In the Wake of Touch

I can hear it before I can see it. An engine that's knocking around, like it's

on damn near its last sip of oil. It turns my stomach to hear it—like,

physical repulsion, chills and all—but if it's just a leak, they haven't been

driving it around like that for an age, we might still be able to save her yet.

I back out from underneath the hood of the fixer upper I've been

working on all day so far, trying to stay in my work and out of my head

after the shit show of a reunion with her last night and take a second to

stretch and crack my back as I stand straight and then turn around to face

my next patient for critical care. The elective procedure—let's call it a hip

replacement—is going to have to hold out for what's clearly going to be a

life-or-death situation incoming. The one I've spent all morning on can take

a backseat until this next one's out of the ICU.

And lo and behold. Why am I not surprised at who's behind the wheel,

responsible for the death rattle coming out of this poor Cutlass.

I hope she's not back for round two. I don't think I have it in me to fight

with her again. My head's still getting unfucked from last night. I forgot

how she does this to me, how she twists me up from proximity alone. How

she's either a bad trip or the high of a lifetime, but you'll never know which

you're gonna get until she's in your veins, and it's too late to fight your fate.

It took ages to detox her from my system last time. I don't want to go

down that path again.

Last night got out of hand. She's got a lot on her plate, it was a stressful

day for her, and me snapping at her didn't make it any better for her. I'm

vowing here and now to let sleeping dogs lie.

The past between us is in the past. It's long buried.

Like a landmine.

We can be mature adults and get through this short time together

without stepping on any landmines.

I think.

At least that's what I've got myself nearly convinced of by the time

she's out of the car and walking toward me, something between a grimace

and acceptance on her face. If I needed a confidence boost, this wouldn't be

it. Lucky for the both of us, I don't.

"Let me guess. She's lost a bunch of oil." The only thing drier than my

tone is her engine right now.

Ro—Aurora tucks her cheek into her shoulder and raises it a little, not

not coy. "Seems like it, but you're the one I'd trust on that front."

"Didn't I teach you how to check your oil once upon a time?" I'm not

sure my tone can ever be construed as light, but at least give me credit for

trying here.

She snorts, giving me that credit I was asking for. "Yeah, sorry to say I

haven't had much use for that lesson lately. I'm a bit rusty."

I pop down on both knees in front of her car and give about a twosecond inspection beneath her chassis. "So's your oil pan," I tell her wryly.

"I'm guessing that's not a good thing?" She fakes a smile, blinking at

me several times, and all it does is highlight the way the sun brings out a

metric shit ton of hues in her eyes. Not one, flat brown, but a dozen or more

different shades, all melted and blended together.

That buzzing sensation beneath my skin is back and this is fucked. I

look away from her, squint into the sun on the horizon. A much safer view,

staring into the sun—less potential damage to be had.

I shrug it off. "Nah, it's not a great thing. But good you brought her here

before it got worse. Let me check it out and I'll see what we can do."

"I appreciate it," she says sincerely.

I shrug back at her once again. "It's my job."

She nods, lips between her teeth. "Right."

Now'd be a good time for a sigh, but I hold it in. Glad to see the

awkwardness between us is in the past.

I hold my hand out for the keys, and she points with just her head back

to the car, telling me they're still in there. If I wasn't so distracted by her, I

wouldn't have missed the fact the car's still running, but what can I say,

we've all got our weaknesses. For some, it's alcohol. Others, gambling. For

me? A brown-eyed girl with thick hair and a hell of an attitude who gave me

her virginity at sixteen and an apathetic outlook on life when she up and left

me five years later.

I've got the driver's door open and a boot in the well when she calls my

name.

"Wyatt."

Something like a hot breath blows down my back, causing my hair to

stand on end, to say nothing of the tightening I'm feeling below the belt.

Kind of fucked up that my head got the memo to try to get over her when

she left, but the rest of me never did.

Take a split second to reel myself in, remind myself that it doesn't

matter how good she looks, how good my name sounds rolling off her

tongue, how good she looks rolling off of mine. When I've got it together, I

look over my shoulder at her and wait.

She wrings her hands together, twisting her fingers and looking more

apprehensive than I'd be willing to bet she damn near ever does.

"Can we … start over?"

"What, like, from the beginning?"

"From yesterday."

My mouth shrugs as I weigh it out. "I mean, we can try." I do my part to

lighten the mood. "You gonna use the left-hand door in this scenario?"

She shakes her head. "If I could redo it, I think I wouldn't go to the bar

at all. Not run into half the town within an hour of arriving, sleepless and a

total goddamn mess." She gestures to her head and face, waving her hand in

front of it. If she's saying that's her on a bad day … My cock thickens at the

thought, and I bat the image away before I have to readjust myself.

Her voice is low and serious, that jest out of her tone when she speaks

again. "Look, I know the only reason Ernie and everyone else in there last

night didn't jump all over me was because of you. I should've thanked you

for it."

I toss my head to the side, waving it off. "You've got enough on your

plate, that didn't need to be any harder on you than it was."

"Or more awkward …" She states the obvious, letting it trail off with

something close to a half-smile. Still got that witty thing I always found so

hot going for her, I see. If her tongue is still just as sharp, I might be in

trouble.

Tilt my head from side to side a couple times. "Yeah, I dunno that you

could've escaped that part of it, no matter how many times you got to do it

over. Sorry. But it doesn't have to be awkward between us at least, 'kay?"

"Are you saying we can be … friends?"

I could scoff at the word. Such an insignificant word for what we

shared.

The hesitancy in her voice stops me. With what she's in for? She could

really use someone on her side through what she's here to do, and I'm

always a sucker for giving her what she needs. What am I going to do, deny

her?

"Sure. Friends."

She nods decisively at me, and after a short pause says, "I think, if I

could really do yesterday over, maybe I would just come straight to the

shop. Before my car decides to explode in the middle of Main Street or

something. And before my sister exploded all over me at the house."

My face screws up. I know her sister well enough to know how pleasant

that must've been. "I dunno which would've been the better perk. I think

your car might cause less damage."

She gives a sad laugh and shakes her head, headed toward the area

Gonzo calls a waiting room along the side of the shop. Glad as shit he's out

on a house call right now, I would not want to deal with his peanut gallery

bullshit with Rory today. Or ever, really.

I pull the car up into the bay, shut it off, and get it raised so I can do a

proper inspection. Below the chassis, beneath the hood, I check her out

every which way and come to the same conclusion I had before I even

looked her over. Busted oil pan, damn near no oil left, and luckily, no real

engine damage just yet.

I feel her eyes on me as I go. Every time I look over, she's typing away

on her phone, but if she thinks I can't feel her stare like a brand on my skin,

she forgets what the two of us used to have. That connection doesn't fade

with time, even when she tried to chop it off at the stem.

No helping it, that's not a choice either of us have in the matter. You can

put distance, you can throw in time, but back in the same room for just a

few minutes and I can feel it thrumming beneath the surface. All that shit

we used to have between us, still hovering between the physical plane and

whatever's beyond. It's in every word spoken, every look neither of us will

indulge in, every thought left unsaid.

That thing that made us us? I'm so fucking sorry to say, that shit's still

there.

No matter how much I've tried to dig it out and cauterize whatever's

left behind over the years, with other women, alcohol, any distraction I

could find. If I failed at it while she was gone, how am I supposed to ignore

it with her back for the time being?

Rory must be done pretending she isn't paying attention to me, I feel her

eyes again just before she calls, "Remind me when that bonfire party

starts?" Her melodic, self-assured voice floats to me across the garage,

confident as ever, something like teasing present in her tone.

I might be fucked.