I Have Lived and I Have Loved - Willow Winters Page 0,226

I drive away, merging onto the highway.

Maybe all this has nothing to do with Marie.

Maybe it’s just the guilt that summons the vision of his light gray eyes from the depths of my memory.

Maybe it’s because I’m to blame for both of their deaths.

Chapter 2

John

The faint sounds of the radio disappear with a loud click as I shut it off. It’s an old ass black box, covered in oil and grime from the shop, but it still works. Without it, the garage is silent. I wipe my hands with the blue shop towel, picking under my short, thick nails and scrub against the rough callus on my left thumb.

I'm a blue-collar mechanic, and there’s not much more to me. Day in and day out, I work at my shop on the outskirts of town. The old oak trees and converted barn on the far side of the property are everything I need. I like my peace and quiet out here. I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t get a bit lonely at times, but I don’t need companionship. I don’t need anyone.

I turn to look over my shoulder at the banged-up cherry red Chevy truck. That’s going to take a bit of work tomorrow when Steve gets in. Fixing that side door would be a pain in my ass to do alone. And now that Steve’s gone home, it’s just me.

That damn truck can wait till tomorrow.

All the tools are back where they belong except for a few wrenches on the bench. The shop itself is old, with a cracked concrete floor and chipped red paint on the far wall where the hangar's attached to the garage. When I bought this place, it was rundown and in desperate need of fixing up. I love the charm of it though, how it's beaten down but still standing strong. The history is what I look forward to when I come here every day. The property itself is large. An old pilot used to live here. He loved two things in his life, the ducks on the lake out back and his airplanes in the hangar.

Poor old man didn’t live long after he sold the place to me. I’ve still got an old Ercoupe from the 1940s he left here. I meant to fix it up, but time’s gotten away from me and work’s been steady.

I toss the cloth onto the bench and stretch my back, reaching my arms over my head and letting out a deep sigh. My back cracks, and it feels damn good. It's been a long day of hard work. And I'll have another one tomorrow. That’s what I live for.

The dim evening light streams through the open garage door, bringing a crisp breeze with it. It feels relaxing. I take in a deep breath and close my eyes, feeling the exhaustion flow through me. I don’t know the last time I had a good night’s sleep. Doesn’t matter how many hours I seem to get, I’m never well rested.

I pull the thin, dirty white t-shirt over my head, feeling my sore muscles stretch even more. My denim jeans sit low on my hips. They’re dirtied too, but I don’t give a damn about them. I ball up the shirt and rag, tossing them into the bin and get ready for the short walk up the hill and to my house on the other side of the dirt road.

The familiar sound of the door to the shop creaking snaps my eyes open. My body tenses, and my muscles coil. The shop’s closed, and there’s no one else out here for miles. There isn't a single reason anyone should be walking through my shop right now. I can hear heavy boot steps walking back here to the garage.

I straighten my broad shoulders as I slowly and silently pick up the largest wrench on the bench, my eyes staring straight ahead at the open door to the garage. The cold metal easily slips into my palm, feeling just right as my heart thumps and my breathing steadies. I only make it a single step when Jay steps into the doorway.

He’s just as tall as me, which would be intimidating to most. My arms are corded with muscle from years of hard work and manual labor. As are his, although I haven’t got the faintest idea what he does. I’ve never asked.

We’re both daunting men, the difference is that I try to hide it. I’m not looking for a fight