Page 103 of Stuck with my Mechanic Daddies

So I gave them something else.

“You know, for most of my life, I didn’t think I was the kind of guy who needed to put down roots,” I started, shoving my hands into my pockets. “Always figured Medford would be here when I wanted to come back. Like a bar tab you can settle whenever you feel like it.”

Some chuckles, but quiet ones.

“But these last few weeks have made me realize something.” I let my gaze sweep across the room. “This town? It’s not just buildings and businesses. It’s people.

“It’s the folks who show up when your car won’t start. The ones who bring you soup when you're sick. The ones who will, without question, drop everything to help their neighbors.”

Heads nodded. People were listening now.

“Lawson doesn’t understand that,” I said. “He thinks Medford is just a piece of property. But we know better. This town is alive. It’s history and heart and stubborn-as-hell people who don’t take kindly to outsiders telling us what we can and can’t do.”

A few cheers. I stepped forward, letting my voice drop just enough to make them lean in.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m not about to let some arrogant son of a bitch waltz in here and take that away from us.”

The room erupted. Applause. Stomping feet. The kind of fire that meant people were ready to fight.

And then slow, deliberate clapping from the back of the room.

A cold, slimy feeling hit me before I even turned around.

There he was. Hank Lawson. Leaning against the doorway like he owned the damn place.

“Well, well,” he said, stepping forward. “Quite the performance, gentlemen. Almost makes me believe you stand a chance.”

The energy in the room shifted. That spark of defiance started to waver in his presence.

Ethan squared his shoulders. “What do you want, Lawson?”

He smirked.

“Oh, I think you know.” His gaze swept the room. “I hear a lot of talk about standing together, about fighting back, but let’s be honest—how many of you are willing to risk everything?” He spread his hands. “Because that's what it'll take. I’ve got money, lawyers, and time. How much of that do you have?”

Silence.

He took another step forward.

“I get it. Medford is your home. Your past. But I’m here to offer you a future.” His eyes landed on me. “I’m here to bring Medford into the future. Is it not time that this place had some money injected into it? That it was brought forward into the present? Surely you don’t all want to live in the past forever.”

That hit like a punch to the gut.

I stepped up to him, closing the distance. “You don’t own this town, Lawson. And you sure as hell don’t own us.”

His smirk widened. “No,” he said, voice lowering. “But Medford owes me.”

A chill ran through me. What the hell did that mean?

Lawson clapped me on the shoulder, all casual, like we were old friends.

“Think it over,” he murmured. “I'll be in touch.”

Then he turned and walked out, leaving behind a room full of people whose fear had just been replaced with something else.

A dangerous, lingering question.

What did Medford owe Hank Lawson?

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