Page 92 of Dirty Mechanic
Caroline studies me for a long moment, then reaches over and rests her hand briefly on my forearm.
“Then go home. Fight for her. You don’t get many shots like this.”
Her voice softens.
“I’ve seen what it looks like when someone gives up on love too soon. Don’t be the guy who walks away because the paperwork got messy.”
She pauses, eyes steady on mine.
“She’s been alone a long time, Derek. She chose you because she thought maybe, for once, she didn’t have to survive everything on her own.”
She steps out of the truck without another word.
I sit there a moment longer before shifting into gear.
The wipers beat a slow rhythm as I pass through the empty streets of town. I drive on instinct, turning toward the old road that leads past the high ridge and down to the family farm.
I pull in front of my parents’ house. The lights are still on.
Through the front window, I see my mom standing in the kitchen, stirring something in a bowl, her silver hair pulled into a messy bun. My dad’s slouched in his recliner, book in hand, feet tucked into those ridiculously huge, fuzzy socks Blake bought him last Christmas. And on the couch, Blake has his arm around Misty, his palm splayed wide over the swell of her belly, brushing circles there like he’s memorizing her shape.
Misty leans into Blake, head on his shoulder. And I know that look. That safety. My mom catches Blake’s eye and smiles, tired but proud of her grandson. My dad turns a page, completely at peace. It’s not perfect. It’s just real. And for the first time tonight, I remember what I’m trying to come home to.
It’s a snapshot of everything I didn’t think I could have. Everything I still might lose.
I lean back in my seat and close my eyes, letting the ache sit in my chest without pushing it away.
I remember walking into the kitchen a few days ago, flour everywhere, two puppies asleep in her apron, and Annabelle laughing like it didn’t matter that the pies were burning. She looked up at me and said, “I made too many again. Guess we’ll have to give love away today.”
She wasn’t talking about pies.
She’s been giving love away this whole time. To the bakery. To my family. To me. All while carrying wounds no one else would’ve survived.
And I—God—I almost threw that away because I was scared to feel betrayed, but I’m not walking away from it.
I drive slower now. The fury’s burned itself down to embers, and what’s left in the cab with me is silence and consequence. My jaw aches from clenching. My hand cramps from gripping the wheel. But nothing compares to the truth vibrating under my ribs. I hurt her. I stormed out. I left her shaking on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, shivering.
I don’t know if that makes me her protector or just one more man who made her feel small. And I don’t want to be that man. Not again. Not ever.
By the time I pull up the drive, it’s nearly midnight.
The rain has slowed to a steady whisper, but the air is heavy, the sky swollen with grief. The house looms ahead, windows dark. The porch light is off.
The dogs don’t bark. No paws against the window. No Kara stretching on the welcome mat. No Bear looking half-asleep by the door.
Something twists low in my gut.
“Annabelle?” I call as I step inside, dripping onto the floorboards.
No answer.
“Bear? Kara?”
I find the dogs on the couch, but the silence in the house is deafening. A hollow vacuum that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
The bedroom’s empty. The kitchen untouched. The pie tins from earlier sit in the sink like they’re holding their breath.
I check the laundry room.
