Restored

And maybe it’s time I start now.

“That’s it, everybody out!” I shout and suddenly the music stops and everyone turns to face me. “Party’s over. Everyone get the fuck out of my shop.”

They all stare at one another as if I’m speaking a different language and I stomp over to the wall and yank open the electrical panel. I start flipping breakers and one by one the lights go out. That’s when people finally get the message and start to move.

“Make sure they empty out of here,” I say to Mitch, who nods at me.

Just then Roxy comes running up. “What the hell, Bronx? What’s going on?”

“Where’s Gemma?” I say as my chest tightens.

She gives me a dirty look and turns to Mitch. “I’m ready to go.”

“Roxy!” I shout and she turns to glare at me. “I’m not in the mood to play games. Where’s Gemma?”

“Watch how you’re talking to my girl,” Mitch says, stepping in front of her.

“I’ve got this, baby.” She leans around him and gives me another dirty look. “She’s gone, and it’s all your fault.”

“She went home?” I start to walk past them and to her place, but Roxy stops me.

“No, dumbass, gone gone. She packed her bags and drove out of town. And it’s all because of you.”

“What?” I feel like I’ve been shot in the gut as her words echo around in my head. This can’t be right.

“You know, I really thought you were different. I thought you loved her.” She shakes her head in disgust as she turns away from me. “I never thought you’d hurt her like that.”

Without another word I race out of the shop and to my truck. I wrack my brain thinking about where she could have gone. I’ve got to find her and stop her. I have to explain, and then I’ve got to make sure this shit doesn’t happen again.

It’s time she knows how I feel and it’s time I make her mine. The waiting is over.

Chapter Seven

Gemma

I hit the steering wheel again as if it will help. I can’t believe this is happening. I have no idea what is wrong with my car. I’ve checked everything I could think of and it’s flat-out dead. It’s like someone flipped a switch and everything went out.

I pick up my dead cell, willing it to work but drop it back down when all I see is a black screen. That’s what I get for trying to get the hell outta Dodge without a plan. I’m lucky my car was home to begin with. I have no idea how it got from the bar to my place last night. It had to have been Bronx because he always takes care of me in some way.

My plan is to not be his to take care of anymore, but right now I wish for nothing more than him to appear and fix this. Even though I shouldn’t have, I found comfort in knowing he was always next door. It was part of why I chose to move out of my childhood home. It wasn’t just for a change, it was to be closer to him so I’d get to see him every day.

“He’s busy,” I remind myself.

I swallow the lump in my throat that I’ve been fighting since I ran from his shop. I don’t want to break down so I close my eyes and rest my head back. I need to start walking because the sun is setting and I know it’s about a thirty-minute walk to get to a phone and call someone. I’m sure as hell not flagging down a stranger.

I can’t be mad at Bronx for being with another woman. I’ve just never witnessed it first-hand. I think he hid it from me because he knew I harbored a crush on him. He did what he thought he needed to do to protect me. My dad was right; he’s a good man. Dad once told me that when I grew up I should find someone like him, but I don’t want someone like him. I want Bronx.

I’ve gotten myself into another mess and this time Bronx isn’t here to fix it. That’s something I’m going to have to learn to get used to. I don’t have my dad anymore and now there’s no Bronx either.

I scream when a knock sounds on my window and I almost come out of my skin. My door opens a second later and Bronx in all his glory stands over me in a tight pair of jeans and a black shirt stretched over his broad chest. He doesn’t look like he’s shaved in a few days and even his hair is a mess. He’s normally put together for the car shows because everyone wants a picture with him and one of his cars.

“Out,” he tells me as he holds out his hand. I stare at it in shock, wondering where the hell he came from. Better yet, how did he track me down? Again.