Deep 6 (Multiple Love)

She smells different too, of a fragrance womanlier than she used to wear.

"What are you doing out here?" I ask.

She turns, staring at the side of my face as I keep my eyes on the road. "I'm on my way to a wedding."

"The car's not looking good," I tell her. It's an understatement, but I don't want to stress her out before I know one hundred percent what all the issues are.

"Shit," she mutters, rooting around in her purse.

Pulling out her phone, she flicks through her contacts and dials a number. Almost immediately, my gut contracts at the thought that she's dialing her boyfriend to tell him what's going on. There's no ring on her finger so I'm taking it there's no husband.

"Hey," she says, then I catch a woman's voice replying, and I exhale. "I've broken down…I don't think so…I know, I'm so gutted…can you send Connie, Karter, Kane, Holden, and Harris my best wishes…sure. Okay…bye."

"Carmella's sister's getting married?"

Sandy nods, sliding her phone back into her purse and zipping it back up.

"That's nice."

We ride together in silence as a million conversations play out in my head. A million conversations that I'll never be able to have with her in real life because it just wouldn't be fair, and she probably wouldn't want to hear any of it.

Too much time has passed.

Too much water under the bridge.

I'm a different man than I was when we were together. A man too splintered to ever be able to make things right.

When we pull into the repair shop that I started with my friends, and that saved my life, I feel such a sense of relief that the tension constricting my throat relaxes enough for me to swallow. Damien is the first to emerge, lumbering as he always does on his huge feet. He's looking especially rough today, as though he's spent the morning tearing up trees from their roots and chopping them into pieces with just a butter knife. He doesn't wait for us to open the doors to the vehicle. He just strolls past and begins to unhook Sandy's car, ready for inspection. He has no idea that the woman sitting next to me is anything more than a stranded client. He has no idea that I feel like my heart is tearing in two just from being near and not being able to touch her.

Sandy puts her hand on the door handle and then turns to me. "What's going to happen?"

"We'll take a look and give you a rundown of what's gone wrong."

She nods and pushes open the door. "Where can I wait?"

"Inside. There's a waiting area and a coffee machine."

Sandy slides out of my truck, slamming the door before hitching her purse onto her shoulder. I sense that she's not used to wearing heels because she walks slowly into Deep Repairs and my eyes trail her, hungry and reluctant at the same time.

She's like a magnet, and my heart is a piece of shrapnel left over from another time and place. A time when I had peace in my soul. A time where I could sleep without waking from the same nightmare that comes to me over and over, no matter how much time passes.

"She's a piece of ass," Damien whistles as I finally throw open my door.

"Say that again, and I'll rip out your heart," I say, then feel fucking awful when Damien's face drops like a wounded puppy.

He might be big, but he's got a heart as soft as the center of a cream donut. "Who is she?" he asks. "Someone special?"

"The most special," I say, shoving my hands into my pockets.

"Sandy?" His bushy eyebrows shoot up when I nod. "Shit, dude. How'd that happen?"

"I don't know. Fate. The universe conspiring. Who knows?"

"What are you gonna do?"

"I don't know, man. Let's take a look at this car and see what we're dealing with."

"Sure, Tyler," he says, patting me on the shoulder, telling me he's with me. All my boys know about Sandy. They were the ones to pick me up when my life spiraled. They were the ones who put me back together.

The music inside Deep Repairs is blaring. Greg is in charge of the tunes today, so it's rock that's keeping the mechanics focused. We push Sandy's car inside, and Greg slides out from the blue truck he's been working on. "Whatcha got there?"

"Cooling system's shot somewhere. Looks like it's losing oil too."

"Shit." He's on his feet and looming into the car before I have the opportunity to tell him I've got it. At six-foot-four, Greg isn't a man you tell to mind his own business easily. Plus, he's the best at diagnosing fast, and that's what Sandy needs.

I watch him fiddle with the engine, touching grease and smelling his fingers. He's a tactile mechanic in a way, using all his senses to feel out the problem. "We're gonna need to order parts," he says eventually.