Page 11 of Until Nalia
My nose stings, and tears fill my eyes.
She’s right, Zuri is not the same girl she was a few months ago; she’s come out of her shell, and I haven’t seen that anxious look in her eyes that she would get every single Sunday when I’d tell her that it was time for her to go home to her mom after spending the weekend with me. The same look she’d give me when I’d be there to pick her up after school and she’d realize that meant her mom was not home, which also meant it was anyone’s guess where Sharon was or when she’d be back. Something that was a regular occurrence before Sharon was arrested.
“I guess my point is, it’s okay for both of you to be happy right now. And sure, things will probably come up, and you’ll need to find someone for Zuri to talk to because even if you two are close, she might not want to share with you how she really feels about certain things since she might not want to hurt your feelings. But that’s all to be expected, and at the end of the day, it’s okay to just be in this moment and happy about where you are.” She passes me a couple of napkins from the holder on the table, and I use them to soak up the tears under my eyes.
“You’re doing an amazing job.” Harmony wraps her arm around me and rests her head on my shoulder. “And you know that we’re here. Mom and Dad are here, and everyone else is here, even if you don’t want them to be.”
“Thanks.” I laugh through my tears. “I love you guys.”
“We love you too.” Willow reaches across the table for my hand. “And we are so fucking happy you’re home and that you have Zuri with you.” Tears fill her eyes, too, while I see Harmony reach for the napkin holder and pass a few to Willow while keeping some for herself. It takes the three of us a few minutes to get the tears under control, but eventually we pull ourselves together enough to continue eating. And thankfully, we change the topic to their lives and their kids and husbands and just catch up, something we don’t get to do often with just the three of us because we have such a huge family.
By the time we’re finished, it’s past time for me to be back at my desk at home, so we pay our check and say goodbye outside the diner. After hugging the two of them, they both get into Willow’s SUV since they drove together from our parents’ house, where they left their little ones. Giving them a break and our mom some time with her grandbabies. Something she never passes up.
As I’m driving back to my house to go back to work, I swear I’m seeing things when I notice what looks like a white mist coming from under the hood of my Bronco, but as I make a left turn onto Main Street, it becomes very apparent that I’m not imagining things, and my engine is, in fact, smoking. And it’s smoking a lot more than it was just seconds ago.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I look around for a safe place to pull over while I silently curse under my breath.
I got my Bronco five years ago from an older woman who had recently lost her husband and had no kids or grandkids to pass it down to. Over the years they were married, he had put in lots of time and money updating the interior and exterior himself, and it was his pride and joy. She probably could have gotten four times what I paid her at auction, but she wanted the vehicle to go to someone who would love it and use it as much as he did. She didn’t want it sitting in a garage just to be shown off on occasion. I have had zero regrets since the moment I gave her the money.
Not only is my Bronco pretty to look at, but she was perfect for the Colorado winters. But ever since I drove her across the country, she has been struggling. I get it she’s old and tired and probably needs a full engine replacement, but no one has the money for that, at least not right now. My dad has been telling me for a while that I need to sell her and buy something new, but I love my girl, just not when she is making noises or possibly catching on fire.
Once I’m pulled over on the side of the road in front of a small nursery that sells everything from flowers to trees and greenhouses, according to the sign out front, I shut down the engine. Popping the hood, I get out with my cell phone in hand and walk around to the hood opening it up without thinking. A plume of steam hits me in the face that smells like oil, but thankfully, there is no fire. At least not one I can see.
As I stand there with the hood open, looking at the engine, I’m hit with the reality that I know nothing about cars. The only thing I’m capable of doing when it comes to any vehicle is changing a tire because my dad insisted me and my sisters learn that skill when we were in the process of getting our driver’s licenses. And I’m not actually sure I’m even capable of doing that since I have never had to actually do it outside of the one time I did it under my dad’s watchful gaze.
With a deep breath, I drop my eyes to my phone and unlock it, then stare at the screen with my fingers hovering over my contact list. If I call my dad, I know he will drop whatever he’s doing and come to my rescue, the same way I know that if I call Talon or Bax, the same will happen. I also know the three of them are busy. It’s a weekday, not a weekend, and if I interrupt whatever they are doing now at work, they will have to go back to it when they are done taking care of my problem. And they will likely have to stay later this evening to make up for the time they missed, and that will cut into time with their families.
As I’m debating what I’m going to do, the sound of a motorcycle meets my ears, and I lift my eyes off my phone. My brothers, my dad, my cousins, and a few of my cousins’ husbands ride, so I’m always on the lookout for them when I hear the familiar sound. As the sound gets louder, and the rider of the motorcycle comes into view, my heart drops into my stomach the same way it did when I called the number Bax gave me for his friend Lo and was met with the reality that it was Logan Rafe.
Frozen in place. I watch a matte black motorcycle get closer while the driver’s gaze locks on mine. Slowing down, Logan pulls off the road in front of me. The black t-shirt he has on allowing a glimpse at the tattoos covering one of his arms and stretched across his broad shoulders. The material is so tight against his torso, it gives a glimpse at the muscles underneath, with his legs encased in a pair of jeans that look worn and soft. Shutting off his bike, he uses the heel of his boot to engage the kickstand before he swings his leg over the seat.
My heart is beating so hard that I can hear the steady thump of it in my ears as he turns to face me with a grin on his gorgeous face.
“If you wanted my attention, baby, you could have just messaged me back.” He removes his helmet.
“Yeah, I purposely broke down in this location on the off chance you’d drive by and see me.” I roll my eyes.
“It’s a little dramatic, but I like the effort.” He closes the distance between us, and it’s difficult not to laugh. He’s too hot for his own good and way too cocky—two traits I’ve encountered in a few men over the years. Though most of those men were either hot with zero personality or cocky with zero reason to be, but convinced that they were god’s gift to women. “What happened?”
“I don’t know, unfortunately I’m not a mechanic.” I watch him walk to the hood with his lips tipped up and lean in to get a better look at the engine. “It just started smoking.” I keep my distance, but with the light breeze in the air, the smell of whatever cologne or soap he uses drifts my direction, wrapping around my windpipe.
“Looks like the head gasket is blown.”
“Is that bad?” He turns his head my way and his blue eyes locking on mine.
“Yeah, it’s going to take a few days to get it repaired.”
“Crap.” My shoulders slump.
“Grab your purse, I’ll give you a ride and have someone come out and tow it to the shop.”
“That’s okay, I can call triple A.”
“Babe, it’s gonna be a few hours before a tow truck can get over here. Save yourself the hassle and accept my help.”
I think about insisting that I’ll wait, but with Zuri getting out of school in just a few hours, I don’t have the time to argue with him, and I really do need his help. I can walk to the school to pick her up today, and we can walk to school tomorrow morning, but I’m going to have to figure out where to rent a car, because there is no way we can go without a vehicle for a few days. Where we live now isn’t like where I lived in Colorado. Back there, I could walk to the store and out to dinner, which I did a lot. Here, that isn’t even an option. The closest grocery store is eight miles away, and we don’t have public transportation to get us around until my car is fixed.
“Okay,” I agree reluctantly. “Thank you.”
