Loner: An Enemies-to-Lovers Standalone Romance

by Harloe Rae

  My dad points a blunt finger in my direction. “I sure as shit wasn’t looking for your opinion when I drove all the way to this sinkhole. You’re going nowhere fast, Crawford.”

  A pit opens up in my gut, churning until acid burns my tongue. His words hit a bit too hard. “Because you’re a prime example of how to be? Stay at the office more nights than not. Never bothering to be present except for barking demands. It’s no wonder mom left you.”

  His waxy skin explodes with a mottled red hue, exposing his rage with bursting capillaries. “Take a look in the fucking mirror, Crawford.”

  “I’ve come to terms with my reflection. Not sure I can say the same for you.”

  “Well, go fucking figure. Turning this back on me.”

  I pat my chest. “Learned from the best, pops.”

  A muscle twitches in his jaw. “We’re nothing alike. You’ve always been alone, son. No one wants to be around you. That’s why you built this tin shed on the edge of town.”

  I stride backward, more than done with this conversation. “Thanks for the trip down memory lane. It’s much appreciated.”

  My father begins following me. “This isn’t over.”

  I grip onto the door leading to my office. The metal creaks under my unforgiving hold. “It most certainly is. Always a pleasure catching up with you, Dad. Feel free to fuck off and show yourself out.”

  The resounding bang of the metal barrier now separating us is the most gratifying farewell this moment can offer.

  Healing Hug #4: A saving grace reaching forward in the darkest moments.

  A smooth beat croons through the speakers, singing about finding love after all else is lost. I tap my foot on the floorboard while humming along to the swoony tune. The chorus belts out a line about giving him a second glance. I almost roll my eyes at the irony. But hell, it’s a catchy song. Maybe Josey’s outrageous suggestion isn’t that farfetched.

  Before I can give those thoughts more air time, a deafening pop bursts my serene bubble. The vehicle jolts and swerves at a sharp diagonal to the left. A yelp trips off my lips as warning sensors begin beeping at me. I clutch onto the wheel with a shaky grip, fighting to regain control while veering back into my lane. Thankfully, no one else is on the road. A band of bass drums boom against my ribcage, the potential of full-blown panic looming near.

  “What’s wrong, Mama?”

  I swallow down a silent scream, smoothing my features for Millie’s sake. “Not sure, sweetie. Probably a flat tire.”

  As if on cue, the slap of loose rubber echoes against the asphalt. Burning tar stings my nostrils, providing me with another alert I didn’t need. This can’t be happening. But it most definitely is.

  Dammit. Shit. Fuck.

  I bite back the string of curses. This is what I get for letting men enter my mind. While attempting to maintain some level of finesse, I slowly pull over onto the shoulder. My car bumps across the gravel, rocking to a stop. I swear the old sedan moans with relief. There’s no denying the uneven tilt, favoring the front passenger side. After switching on the flashers, I bump my head against the seat and groan.

  “Are we stuck?” Millie’s voice has a quivering edge that rips at my crumbling facade.

  I peer at my daughter through the rearview mirror. With great effort, I muster a wobbly smile. “We’ll be okay, baby girl.”

  “Is the car broken?”

  “Only a little ouch.”

  Her head tilts to the side. “But a Band-Aid won’t fit.”

  I laugh. “You’re right about that. Good observation.”

  “Who’s gonna save us?” Her gaze is focused out the window. Endless Wyoming prairie land expands in each direction. The concern in her voice might be warranted, but I’m not ready to wave a white flag.

  “We don’t need rescuing, Mills. There’s a spare in the trunk.” Fingers freaking crossed. “Just sit tight and I’ll get the supplies. Then you can help me, okay?”

  Her lips twist to the side as she studies my reflection. “I guess so.”

  “Girl power, right? We can handle this on our own.” And if not, I’ll call a tow truck.

  Millie doesn’t look convinced, not that I blame her. As I shove open my door, a whoosh of hot, dry air greets me. I shiver, my skin prickling from the shock. It’s still May, but the temperature is more suitable for the peak summer season. At least the car didn’t crap out completely, so Millie can relax comfortably in the air conditioning.

  After rounding the hood, I get a look at the damage. The tire is nearly shredded. There’s no way we’re going anywhere without changing it out. I slump against the bumper, wishing my dad was still around to berate me for not listening to his lessons on fixing a flat. The thought sends throbbing splinters through my chest. But now isn’t the time for wallowing.

  The afternoon sun is punishing, beating down on me with unfiltered rays. Beads of sweat are already forming at my nape. More trickle down my spine, causing the fabric of my tank to cling tighter. Getting this task over with quickly will benefit all parties involved. Unfortunately, my knowledge of emergency equipment is sparse. I’m aware of the spare hidden between the rear wheels. Everything else I need should be stashed somewhere in the back. I pop open the trunk and get digging. The rear compartment, where I’m certain a jack and repair kit are stored, is empty. My stomach drops harder than a bag of bricks. This is my luck, of course.

  I give myself a moment to have a mini-temper tantrum. After repeating every expletive twice, I comb through my hair and suck in a deep breath. The heat takes away most of the comforting cleanse, but I don’t have the means to be picky.

  While considering my options, a list of regrets begins to build. At the very top is my refusal to splurge on roadside assistance. Coming in a really close second place is not checking to make sure the necessary tools are available. I mean, seriously. Of all the foolish mistakes, this one earns a blue ribbon. I’ll never live this failure down once Josey gets wind of it.

  I stride to Millie’s door and knock on the glass. She lowers the window, squinting at the bright light streaming in. Her thick lashes lower, shielding her eyes from the sun.

  “Hey, pretty lady.” I boop her chin, and she giggles.

  “Hi, Mama. Can we leave now?” I have to lean closer to catch her whispered words. My sweet child. She’s so quiet and meek.

  “Almost. I have to find someone to help us. Hopefully it won’t be much longer.” I won’t admit defeat, but we do need assistance.

  “All right,” she murmurs.

  “Are you doing okay?”

  Millie nods. “Uh-huh.”

  “Do you need anything?” Not that I can offer much.

  She shakes her head. Even though it’s hotter than a jalapeño mating with a chili pepper, she remains buckled and proper in the backseat. I can only assume she’s comfortable with the cool air blasting on high. Either that or she doesn’t want to be a bother. A pinch twists in my chest that it could be the latter.

  “Don’t worry, sweetie. We’ll be home soon.”

  Her chest rises and falls with a heavy breath. “M’kay, Mama.”

  I drop a loud smooch on her smooth cheek. “Love you, kiddo.”

  She wrinkles her nose, wiping away the evidence of my kiss. “Love you, too.”

  After she’s tucked back inside, I lean against my closed door and do a quick search for nearby mechanics. My thumb is poised over the best option, but a distant humming makes me pause. I peer into the distance toward the fast-approaching rumble of an engine. The sound of roaring pipes is getting louder by the second. I straighten and prepare to flag the driver down. Before I can lift my arm, a gleaming motorcycle pulls over in front of us.

  The rider whips off his helmet in a fluid motion. Inky, midnight hair catches the sun, matching the shiny paint of his bike. Well, well. Looks like a dashing knight has arrived to save the day. My pulse kicks up another notch. So much for my girl power speech. This guy can swoop in and save my distressed butt any day.


  He dismounts his motorcycle, the shocks giving a pleasant bounce at the loss of his weight. His shoulders are broad, with a wide chest to match. Even through his shirt, I can tell he’s not hurting in the muscle department.

  When he turns toward me, the ground beneath my feet tips, and I nearly stumble. My belly flips and twirls, landing in a curtsy. I fan my face to chase off the flames. This cloying heat isn’t doing me any favors. But there’s no way this guy is hot enough to give me heart palpitations. Those ridiculous flutters have been dead since the aftermath with Millie’s sperm donor. I’ve never been much for denying the obvious, though.

  The stranger’s outward appearance is more than appealing, but his scowl is enough to cool my feverish mood. The expression he’s shooting at me vibrates animosity. Geesh, he needs to take it down a notch or ten. I don’t focus on his demeanor for long as he stalks toward me. The rest of him is too distracting.

  His hair is on the longish side, shaggy ends of black strands brushing the lobes of his ears. It’s difficult to tell if the length is due to not giving a shit or trying to fit the biker vibe. Most likely the former, based on everything else he’s oozing.

  The rest of his features are also dark, popping against his tan complexion. Thick slashes of ebony over burnt hazel eyes. A thick dusting of stubble covers his square jaw. I imagine the rasp that coarse scruff leaves behind is positively decadent. He’s quite mesmerizing, and I’m definitely staring.

  My thighs clench beyond my control. I’m suddenly very aware of how long my so-called cobwebs have been collecting. That must be the reason for my extreme reaction. Josey put these wild ideas in my mind. She’s going to get more than an earful from me once I manage to get through this spectacle.

  I shuffle forward to meet him between our vehicles. Motor oil, sweat, musk, and gasoline stick to him like a second skin. He smells like a bad boy wrapped in a double dose of trouble and danger. Instinct and attraction have failed me enough that I know to keep my distance.

  He gives my car an assessing glance. “Got a flat?”

  I sigh at the grizzly grate of his voice. Good grief. “Yeah.”

  “How about the tools to fix it?”

  “That’s a negative.” I tack on a smile to lighten the static zapping between us. If anything, the electric charge cranks higher. He makes no show of interest one way or another. Am I alone in these feelings?

  He crosses his arms, biceps flexing with the shift. Is that for my benefit? “Did you call someone?”

  “Not yet.” I spy the familiar style of his shirt. “Are you a mechanic?”

  “Yeah.”

  I wait for him to add more. He doesn’t. Cool. “At a shop in town?”

  “I own it.”

  “Would I know the place?”

  He scoffs. “Doubt it.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I don’t do cars.”

  I blink at him. “Excuse me?”

  “Bikes only.”

  I give him a slow once-over, trying not to judge. There’s no harm in having a bit of fun. “As in bicycles?”

  His expression turns more frosty. “Motorcycles.”

  A grin curves my lips. “Ah, gotcha. Do you have a name?”

  “Sure do.”

  What is it with this guy? Calling him resistant is being generous. “Care to share?”

  “Not really.”

  “And why is that? Introductions are polite.”

  “Never been known for my manners.”

  “Well, I’m Keegan.” I offer him a hand to shake.

  He just stares at my open palm, letting another grunt loose.

  Stomping my foot feels like an appropriate reaction to his childish behavior. “Oh my Lord. Tell me your name.”

  “What’s it matter?”

  “Because.”

  He rakes through his hair. “Crawford. Most call me Ford.”

  I roll the word on my tongue. It fits the package, and I appraise him under a new scope. “Like the truck?”

  “No, like short for Crawford.”

  A sting sizzles up my neck. “Sorry I asked.”

  “Likewise.”

  I wait a beat, for what I’m not entirely sure. Maybe his friendly alter ego will show up. “Well, thanks for stopping. Can you lend a hand?”

  “Maybe.”

  It’s becoming quite clear calling a local garage might be faster. I reach into my pocket, ready to continue where I left off.

  A shadow looms over my screen. “In a hurry?”

  I peek up at Crawford from under my lashes. “Are you trying to keep me around?”

  His laugh is drier than the grasslands in July. “Hardly.”

  Crawford’s special brand of surliness is so heavy that a fog descends around us. I’m well aware he’s trying to repel me with his nasty ass attitude. This man is full to the top with piss and vinegar. Lucky for me, I’m fluent in decoding the asshole dialect. Kill ’em with kindness? Been there, definitely done that. I fling some loose hair over my shoulder and offer him a beaming smile. “If I didn’t know better, I’d assume you’re putting up a front to chase me off. But,” I add with a saucy wink, “your type is more common than ketchup on the dinner table. Don’t worry about me falling for you, Ford. I’ve had enough bullshit in my life to open a buffet, but the all-you-can-eat line isn’t for me.”

  His hazel eyes roll to the dusty ground. “You done yapping? I got places to be.”

  If steam could physically billow out of my ears, I’d resemble a chimney. Instead, I give him the narrowest glare on this side of town. “If my daughter wasn’t with me, you’d be on the receiving end of a blue streak so wide we’d never find our way out.”

  He sobers at that. “You got a kid?”

  “Yep.”

  Crawford scrubs the back of his neck. “Shit, I shouldn’t have been so crass.”

  I slap a palm to my chest. “Because I’m a mother?”

  But he’s not listening. His gaze is locked at a point over my shoulder. I follow his line of focus, finding Millie hanging out of her window. She’s staring, her green eyes blown open wide. I spin around, striding toward her.

  “What’s wrong, baby girl?”

  A crinkle forms between her brows. “Nothing. Who’s that man?”

  I hitch a thumb at Crawford. “He’s going to fix the flat tire so we can leave.”

  Millie quietly watches him for a moment. Her button nose twitches, as if smelling the overpowering stench of wasted chemistry and bubbling aggravation. “Okay, Mama.”

  And with that she retreats back inside, the soft buzz of the window closing following behind. With a smile, I return to my position in front of Crawford. I find myself waiting for his reaction, once again. He doesn’t give me more than his undivided concentration.

  “That’s Millie. She was just checking on our progress.” I scratch at my arm, the sweat drying into an uncomfortable layer.

  He just studies me. I almost squirm under his intense scrutiny.

  “Okay, then. You wouldn’t happen to have a, um…” I make a circular motion with my finger. The term I’m looking for has escaped me. Heat infuses my cheeks as I continue gesturing. “Uh, that one tool.”

  A single brow quirks. “Tire iron?”

  I snap my fingers. “Yes, a tire iron.”

  “I don’t.”

  A fresh round of choice words flood my brain. I tip my face up, glaring at the cloudless sky. So much wasted effort. Why is this happening to me?

  Crawford grunts, probably enjoying my pity party for one. “A wrench will work.”

  “Well, do you have one of those?”

  “You bet.”

  Before I can ask, he’s walking away. He grabs a few things from a set of bags hanging off his bike. I watch with a slack jaw as he gets to work without another word. A few measured cranks and precise twists are all it takes. He’s efficient, this one. It takes Crawford less than five minutes to swap the tires and get his tools packed up. My brain finally catches up, and I gape a
t his retreating form.

  Wait, that’s it?

  I continue standing in one place, tension coating my limbs. “All right, well, uh, thanks?”

  “Don’t mention it.” After a sharp jerk of his chin, he slips on his helmet and straddles the bike. His motorcycle roars to life with a swift flick of his wrist. In the next moment, he speeds off and disappears from sight.

  A lingering cloud of dust is all that remains. I could almost convince myself this entire ordeal was the product of my mind after suffering from heatstroke. Almost. The thrumming in my veins speaks the truth. But Crawford gave me plenty of his own.

  That dark knight isn’t interested in this jaded damsel.

  Healing Hug #5: For a pillar of another’s strength waging against the storm.

  Once again, I’m surrounded by green. The seemingly simple shade has been chasing me for weeks. My only reprieve from fantasies of a certain emerald hue is the muted palette of Iron Throttle. But remaining trapped inside of those concrete walls nonstop is a punishment I refuse to endure. That is precisely why this dose of rustic escape is very much necessary, and on purpose.

  I kick at a few stray pebbles littering the trail. Vibrant shades of glittering gold and green bathe the landscape. Sunlight filters through the trees overhead, casting a sparkling glow across the dirt floor. The woods surrounding my property are dense and lush. The natural protection is another perk I appreciate. Patch couldn’t agree more. The isolated area allows her to run off leash, wreaking havoc on any wildlife who dare cross into her territory.

  A bush shakes beside us, and Patch is immediately on the prowl. She takes off at a dead run, lacking her usual stealth. Her stark white fur is a streak of lightning across the shadows. It’s clear she’s tired of being outsmarted by the smaller and faster critters. Squirrels and rabbits have been dodging her efforts thus far. If she’s lucky, there’s a turkey playing possum, and this will be her massive payday.

  I don’t bother following her erratic movements. Patch will either return with a reward, or get bored and prepare to try again. I allow the quiet to wash over me, a rare calm cooling the thunder in my pulse. Nature gives me a peace I can find nowhere else. How my father and brother could prefer city living is beyond any conceivable thought. Lofty pines and aspens claim this land, their presence more stable than any person who has crossed this path. Flowers and blooms of all colors dot the ground. The bright bouquets decorate the already stunning backdrop. This space can turn the hardest man into a damn poet. I release a loud snort at the thought. Birds flap in the distance, disturbed by my intrusion. The punch of sound is too intense for this scenic serenity.