Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
I watch her face in the wash of headlights. All the color drains right out of it. Her fingers tighten on the door handle of her car, knuckles white, shoulders creeping up toward her ears.
Third tell.
Fear. Embarrassment. Maybe both.
“Fantastic,” I mutter under my breath watching their interaction carefully.
The engine on the sedan cuts off. For a heartbeat, the world holds still—just the quiet tick of my Harley, the rush of the creek somewhere in the dark, the soft sound of her breathing quick and shallow.
Then the driver’s door flies open.
He gets out like he’s already mid-argument. Door bangs wider than it needs to. Boots hit gravel hard.
Rough around the edges doesn’t begin to cover it.
He’s mid-forties, maybe, with a scraggly beard that wants to be tough but comes off sloppy, a cheap leather jacket that’s doing its best impression of fancy and failing, and a twitchy sort of agitation rolling off him in waves. The kind of man who thinks volume is the same thing as power.
“Holley!” he barks, slamming the car door shut. “What the actual hell?” So that’s her name.
She flinches at the sound of it, like it’s a slap.
He storms up the drive, not even noticing me at first, all his focus zeroed straight in on her like a heat-seeking missile.
“I’ve been calling you,” he snarls. “Texting. You just gonna ignore me now?”
She takes half a step back toward her driver’s side door, eyes wide. “I’ve been working, Eric.”
Eric. Of course that’s his name.
“Don’t ‘I’ve been working’ me.” He throws his arms out, voice already too loud for the quiet night. “My card got declined at the damn store, Holley. In front of everybody. You know how embarrassing that is?”
I almost laugh.
Yeah, I think that’s humiliating. Probably almost as embarrassing as having a man show up and start yelling in your driveway while a stranger is standing five feet away.
Holley—not Holly, like the listing showed, is a unique spelling. The mechanic in me wonders if her parents had a thing for cars since they spell it like the carburetor brand. I notice the look, the quick, mortified glance over at me.
She looks like she wants the ground to swallow her whole.
Rage flickers at the edges of her eyes, though. It’s coiled under the shame, tight and hot. Woman’s not just scared or embarrassed. She’s pissed.
But she’s also cornered.
Her car is blocked in. He’s too close. The house is behind her, but she’d have to squeeze past him to reach it. Every exit is compromised.
That instinct in me that’s kept me alive for nearly six decades sits up and takes notice.
Not on my watch.
I start walking.
Slow. Steady. Not stomping, not charging. Just… moving. Putting my body where it needs to be.
Between.
Between his chaos and her. My jaw tightens as I sidle up behind her.
“Evening,” I say mildly as I close the distance, voice low but carrying. “You lost?”
Eric startles like he only just noticed I exist.
His gaze snaps to me, eyes flicking over the leather, the patches on my cut, the gray in my beard, the size then the stance. Most men can’t help but catalogue threat level. You can see it in their pupils.
I watch him filter through it all, the quick recalibration. His first flare of aggression dampens down a notch once his lizard brain does the math.
Doesn’t mean he backs off.
“Who the hell are you?” he snaps.
“Friend of Holley’s,” I reply steady and firm. “Got plans tonight, not sure what you’re issue is man, but I think you should leave.” I tip my chin toward Holley briefly. “She’s trying to work and we got plans tonight. You’re standing in the way.”
Holley’s eyes flick to me, surprised. Like she didn’t expect me to open my mouth.
Eric barks a humorless laugh. “This is my business. Anything with her is my business. She’s my wife.”
He takes another step toward her. She automatically leans away, shoulders hunching, fingers digging into the fabric of her coat. “Ex,” she firmly explains, shifting as if trying to put space between them.
Fourth tell.
She doesn’t want him closer.
I shift just enough to intercept his path, not touching him, not crowding, just presenting an obstacle. Years of practice in bars, clubhouses, and back alleys come back like they never left.
“This isn’t the place for it,” I state calmly. “You need to leave.”
He shoots me a glare. “You don’t talk to me, old man. I’m talking to my wife.”
“Ex-wife,” Holley corrects again in a rush, embarrassment flushing her cheeks. “Eric, not here. Please. I have a guest. You can’t just come here.”
“You think I give a shit about your little side hustle?” he cuts in, waving an arm wildly enough that his jacket flaps. “My card got declined. I told you to put money on it last week. You said you would and you didn’t.”
Anger flashes bright in her eyes now. “I never said that. You asked. I told you stop calling and I wasn’t giving you another dime. We are done. The divorce is final. Why can’t you leave me the hell alone.”