Mason looked down at the wrench in his hand, frowning. Why was he holding a wrench?

“Err, Mason?” Lily asked. He looked up to his apprentice, worry drawn across her face.

“Yeah?” His mind felt numb. Like it had shut down. It took him a good few seconds to notice Lily held a pair of windshield wipers in her hands.

“I don’t think we’ll need that,” she gently told him, looking at the tool he was holding.

He’d pulled out his go-to tool on instinct, even though it wasn’t needed.

“Why don’t I finish this up?” she offered. Mason nodded, trudging over to the customer sofa. They were nearly finished detailing the car for their latest customer. Mason usually took pride knowing which car belonged to which customer off the top of his head. Today he had no clue whatsoever.

He slumped onto the couch, the cushions sinking from the weight of his muscular body. Usually he sat with his back straight. Today he slid so far he almost expected the couch to swallow him whole.

He tried to sit up but somehow didn’t have the strength.

This is crazy. I’ve literally been through war zones.

Mason tried to motivate himself that way. He’d been a mechanic for the Marines and been in plenty of sticky situations. He liked to keep them locked away in his mind, trying his best not to think about them.

He knew he was lucky. His war wound was a back that loudly cracked — sometimes got sore in the cold. He knew guys who had come off a lot worse.

He had a job, now stable and on the rise. Not only a job, but he aslo ran his own business. With a fantastic apprentice, who so far had risen to every challenge she’d come across.

But he didn’t have Rhys. The one who’d brightened up his life. And even though the sun was beaming in through the big open metal doors, the days ahead felt all the darker.

He’d never had a proper adult relationship like that. Sure, the occasional fling or two when he was on leave with a nice lady. But he just figured all couples felt like this in the first few days. ‘The Honeymoon Phase’ — that was what they called it.

He couldn’t actually be missing Rhys this much, could he? His brain must be playing tricks on him.

He just needed to get Rhys out of his system. Work through Christmas, focus on his business in the New Year.

When he thought of Christmas, all he could see was him and Rhys, sitting around a tree in the corner of their apartment. Or cuddling each other on the sofa, the one Rhys used to sleep on, as Socket played with the wrapping paper. Ripping it apart while looking up at them with her big wide eyes.

Mason knew it was a bad idea as soon as he pulled out his phone, but before he knew it, he’d installed Instagram, set up a profile, and was looking up Rhys.

As he’d suspected, it was like Twitter but for pictures. Which was odd, since he knew you could upload pictures onto Twitter. Instagram must somehow be different.

After few tours of duty, at twenty-eight, Mason felt entirely out of touch with social media. He still didn’t have a clue what Snapchat was.

Mason pushed these thoughts aside as he delved into Instagram, quickly finding Rhys’s profile. He scrolled down, seeing pictures of Mason’s Body Shop after being given the now famous Rhys makeover. There were a lot of comments underneath, praising Rhys for his work.

He soon realized that when you scrolled down, you were looking at earlier pictures, heading backward in time. That was what he did for a few minutes. Lots of pictures of his made-over shop. As he scrolled down, he hit the heart symbol underneath some of the pics. Mason assumed this added the pic to a list of favorites or something of the like.

He next saw a few pics of the burger from Phoenix. Mason presumed the one Rhys was eating when he came home drunk that night.

There were also several tasty shots of the crimson red Impala, fresh out of storage.

He carried on, wondering what exactly Rhys had been up to the past few months.

After barely three photos, he was back at Thanksgiving. He recognized Rhys’s parents from the video chat, along with lots of other adult siblings, three on each side of the big table.

A couple photos down, he was at Halloween. Rhys had taken some pictures of his dorm room decorations but hadn’t dressed up for the night.

Barely two photos later, he was at Fourth of July fireworks.

And then suddenly back at Christmas last year, a family picture of Rhys, his five siblings, and two loving parents. All in big Christmas sweaters, each a different garish festive color. Rhys had pink on and was wearing it proudly.

It seemed to Mason that Rhys had put more photos up on Instagram of his time in Hidden Creek than he had of the whole past year.

He flipped up to the present, to find a newly uploaded pic. Rhys had just ‘checked in’ at a diner, posting a pic of the grubby outside.

Mason saw it was geo-tagged and double-checked the location. Rhys had barely just come out the other side of Houston. Mason would have to guess he was only a forty-minute drive away.

He knew his life had been better with Rhys in it. He had only just realized that it was probably the same for Rhys.

Mason put his phone away, looking up to see Lily had just finished with the windshield wipers. He got up from the couch, double-checking the schedule on his desk. An unusually quiet day, nothing scheduled until three pm. It was barely eleven thirty. They’d had a couple tourists drop in, but nothing Lily couldn’t handle.

Why had he only just realized now how much he needed Rhys in his life? How much he made everything better. How much he couldn’t go on without him.

Rhys had taken nearly three hours to make a forty-minute drive. Maybe that meant he felt the same?

Mason had to find out.

He stood up from the couch, looking at his tow truck, the one he’d met Rhys in.

Then at the Chevrolet Bel Air, still parked outside, the blue paint gleaming in the sun.

He was a Marine. And a Texan. It was time to go big or go home. Driving to declare his feelings for Rhys, in the car he rebuilt himself from scratch, felt big enough for him.

“Lily, I’ll be back in a couple hours,” Mason boldly told her. He figured at least ten minutes for Rhys’s food to get cooked. Maybe twenty minutes for him to eat — Mason had learned he liked to take his time and enjoy every bite. Then ten minutes hanging around before heading out.

If he was lucky, he’d get there just in time.

“Wait, where are you going?” she asked, nervously looking around the big garage.

“Lily.” Mason stopped, turning to face her directly. “From what I’ve seen the last couple days, y’all are more than capable to handle anything anyone comes in with. And if, if something major comes in, just give me a call. I should be heading back soon.”

“But where are you going?” she asked once more.

“To get back the man I love.” Mason paused, letting the words soak in. The word he’d been dancing around for the past week.

Love.

Mason loved Rhys and couldn’t be without him.

Time to let him know.

Lily grinned at Mason as he headed out the door. He lowered the top of the convertible, set up his GPS, and headed out.

He knew he could just call Rhys, but would he even want to pick up his call?

If Mason missed him at the diner, that was what he’d do. Call him and let him know. Chase him over half of Texas, half of America, if he had to.

They needed to talk, preferably in person. They still had a lot to figure out, anyway.

As Mason stopped at a red light, he realized Rhys might not feel the same way.

Back in Utah, he had a family support system, a stable job waiting for him.

All there was in Hidden Creek was Mason.

He could say no. Tell Mason he was crazy.

But Mason couldn’t live the rest of his life without trying.

“Flowers!” Mason suddenly bellowed, startling the couple waiting at the light in the car next to him.

Mason ignored their prying looks as he looked up the nearest flower shop on his smartphone.

He was surprised to see there were hardly any in the local area — just the one, in fact. Two minutes back the way he came.

That would add four minutes to his drive.

Mason prayed Rhys would be eating extra slowly today.

As soon as the light turned green, Mason made three rights and a left to get him going back the other way.

He screeched to a halt, pulling into the nearest empty parking spot at the side of the street.

Mason rushed in, trying to remember what Rhys had said his favorite flowers were.

“Orchids!” he suddenly declared, startling the young man behind the counter. Mason looked around to him. He looked oddly familiar, even though Mason knew he’d never been in this store before. “Do you have orchids?”

“You have a credit card that works this time?” the clerk asked incredulously.

Mason narrowed his eyes. It couldn’t be!

But when the clerk rubbed the sporadic tufts of hair under his chin, Mason knew it for sure.

It was the same clerk from the pet store.

“Did you… you work here now?” Mason wouldn’t be surprised if he’d been fired from his last job.

“It’s the twenty-first century. Lots of people have two jobs,” he curtly informed Mason.

“Could you help me find some orchids?” Mason asked.

“Over there.” The clerk gesticulated wildly to the other side of the shop.

“Where, sorry?” Mason had no clue where he meant.

“There!” the clerk replied, waving his hand around in what had to be the most useless way imaginable.

Mason headed down into the shop. Every second wasted on this idiot was a second spent away from Rhys.

He soon enough found the orchids, picking up a bouquet with purple and white flowers.

He half jogged back to the checkout, pulling his wallet out.

The clerk snatched them from Mason, scanning the bouquet of flowers.

“That’ll be thirty-six eighty-five,” he informed Mason.

Mason handed him two twenties.

“Keep the change.”

He bolted out the door before the clerk wasted any more of his time.

He lunged into the driver’s seat, flinging the orchids next to him, slapped his seat belt on, and pulled out from the street parking bay.

Mason was an experienced driver and of course checked his blind spot to make sure he wasn’t pulling into traffic that would hit him from behind.

He didn’t check the road ahead of him. Why would he?

As he pulled out onto the road, he glanced forward to see a neon-orange convertible barreling toward him, passing the traffic on the other side of the road — putting the car in Mason’s lane. Way faster than the forty-miles-an-hour limit.

Mason had less than a second to act as the car roared toward him.

He took his foot off the brake so his car would bounce back, taking some of the force to hopefully lessen the blow.

The neon-orange convertible smashed into his car.

The last thing Mason saw was the hood of his car being ripped open, the guts of his engine shredding apart as the convertible tore through them.

Then everything went black.