Page 10 of Pucking the Grump

My mouth twitches toward a smile, even though my throat still feels too tight.

Damn, he’s sweet.

And he knows me way too well for a man I’ve tried to hold at a distance.

“Okay, then,” I say with a sniff. “I mean, if it’s the best way for me to help.”

He winks. “It totally is. Thank you for understanding.”

“Sure thing,” I whisper, leaning against him as he puts his arm around me. He leads me back to his truck, opening the passenger’s door like the gentleman he is.

A few minutes later, I’m cozy in Stone’s ridiculously clean SUV, my butt being warmed by unseen forces beneath my leather seat. I watch through the windshield as he efficiently jacks up my car with his much bigger, more serious-looking jack. His movements are sure and practiced, the strength in his body evident in every flex of his muscles as he tightens the lug nuts to hold the spare in place.

Basically, I am ogling my former fuck buddy from the sidelines, while he solves my problems for me, and everything about this moment is making me feel more ashamed.

I’ve never enjoyed asking for help, especially from men.

Dad drilled the importance of self-reliance into me when I was practically still a fetus. He never wanted his daughter to have to depend on a man to take care of her. After Mom died when I was six, the frequency of our “life lessons,” as he called them, only intensified. He was determined that I would be able to cope with anything, all by myself, the way he was learning to do now that the woman who had fed us and snuggled us and brought gentleness and grace and whimsy into our lives was gone.

But Dad never got around to teaching either of us about gentleness or whimsy. Apparently, he decided those parts of who we used to be as a family were better off forgotten.

Just like Mom.

He only talks about her once a year, on Mother’s Day, when we used to visit her grave when we still lived in Minnesota. Now, we just pay someone from the cemetery maintenance team to put flowers in the vase built into her headstone.

The thought makes the back of my nose start to sting again, but I shut it down with a sniff and a glare. I refuse to start crying again. Especially about Mom. It’s been over twenty years since she died. I should be over the crying phase of losing her by now.

Usually, I am. Tonight just sucks.

Though, I confess it’s sucking much less now that Tyler’s here…

When he returns to the car, wiping his hands on a rag, he’s beaming like his usual, golden-retriever-in-human-form self. “All set. The spare should get you home, but you’ll want to get a new tire tomorrow. That rim’s pretty banged up, too.”

“Thank you,” I say, surprised by how much I mean it. “I really appreciate this, Stone. Seriously.”

“Anytime.” His eyes hold mine for a beat before his gaze shifts to the steering wheel. “How about I follow you home? Just to make sure you get there, okay? It would be a shame if something goes wrong with the spare, and no one’s around. And I’m headed the same direction, anyway.”

I should tell him it’s not necessary. That I’m fine now, perfectly capable of driving myself the remaining twenty miles to my apartment.

But instead, I hear myself whisper in a wobbly voice that isn’t like me, “Sure. Thanks.”

I’m really not myself tonight. At all.

The drive home passes in a blur. I’m vaguely aware of Stone’s headlights in my rearview mirror, but when I pull into my assigned spot behind my small apartment complex, my hands are still trembling on the wheel.

WTF? Pull it together, Lauder, the inner voice insists, sounding more like my father than ever.

I sit for a long moment, trying to collect myself, but the adrenaline crash is hitting hard, leaving me shaky and hollow. It probably doesn’t help that I’ve barely gotten six hours of sleep a night the past few weeks.

I’ve just been too busy for sleep.

A tap on my window startles me. It’s Stone, out of his SUV, watching me in the soft glow from the lamp above the rear entrance, concern etched on his face.

I roll down the window. “Hey.”

“You all right?” he asks.

I try to summon my usual strength, my unflappable coach persona. Instead, tears start rolling down my cheeks again.

---