Page 22 of Life After You

Patty notices. “Everything okay?”

Before I can answer, the man leans in closer, his breath reeking.

“If I leave a big enough tip, will you—”

The door chimes. Dean strides in, “Evening, lover. How was work?”

I step toward him, but the man grabs my wrist.

Dean’s eyes darken. He takes one step forward, and in the same moment I yank free and punch the guy square in the nose. Blood gushes, and his friends jump to their feet.

“What the hell?!” One yells, but Patty doesn’t hesitate. She clubs him on the head with a metal napkin dispenser, dropping him to the floor.

The leader glances at Dean, then at me, weighing his odds.

“Get out,” Patty growls.

Dean grabs the guy I punched, twisting his arm behind his back and marching him to the door. With a shove, he sends the man stumbling into a pile of trash cans outside, before dealing with the other two.

Patty turns to me mumbling, “Dented my dispenser.”

Dean locks the door and flips the sign to CLOSED. He checks me over, taking my hand gently.

“That was a badass punch.” he says, his voice low. “But reckless. You and Patty were outnumbered.”

“I’m fine.” I protest, but Patty squeezes my hand, making me wince.

“ER,” Dean said firmly.

We drive to the hospital in tense silence, Dean keeping a protective eye on the road. By the time we reach the parking lot, he’s back to teasing, his crooked smile easing my nerves. Inside the ER he takes my hand again, his warmth grounding me as the sterile smell of the hospital threatens to dredge up painful memories.

Chapter Eight

Logan

Time spent in the Charger is bittersweet. While I toil over what the hell I'm going to say to Mac when I find her, memories creep in, uninvited. Different drives with Braden and Mac, though not as many as you'd think, considering how much Braden doted on this iron beauty. The car always felt more like his third limb than just a machine. Even now, she settles into the highway like she remembers him, like she’s searching for him too. The weight in my chest tightens.

A sign flashes past—some flower festival near Mt. Vernon. Fields of tulips stretch out in the distance, divided into endless rows of red, yellow and purple. I can see it clear as day—Mac,old Mac, spinning through them with her arms outstretched, laughing, taking in the colors like they were made just for her. Before Braden or I did something dumb to piss her off. Then she’d turn, all claws, feet, and teeth—more cat than girl, hissing and snapping like we weren’t her favorite people in the world five minutes ago. I fight a smirk, but it fades fast.

The cassette clicks, the end of the tape snapping me back to the present. I reach for another, slipping it in. A crackle, then a hiss, and Black Sabbath rumbles through the speakers, followed by a few other classics, distorted and aged. The sound is rough, raw—so goddamn fitting it makes my gut clench.

For a second, just a second, I forget. Then the realization slams back into me like a freight train. I half expect Braden to be here, bitching at me for touching his shit, giving me that smug-ass smirk because he knows damn well I’d never have the balls to take his baby out when he was alive. My stomach drops.

He’s not here.

The potholes in the road match my goddamn mood, up and down, rattling me straight through.

I grip the wheel tighter, my jaw clenching. None of this fucking matters if I don’t find Mac. If I don’t figure out what’s going on. Why she’s avoiding my calls. Why she’s shutting me out after everything we’ve been through.

My foot presses heavier on the gas.

I’m coming for you, angel.

Going through Seattle, things get a little hairy when a couple of Karens and Kyles decide to ride my ass, then pull up to pass, flipping me the bird like I’m the asshole.

I grip the wheel, fuming.I can speed too, putás, but I’m not gonna ding this baby.

It’s like I can feel Braden’s ghost staring at me in shock, waiting for me to escalate things. I roll my eyes. I’m not that insecure, amigo.

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