Looking Back
Dina
I don’t remember the drive home. As soon as I pull in, I methodically make my way inside and change into one of my dad’s old T-shirts, my favorite sweats, and crawl onto my chaise and cry, letting it all out.
Five, almost six years ago, my parents died in a car accident. I was an only child. All of my grandparents had passed away when I was younger. I had three uncles, an aunt, and a few cousins, but no one I was close with.
My parents were amazing, and I was a daddy’s girl all the way. Instead of a babysitter, I went to work with my dad, who owned his own garage. When I was younger, I would just hand him tools. As I got older, I helped him with basic oil changes, flat tires, and such.
The first car I rebuilt with my dad is sitting in my garage right now. It’s a black 1964 Chevy II with a big block 454 under the hood. To the right of the Chevy II is my dad’s very first car—a 1955, red and white, Chevy Bel Air. Yes, my dad was a Chevy man, but my mom’s heart was always with the Ford Mustang.
The night a drunk driver killed them, they were driving Mom’s completely restored 1965 Mustang. They were returning from another first place win in the Mustang Round Up car show in Raleigh.
After the accident, things changed for me. I decided not to drink as much anymore, not that I was your typical, partying sorority girl to begin with. I stopped talking to practically everyone but Maggie. And I devoted myself fully to college—well, as much as I could—because neither of my parents got that opportunity, and it was important to them.
I still have my parents’ beach house, but sold my dad’s business. He had a garage that he co-owned with Blaine, his long-time friend and motorcycle club President. Blaine made sure I was paid well for my dad’s half. With that, the life insurance, the settlement from the accident, and some smart investing, I’m set financially for life. But no one needs to know that. I haven’t even told Maggie how much I got. It just feels like a complication in my life. I would give every single penny up if I could have my parents back.
Before the accident, I was as outspoken and outgoing as Maggie. I loved being active in our sorority. I loved meeting new people, going to frat parties, and being involved in any sports or outdoor stuff. I wasn’t drop dead gorgeous, but I was attractive and confident.
After the accident, I was simply going through the motions, when Michael, a cute guy in a loner way, came along. What started out as a dream quickly became my living nightmare from hell, one that I couldn’t seem to escape. Maggie is right; if my parents hadn’t died, I never would have fallen for him.
At first, Michael, my ex, the devil in disguise, was just a friend. He was patient with me, always saying he wanted me to be really ready. He seemed to understand my desire to exclude myself. He was easy to talk to, and he listened. Yep, he listened all right, a little too well.
I was in over my head before I even realized it was too deep and I was too far gone. Love makes you blind.
He managed to use every insecurity and weakness I had about being alone to tear me down. It started with needing to know everywhere I went, who I was talking to. Then it was small put downs, little insults and jabs that chiseled away at my self-worth.
Then, one night when I went out with Maggie without checking with him first, I got a taste of the angry fire burning inside him.
Maggie had just started dating Brayden. She felt it was getting serious and wanted me to meet him, so we made dinner plans. I purposely didn’t invite Michael, knowing he didn’t like Maggie.
We had dinner at one of my favorite restaurants. Brayden was nice, funny, handsome, and best of all, he looked at my closest friend with such adoration I knew immediately she had found her prince.
She asked where Michael was since she had wanted this to be a double date, after all. I lied, saying he had to work, when the truth was he was at his apartment, waiting for me to come over after I was done with what he thought was a study group.
The funny thing is, that night I met my heaven and began my hell.
We were just ordering dessert when I felt this charge, almost like an electric current. I looked up and was instantly mesmerized by the man walking over. I stopped thinking and just stared as he made his way over to our table. I was so lost in him that I totally missed the blonde on his arm who couldn’t keep her hands or eyes off him.
No sooner did we introduce ourselves, I felt cold fear run through my veins. The next moment, Michael had his hands wrapped in my very long hair, yanking me out of my chair.
He dragged me out of the restaurant by my wrist, wrenching it painfully. I heard Ryder yell for me not to go with Michael while Maggie was crying, but I couldn’t stop myself from following Michael out of the restaurant. I just wanted away from it all.
On the drive home, Michael screamed obscenities at me, calling me a whore, accusing me of cheating on him, and telling me I deserve to be alone. He hit me in the face repeatedly, causing a black eye, a busted lip, and a bloody nose, before dropping me off in front of my apartment.
Brayden and Maggie arrived home not far behind us. Michael was long gone, but that didn’t stop Brayden from looking for him. Meanwhile, Maggie cleaned me up and held me silently while I cried.
The next day, there was no sign of Michael. I thought it was over. Soon, though, he showered me with apologies and gifts. It took me a few days to even wrap my head around it all, and when I did, he promised it would never happen again.
Oh, how I wish I could say that was the end of it. However, as time passed, things got worse. I just got better at hiding it. I became more secluded, avoiding the looks, the questions, hiding my inner turmoil.
Maggie begged me to end it constantly, but I didn’t know how. She even got to the point that she stayed away.
It was a mess, and I could have lost my best friend if she didn’t continue to love me through it all. In fact, I can’t even say I was the one to end it when it came down to it. Ryder handled it.
The night that ended it all, when I found rock bottom at the base of a stairwell, was not one of my own doing. It was literally the crossroads. I could choose to get up and move on, or I could go back to him. If I had gone back to him, I probably would have wound up dead at the hands of Michael’s unrelenting anger.
Maggie was supposed to be spending the night at Brayden’s that night. Only, she forgot her laptop in our third-floor apartment. As a result, Brayden, Ryder, some chick I didn’t know, and Maggie pulled up to see me lying on the concrete outside, with Michael yelling and kicking me.
At the time, I was only aware of Brayden picking me up. It wasn’t until later, when we were at the hospital, that Maggie told me Ryder stayed behind. He beat the shit out of Michael and made sure he would let me move on. Michael took him seriously, and I got the space and time I needed to get on my feet again.
At the hospital, I also found out I had a broken arm, two cracked ribs, and a twisted ankle. For being pushed down the stairs and beaten, the doctor said I was doing well and didn’t need to stay overnight, as long as I was watched for signs of a concussion.
When we got home, Ryder was pacing my apartment floor. He looked up, hugged me close, and whispered in my ear that I would never have to worry about Michael again, that it was time for me to truly live. Then he called me beautiful, inside and out, and walked out before I could say a word.
I never heard from Michael again, though I don’t know if he tried since I took Ryder’s words to heart.
The next day, Maggie and I moved, and I got a new phone number and a new car. I didn’t want Michael to find me or see me out somewhere.
I dug even deeper into my seclusion after that. Now, I sit here in my home, still unsure of how to pick up the pieces. Maggie is right; it’s time that I reclaim me.
***
Ryder
Crash.
The noise jolts me from my weld. Lifting my head and cutting off the torch, I lift the welding mask to hear the distinct sound of metal crunching. Rushing to the machine, I shut off the values and regulating screws before I can get into the main garage.
Brayden stands beside the hydraulic lift, looking at the truck bed that is clearly twisted from slipping off the lift.
“You okay?” I yell out to him as I run over.
“Yeah,” he replies, sounding subdued. For a man who just watched a truck half fall off a lift, he is out of it.
“Go home, Bray,” I command as I move to the lift switches and lower it to get the truck back evened out. It’s going to be hell to call the client and explain this, as will the extra hours I will have to work to fix the body.
“Nah, I’m good,” he answers. His delay tells me more than I need to know.
“Brayden, we’ve been busting ass lately. Go home. Get some sleep.”
“Rookie fucking mistake,” he mutters more to himself than me.
I focus my attention on the truck while he stands beside me, staring. “Bray, really, go home. I gotta put in a call to Andy Jenkins to come paint this one for us, and I gotta call Clyde and tell him what happened. Get some rest. We’ll get this fixed.”
He shakes his head. “I could’ve been standin’ under it, or you could’ve.”
“Yeah, but we weren’t. No one was hurt. Go home and sleep, man, or I’ll call Maggie to come get your ass.”
Brayden lifts his hands in surrender, and I nod before he takes off.
I will be working all night and tomorrow—hell, probably the rest of the week—just to get this one vehicle right for our client.
It’s not how I want to spend my time, but my business is everything to me, and I will put in whatever time, energy, and money necessary for my reputation to remain rock solid.