in town, McLanley. Put your hand on me again and you’re spending the night behind bars.”

I grit my teeth, ready to grab his collar and show him how Ireallyearn a penalty.

But before I can, small, warm fingers clamp around my T-shirt and tug.

“He’s not worth it,” April says quietly. “Let’s just go.”

She’s only touching fabric. Not an inch of her is on my actual skin, and yet I drop my hands immediately like she sucker punched me to the gut.

April releases my shirt, loops an arm around her waist and hurries to her car. I go after her, hoping she’s not crying. I’ve never been a guy who knows how to comfort a woman when she cries.

“I’ll call you later, April!” Evan the Bozo yells behind us. “And McLanley!”

I stop and face the jerk.

“This doesn’t mean I hate you.” He smirks. “Next time, I’ll have a jersey for you to sign.”

My adrenaline pulses, but I force myself to keep following April. Whoever that guy is, hebetternot see me again. Because the next time, even if April tugs sweetly on my shirt, it might not be enough to hold me back.

CHAPTER

SIX

APRIL

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