Page 6 of Wrecked By Rev

I drink my beer. Watch my brothers. Try not to think about auburn hair and dark eyes and the way she said this was a mistake before she turned and ran.

I fail.

She came back the next day.

I’m under the hood of a Chevy when I hear her car pull in—same engine, same hesitation before she kills it. I wipe my hands on a rag and straighten up, watching the door.

She walks in slower this time. Shoulders tight, chin up, like she’s bracing for a fight. She’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt with the name of her café on it, hair pulled back, no makeup. She looks tired. She looks scared.

She looks like the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

I push the thought deep inside myself.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey.”

Silence. She’s looking at me, working up to something. I wait. I can be patient when it counts.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” she finally says. “I shouldn’t have just... I wasn’t ready. For this.” She gestures vaguely at the garage, at me, at everything. “Being back here.”

“I get it.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah.” I lean against the workbench, keeping a distance between us. Giving her space. “It’s been a while.”

“Five years.” She laughs, nervously. “Five years, and I couldn’t even—” She stops. Shakes her head. “Anyway. I came back because I need help. And I don’t know where else to go.”

“Tell me.”

So she does.

His name is Niall Garrett. He’s been fixated on her for four months. They never dated—he asked, she said no, and something in him broke. Now he’s everywhere. Shows up at her café. Waits in her parking lot. Leaves notes on her car. He came to her workplace yesterday morning while she was inside and left one on her windshield, just to let her know he could.

The cops won’t help. He hasn’t technically done anything illegal. Her friends don’t believe her—he’s charming, well-liked, everyone thinks he’s a great guy. He’s been telling people they’re together, building a narrative that makes her sound crazy when she denies it.

Four months of this, and she’s been handling it alone.

My hands are curled into fists by the time she finishes. I have to force myself to relax them.

“I don’t need you to fix it,” she says quickly. “I just need... I thought maybe if he saw me with someone. Someone who looks like a threat. Someone dangerous. Maybe he’d back off.”

“You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend?”

“Yeah.” She winces like she knows how it sounds. “You’d just have to show up. Let people see the cut. Let word get around. He’s a coward at heart—I know he is. If he thinks I’m with someone who could actually hurt him, he’ll move on. Find someone easier to obsess over.”

She’s watching me, waiting for me to say something. Waiting for me to tell her this is stupid, or that I can’t help, or that she should figure it out herself.

“Okay,” I say.

She blinks. “Okay?”

“I’ll do it.”

“You don’t even—I haven’t told you what I’m offering, or how long, or?—”

“Don’t care.” I hold her gaze. “Some asshole’s been scaring you for four months. You came here for help. I’m helping. That’s it.”