An ugly scrape marred the back of my knuckles. Okay, it might qualify as more than a scrape. If I had much sense, maybe I’d go get it looked at because it might need a stitch or two.

Instead, I prowled through the first aid kit that Eddie and Rick had helped me stock and pulled out something called a butterfly bandage. It took another couple of minutes of holding pressure to it before it stopped bleeding long enough to slap the bandage into place, but once it was done, it looked like it had managed to close it enough so that only a little blood seeped through. I covered that with a bigger bandage and went back to work on the truck that had appeared in my lot during the middle of the night.

I’d expected it.

It had come from Ringo, one of the guys I used to run with before I’d gone to prison. Of course, Ringo had been the one to suggest I go on the run that had landed me in prison.

Shit.

“Don’t think about that mess,” I told myself. Ten years stood between me and the stupid boy I’d been when I’d taken the job to run some drugs to Mexico via Texas. I’d gotten caught, arrested, and summarily sent to prison for possession with intent to sell. Since I’d had a record in New York, they hadn’t given me much of a chance, and I’d taken the deal rather than risk a heavier sentence.

After five years, they’d let me go, and I’d come back here, back home to New York.

I’d started working in a garage, avoiding that old life, but there were still reminders of it. Reminders in the form of trucks belonging to Ringo that kept showing up. Sometimes I wondered why I kept any kind of contact with those guys. Every time somebody like Ringo came around, I found myself thinking about how different my life might have been if I hadn’t done that run through Texas.

“What’s the matter, Kane? You forget how to handle a wrench?” came a lazy familiar drawl.

The sound of that voice made me smile, and I turned around, grinning at the tall, lean blond standing in the doorway. “Hey, you son of a bitch.”

Jake King came striding toward me, and the two of us met in the middle of the garage, greeting each other with a quick hug and a slap on the back.

Pulling back first, Jake pointed a finger at me. “You stood me up, you bastard. You were supposed to come by the house for New Years. You chicken out?”

“I sure as hell did,” I admitted honestly. “I don’t do champagnes and canapes.” I was almost positive I’d pronounced it wrong and watched as Jake shook his head, his grin widening. I didn’t take it personally. “I told you that when you called me to ask if I’d be coming over.”

“I know, I know. That’s why I asked Michelle if she minded if I had a guest over for dinner sometime this week. That way, you and I can ring in the new year the right way.” He winked at me. “With beer and a good action flick.”

“That sounds more like it.” I considered what I had on schedule the next day and figured I could come in an hour or so later in case the night ran late. Although Jake was no longer in his previous line of work, he still made his own hours, and it didn’t matter to him if he stayed up until one or two in the morning occasionally. Even though I was self-employed myself, garage owners who had hours like that were either shit-faced with exhaustion all the time, or they just didn’t sleep. “How is Michelle?”

Jake had been seeing this girl for close to a year now, although I hadn’t met her until late spring or early summer. She was a doll, no doubt about it, and she didn’t seem to mind that I was about as rough as they came. As far as she was concerned, friends of Jake’s were friends of hers.

“She’s fantastic.” Everything about him changed as he talked about her and I couldn’t deny a little bit of envy.

It wasn’t likely I’d ever end up finding somebody who accepted me the way Jake had with Michelle.

The two of us had both done time in prison, but Jake wasn’t rough around the edges like I was. Hell, I wasn’t rough around the edges. I was rough all over, and I knew it.

It turned out that Jake’s stint in prison had been all for nothing because he’d been framed. How he managed not to be bitter about it, I didn’t know, although Michelle probably had something to do with it. Maybe being able to go home to a woman with a summery smile who looked at him like he’d hung every star in the sky made all the difference in the world.

Shrugging off the melancholy, I gestured for him to join me as I got back to work on Ringo’s truck. “You got time? Have a seat.” I scanned him up and down, taking in the expensive sweater and jeans that had probably never seen a speck of grime on the threads and snorted. “If you weren’t dressed so pretty, I’d tell you to get your hands dirty. That’s assuming you remember how.”

“I’ve forgotten more about cars than you ever knew, dickhead,” Jake said. He looked the truck over and shook his head. “I thought you were trying to take in more imports and shit. This thing is a hunk of junk.”

“I know. It’s a job for a friend.”

His eyes slid to mine, and I knew he didn’t need any hints to figure out exactly what kind of friend Ringo was.

“You so sure it’s a good idea to keep any kind of contact with those…friends?” Jake asked after a moment.

“Let it go.” I dropped down onto the rolling stool I used while he grabbed a folding chair and joined me.

“Hey, I’m just being a friend. If you were in a car, heading straight for a ditch, I’d tell you to steer away from the ditch,” Jake pointed out. “This just seems like a bad idea.”

I bit back the smart-ass response that immediately jumped to my lips because he wasn’t entirely wrong. Sometimes, one of the guys brought me a vehicle that was in…questionable shape. I always figured if I didn’t know anything about it, I was free and clear, so I never asked, and I didn’t let them tell me anything either. But I doubted it was as simple as that, if I was being honest with myself.

“You’ve thought about it,” Jake said softly.

“Hell, all I’m doing is fixing up a banged-up truck,” I told him, irritated now.

“And how’d it get banged up? Looks like it hit something – another car, maybe?” Jake held up his hands and looked at me. “Hey, I ain’t trying to start anything. I got your back, always have.”

That was the truth. The two of us had been tight in the joint. That hadn’t changed, even though he’d gotten out a year before I had. The two of us had both ended up in New York City about the same time, and he’d helped me land a job at the garage where I’d worked up until I bought this place.

He’d left the garage before I had to pursue an, um, alternate line of work, and while I’d missed having him around regularly, I couldn’t blame him for not wanting to get up at the crack of dawn and listen to that old bastard who’d constantly ridden our asses. That was why I’d been dead set on getting my own place.

I’d done that, just a couple years ago.

Was I jeopardizing what I had because I just couldn’t sever that connection to a past that was better left in the past?

I didn’t know.

“You ever miss your old life?” I asked him, staring hard at the truck.

“What old life? I’ve had a couple by now.”

I cracked a grin and looked up at him. “The one you gave up for Michelle, I guess. You sure as hell can’t miss living behind bars, and it goes without saying you miss what you had with your mom and dad, although nothing will bring that back.”

His eyes took on a far-off look. Jake’s mother had been dead for years, and his father had disowned him. “Nah, man. I don’t miss prison, and you’re right. I’m not getting back that time before Mom died. I wish I could sometimes…wish I hadn’t been that stupid kid who’d gotten wasted at that party, but you can’t turn back the clock.” He scratched his chin. “Even if I could, I don’t think I would.”

“Why not?” I asked, curious. If I could go back and save my dad…

“Because the road I’ve been on led me to where I am, and I’m not giving up Michelle.” He shrugged. “Not for anything. So, to answer your original question…do I miss whoring? Not even a little.”

His blunt words weren’t any shock. He’d never tried to pretty up the occupations he’d chosen after he left the garage. He’d somehow slid into a life where women – beautiful, wealthy women – were happy to pay him for sex, and he’d gotten to where he was in serious demand for it, from what I could tell. There had been a time when the two of us barely had time to get together for more than a quick beer every few weeks, his fucking dance card had been so full.

“Ain’t that something,” I muttered, shaking my head. Bemused, I studied him, and he still had that goofy grin on his face. “You slept with beautiful, rich women for money and you don’t even miss it. You had the life.”

“Nah. That wasn’t the life.” Jake shook his head. “What I’ve got now? That’s the life.”

* * *

Jake surprised me by finding a pair of coveralls to slip into, and the two of us spent the afternoon getting that old, beat-up truck back into shape. Ringo wouldn’t like it, but Ringo didn’t have to know, and I knew if there was anybody I could trust to keep their mouth shut over something, it was Jake.

“So, I figure if I charge you my going rate…” Jake said as he stripped out of the coveralls, “you’ll be owing me from now until…hell, maybe next New Year’s Eve. Sound, about right?”

“Why don’t you suck my dick?” I suggested.

“Sorry, man. I don’t do that anymore. And I never took on guys.” He gave me a solemn look. “But I do know a few who do. Want their number?”

I threw a shop rag at him, and he dodged it with a laugh. “You want to go back to your room and shower?” he asked, looking me up and down. “You’re a fucking mess.”

I flipped him off on my way to turn off the open sign and make sure everything was locked up. The woman I employed part-time to help with the books and run payroll only came in the latter half of the week, and Bryce Tanner, my only full-time guy, worked from five in the morning until two in the afternoon, so for the past few hours, it had just been me.

To be honest, I preferred it that way, but my garage wouldn’t ever grow if I only took on the work I could handle on my own.

Besides, there was no way in hell I was going to handle contacting insurance companies and all those other headaches. That was what Sandra Parr had been hired for.

“Why don’t you come on back?” I told him. “You can watch TV while I clean up.”

He complied, ambling along next to me with a loose-hipped gait that made me think he must have been a cowboy in Texas, but he’d just been a kid, an all-around jock who’d been everybody’s best friend up until he’d made a stupid mistake. He’d paid for it and then some. But hell, it was amazing how he’d turned his life around.

While he kicked back on my old, beat-up couch, I retreated into the tiny bathroom to scrub off the dirt. As I did that, I mentally tried to figure out when I’d done laundry last and what I had to wear that wasn’t just grease-streaked blue jeans and beat-up old band shirts or graphic T’s with rude suggestions on them.

* * *

Just over an hour later, we stepped through the brightly lit, oversized loft apartment where Jake now lived with Michelle. It was more than twice the size of the apartment where my mom lived with Austen, and everything about it screamed class and money. Just like the sweet lady who lived there with one of my best friends.

But as he called out for Michelle, there wasn’t any answer.

“She must have gone out,” Jake said, tossing his keys down on the small wooden table that looked like it belonged in another century – and not the 1900s.

He gestured for me to follow him into the kitchen. “Come on. I’ll go ahead and start dinner since she’s not here. We always eat around seven, so she’ll be here soon.” He frowned and pulled out his phone to check it. “She hasn’t texted me so she’s probably just out shopping.” He rolled his eyes. “She’s falling in love with shopping.”

I chuckled. “Aren’t all women in love with it?”

“She didn’t use to be.” He shrugged and went over to the sink to wash his hands. “She plans the week out when it comes to food. Today’s supposed to be pasta. That okay with you?”

“Any food I don’t have to cook is fine with me,” I answered. This was turning out to be a good week. Two home-cooked meals that I didn’t have to go to the trouble of cooking.

Not that I had much ability in the kitchen other than nuking a pizza or making macaroni and cheese.

I’d just managed to pull up a stool to the kitchen island where Jake had put some water on to boil when the door to the apartment opened.

Michelle’s voice rang out, and a grin split my buddy’s face. “She’s here.”

“Is that a fact?” I responded with a straight face as he cut around the island to head for the living room.

I got up to follow him but stopped dead.

Michelle wasn’t alone.

And the petite woman with flame-red hair standing next to her?

It was the drop-dead gorgeous woman I’d kissed on New Year’s Eve.