Page 29 of The Mechanic's Match
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. “You didn’t hear the whole conversation. The situation with your dad being my bosswasan unexpected complication, but not a bad one. Just something I needed to handle. You’re worth it. I just had to figure out how to navigate it. That’s why I called Cal—and he told me nothin’ in life worth havin’ comes easy, so I left to talk to your dad and let him know where I stand with you. I’m a man of my word, Amelia, and that goes for you and him. I couldn’t spend another moment with you without clearing the air between him and I first—just didn’t feel right.”
“Oh—” before she can fully respond, a voice cuts through the tension, loud and obnoxious.
“Hey, isn’t that the mail-order bride?”
My head snaps toward the bar, where Rick Simmons, the town drunk and all-around jackass, is grinning like he’s just won the lottery. A few heads turn, curious but cautious—everyone knows Rick doesn’t have a filter, and most of the time, it gets him into trouble.
“Didn’t realize you’d take in a charity case, Fox,” he sneers, his words slurring slightly. “What’d they throw in with the deal? A free pie?”
The blood in my veins turns to fire.
Amelia stiffens across from me, her cheeks flushing with humiliation. She starts to rise, her head ducking, but I’m already out of the booth.
I’m on him in three long strides, my fist connecting with his face before he can finish his next vile sentence. The satisfying crunch of bone echoes in the bar, and Rick stumbles backward, blood spurting from his nose.
“Say another word about her,” I snarl, grabbing him by the collar, “and I’ll break your goddamn jaw.”
Rick mumbles something incoherent, his hands raised in surrender. I shove him toward the door, his feet tripping over themselves as he scrambles to get away.
The bar is silent, all eyes on me. I don’t care. My focus is solely on Amelia, who’s standing now, her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide.
I cross back to her, my breathing heavy, the adrenaline still coursing through me. Without a word, I pull her against me, my arm wrapping around her waist. She’s stiff for a moment, but then she relaxes, her hands resting on my chest.
“She’s my wife,” I announce to the room, my voice firm, unwavering. “And she’s perfect.”
Amelia gasps softly, her eyes searching mine. For a second, the world narrows to just the two of us. The bar, the gawking patrons, even Rick’s pathetic groans fade away.
“Fox…” she whispers, her voice trembling.
I cup her cheek, my thumb brushing over her soft skin. “Don’t you dare think for a second that you’re anything less than amazing,” I murmur, my voice low but fierce. “You’re not a complication, Amelia. You’re my everything.”
Tears glisten in her eyes, but she blinks them away, her lips curving into a small, hesitant smile. “You really mean that?”
“Hell yes, I mean it.” I lean in, pressing my forehead to hers. “I’m not letting you go. Not now, not ever.”
Her laughter is soft, shaky. “You have a funny way of showing it, punching drunks and all.”
“Yeah, well,” I smirk, brushing a kiss to her temple. “He deserved it.”
The bar erupts into a low murmur as the tension breaks, people returning to their drinks and conversations. I take Amelia’s hand, leading her up the stairs. “Come on, let’s get your pussy and go home.”
A few minutes later, we’re crossing the bar, Amelia’s carry-on and her meowing cat over my shoulder.
“We’re leaving,” I announce to the room, daring anyone to say otherwise.
The cool night air greets us as we step outside. Amelia pulls her hand from mine, wrapping her arms around herself as we walk toward my truck.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she says quietly, glancing up at me.
I stop, turning to face her. “Yes, I did. Nobody talks about you like that, Amelia. Nobody.”
She looks away, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. “You can’t just go around punching people, Fox.”
“Sure I can,” I reply, my tone light but my eyes serious. “If it means protecting you, I’ll do whatever it takes. No one fucks with my girl.”
She shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re stuck with me,” I counter, stepping closer. “So you’d better get used to it.”
