Feral

by Teagan Kade

  Gone.

  Just like that. The reality slams into me.

  I go to the register and grope around the clutter on the shelf below, finding an envelope and pulling it out.

  White envelope, heavy in my hand, my name scrawled across it in small, severe cursive.

  Slipping my thumb under the lip, I tear it open carefully. Two shop keys tumble into my hand, a small scrap of paper fluttering to the ground.

  I reach down and pick it up, turning it over to read.

  Stop by the shop when you can. I’ve cut you a paycheck and left it on the counter.

  —Mason

  That’s it?

  After everything I wrote, everything that passed between us, that’s all he says? I knew it was over, and I wasn’t really expecting a goodbye, but his note is so blunt. If I didn’t know better it would almost feel spiteful after the note I left for him. But I do know better. He wants to keep things tidy, professional, as if nothing happened and neither of us is hurting.

  I crumple the note, but I can’t bring myself to throw it in the trash. Slipping it into my apron, I go back to work. I could use the check, but it can wait ’til my shift is over. I’m in no hurry to see the shop empty, to relive the brief moments we shared there and feel the pain I’ve been trying to bury all over again.

  *

  The sky is darkening when I finally finish up my shift. Collecting my purse and the envelope with the keys Mason left for me, I head out towards the shop.

  My feet are heavy as I approach the dark building. My heart is in my throat as I unlock the door, remembering the first day I came in.

  It had been empty then too and I had to walk back to the garage. He was just the bulky figure of a man tapping his foot to some rock song, bent over the bench looking at catalogs.

  That big, broad frame, something about him, just felt like it filled the space. When he turned to look at me, a shiver of danger and excitement had crept up along my body in line with his icy blue gaze, his dimpled smile casting warmth on his angular, strong features.

  The bells on the door jingle, driving the memory out of my mind. I walk over to the counter and see another white envelope, no name this time.

  I rip it open, expecting the check and nothing else, but finding another note, this one on neat, crisp stationary.

  Jeanie,

  I know there’s a lot I should have done better, and I’m sorry I can’t be the kind of man you need. You were right. What’s between us is real but, for better or worse, I can’t be something I’m not, and what I am falls short of what you deserve.

  There are a few things I wanted to settle. You might not be a mechanic, but you’re an excellent manager. This place would have been a disaster if you hadn’t come in and set things in order. I know you said no one would hire you because of your lack of experience, so I have a proposition. Hire yourself.

  Enclosed in this envelope is a packet of paperwork that will transfer The Crank & Wrench into your name, if you want it. Find a mechanic. Make this space your own.

  There’s an address for you to send it to and I’ll handle everything, including transferring the business accounts into your name. I know it’s not much, but I trust you’ll make it amazing.

  As for the GTO, I promised you I’d finish it and I keep my promises. We never got to take that test ride together, but she runs like brand new. I wasn’t sure what to do with it, so I left it in the garage. Whenever you’re ready to take her home, she’s waiting for you.

  I know I’ve hurt you and I’d give just about anything to undo that. I promised I would protect you, though, and unfortunately, the only way I know how to do that now is to leave and hope you were wrong, that you can find a way to come back from this, because you deserve so much more.

  —Mason

  My eyes are stinging with unshed tears. Everything in me aches as I finish his note. A sharp pain cuts right to the core of me and I want so desperately to go back in time, to start over, without all the doubt, suspicion, and fear I clung to.

  I drag my fingers along the counter as I look around the dark shop, wishing so badly they were touching him. If I could only see him one more time, feel his arms around me, hear his deep rumbling voice in my ear, on my skin…

  If I close my eyes, it almost seems like he’s there. I can feel the heat of his body, the firm lines of his chest, touch his stubbled cheek, and in the daydream, I can tell him I was wrong, that he is different.

  But it’s not real. I’ll never get to say that. He’s left me with the shop but, touching as it is, right now it feels more like a lifetime’s worth of regret.

  I walk through the darkened store to the doorway into the shadowed, hollow garage. I pause to close my eyes, willing him to be there with every fiber in my body.

  I open my eyes, almost believing it might work, but he’s not there. What is there, however, unleashes all the tears I’ve been holding back.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  MASON

  PRESENT DAY

  “You’re out of your fucking mind. You know that?” Selena shakes her head at me, handing me a short stack of documents.

  She’s right, but I’m grinning like a fool anyway.

  “Maybe, but my mind feels clearer than it has in a very, very long time.”

  I rifle through the pages, checking the forms and signing where appropriate.

  It’s early afternoon and we’re in a curved booth at Pousse Café. She’s got her dirty Gibson in hand, but I have no need for Scotch today. So many nights we’ve spent here, bitching about clients, shitty cases, and one-night stands gone wrong… It’s the end of an era.

  “You know, you could just walk away. You don’t have to disbar yourself. It’s so permanent. Even if you passed the bar again, which, okay, maybe you could, but even if you do, no one is going to hire you. No one except maybe Legal Aid. You’re committing career fucking suicide, Mason.”

  I nod happily. “That was kind of the point. No more safety net, no more opportunity to get dragged back into this. Besides, chances are the Grahams would have come after me once the little prick’s trial ends anyway. I’m simply beating them to the punch, saving us all the time and hassle.”

  She looks exasperated. “Would it have killed you to enter the appropriate plea and then go on your righteous crusade?”

  “Yes… I think it just might have,” I say, honestly.

  The Grahams found someone else to withdraw the plea by the next morning, but it was never about them. Sure, I’d love to see that sniveling shit rot, but it wasn’t about them, it was about being able to look myself in the mirror again, getting my integrity back. It was about proving to myself there is a chance I really can be a better person.

  “Drama queen,” she says, rolling her eyes.

  “Make that a happy drama queen,” I say, signing the last page and flashing an easy grin.

  “I don’t see what’s so happy about signing away your livelihood,” she says, quickly draining her cocktail glass.

  “Lots of things,” I say cryptically.

  “Alright, big boy, I’ll take the bait. What’s next? You send this into the Bar Association, ruin your career, destroy your reputation, then what?”

  I take a deep breath, close my eyes and think of the drive ahead. “Fresh air.”

  “Fucking crazy…”

  I stand to leave. We say our goodbyes, but she stops short.

  “Oh shit, I almost forgot, I have something for you… and I don’t want any shit from your crazy ass on this,” she warns, before pulling out a vellum envelope from her sleek black leather suitcase.

  It’s cream with cherry blossoms printed on it and smells faintly sweet. My name is a golden embossed swirl of loops and curves.

  “What’s this?” I ask, confused by the flowery, feminine look.

  For what is possibly the first time in history, Selena Carter blushes. Two pink splotches debut on her angular cheeks.

  In a hushed voice she leans in and tells me, “It’s a wedd
ing invitation. Liza and I are getting hitched.”

  “Whoa...”

  “I know, I know, apparently this career has driven us both to the edge of sanity.”

  “Hey, I’m happy for you.”

  “Thanks. Funny part is, I’m the one who pushed for it. Liza wasn’t thinking that direction at all. Something about a good girl…”

  “Say no more.”

  We part ways. I go back to my car, boxes lining the back seat. Pulling up to the nearest drive-through post office, I open the glove compartment and grab the two manila envelopes inside, addresses and stamps already applied.

  I slip the disbarment paperwork into the first and seal it. Reaching into the backseat, I grab the red folder, the one whose content has haunted me all these years and slide it into the second envelope, the one addressed to C. VanMeter.

  They both drop in the mailbox, heavy with the burdens I’ve carried with me for so long.

  After I had divulged everything I knew to Madeline’s mother, she had teetered between rage and relief. There was no assurance of immunity. She might well come after me when she receives the pictures and my notarized affidavit, but it’s a risk I have to take.

  The only way forward for me is to let go of the secrets of the past and hope that making amends, doing what I can now to right the wrongs of my old life, is enough to earn her forgiveness.

  But she’s not the only one to whom I’m hoping to redeem myself.

  Heading out onto the open freeway, the car hums with the sound of Garth Brook’s voice, a song that played a hundred times in the garage while Jeanie hummed along in the shop.

  *

  Eight hours and one lead-footed drive later, I’m pulling into Silver Springs, quiet and lit with the soft, glowing light of the lampposts.

  Windows down, the warm night air streams in carrying the sound of crickets and whippoorwills. I canceled the lease on my bungalow, and the hotel in Bakersville held no appeal.

  I follow the one-ways, heading to Jefferson, back to the shop. I’ve still got a spare key. I’ll crash in the storage room and figure the rest out tomorrow.

  Turning the block, I glance down Lexington and see the light still streaming out of the diner. It’s 10:15—plenty of time to go in for a bite to eat.

  Jeanie might be there.

  For a moment, I hesitate, wondering if I should hold off and think through what I’ll say when I see her again.

  I park across the street, in front of the light post where I first kissed her. Fireflies are dancing in the air. When I look through the windows of the diner, I see her there, bending over a table, a sweet, warm smile on her face.

  I suck in air, but it’s doing me no good. Watching her move, brushing a stray hair out of her face, her lips working as she chats, everything about her devastates me.

  I can’t wait. I need to see her now. My feet are already carrying me across the street, desperation and need surging through my veins, her letter tucked in my jacket.

  I walk in and look for an open booth. The place is surprisingly busy for this late at night, but now I’m inside, I don’t see Jeanie. The tinkling sound of her laughter rings from within the kitchen and my chest tightens, forcing me to swallow a lump that is rapidly rising in my throat.

  Sitting at the cold linoleum of the table, my palms are sweaty, the odd fluttering in my stomach unsettling. I drop my head to my hands, searching my mind for the right things to say. I felt so confident, so assured as I drove, burning up the miles between us, but now I’m here I feel suddenly unsure.

  I look up at the sound of the kitchen door swinging open. She walks through, the emerald green of her eyes panning the room until they freeze, meeting my own. The smile melts off her face and for a minute I wonder if I’ve made a terrible mistake.

  How could you think she would ever trust you again?

  All the times I tried to convince her I wasn’t the kind of guy she should want come back to me like a slap in the face as she stares me down, not moving.

  She looks away and I can’t see her face. I consider getting up and leaving. Maybe she’s found a way to let go of what had flared to life between us, despite her insistence she couldn’t. I deserve as much, after everything. But still, something in me can’t help but hope.

  Suddenly, she’s turning back, striding to my table, her face carefully blank.

  “Welcome to Lexi’s. What can I get you?” she asks innocently.

  I decide to test the waters. “What’s your special tonight?”

  “Catfish po’boy with fries and house pickles,” she replies, hand on hip.

  “That any good?” I ask.

  Her eyes narrow, her soft lips press into a line, and she crosses her arms. I’m not sure if she’s holding back venom or a smile, but either way, it feels good to spar with her, to know I can still rankle her feathers.

  “It keeps people comin’ back,” she finally retorts.

  “Sounds like my kind of dinner then,” I say, looking her meaningfully in the eyes.

  The corner of her mouth lifts a little. She turns to take my order back, but I reach out and catch her forearm. The contact feels so good. I’m straining at attention beneath the table, wanting so desperately to touch her in other places, to see the passion in her eyes again.

  The smooth delicate skin on the inside of her arm prickles with goosebumps. She looks back at me, eyes wide but not pulling away.

  “You forgot to ask if I’m thirsty,” I say. I meant to sound cheeky, but instead I’m fighting to get the words out.

  “Are you?” she asks breathlessly.

  I let my gaze prowl over her body slowly, before I finally answer, my voice low, “Very.”

  She swallows, silent for a moment.

  And then, tugging her arm gently free, she quirks an eyebrow. “Well? You gonna tell me what you want to drink, or do I have to guess?”

  “Coffee—hot,” I say, smiling.

  She starts to smile back, a small hesitant smile. “Awfully late for coffee… Gonna keep you up all night.”

  “That’s the plan,” I say, and she walks back to the kitchen, putting the ticket in the window.

  She moves around, carrying out other orders, and chatting with other customers. I watch her intently, gaining me a few looks from the other diners, but I don’t care who sees me.

  Finally, the bell dings in the kitchen window. She walks up and grabs the steaming plate, heading towards me.

  Setting it down, she leans over me and whispers in my ear, “I get off at midnight, if you’re sticking around.”

  Lost in the sweet intoxication of her nearness, I reply quietly, “I’m back… for good.”

  This time the smile reaches all the way to her eyes. “I know.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  JEANIE

  I’m struggling to contain the giddy bubble that’s rising inside me. Watching the clock as I rush through my closing duties, I realize this feeling, this thrumming in my veins is hope.

  When I stepped out of the steaming kitchen and saw Mason there, sitting alone in the booth, I froze, sure he must be a figment of my own imagination, some torturous trick of a lonely mind. But it wasn’t a trick, and now my mind is racing wildly with possibility.

  The last guests have cleared out along with the grill cook and dishwasher. The kitchen is dark and it’s just me in the dimmed lights of the front of the house. Finishing the last of my nightly tasks, I lock up. As the door closes behind me, a thrill rushes over me.

  Turning around, I see him there, leaning against the lamppost at the base of the steps to the diner’s entrance. He’s so sexy in his clinging black t-shirt, showing off those arms I can’t wait to be wrapped up in. He straightens and we lock eyes as I descend towards him.

  The air around us is warm, humid, charged. My skin is prickling with awareness as I get closer to him.

  It takes every ounce of self-restraint I have not to jump at him, let him catch me in those big powerful arms and lose myself in his kiss.


  But there are things that need to be said first. If he’s here to stay, I want to do this right.

  “Before anything happens, I want to clear the air,” I say firmly.

  “Okay, that’s a good idea. I know you probably want an explanation,” he starts, but I hold up my finger.

  “Just listen, first. When you left, I tortured myself thinking about all the things I never got a chance to tell you. I spent so many nights dreaming about you, only to wake up and remember everything all over again. You have no idea how many times I fought sleep, because I didn’t want to have to face you again, knowing it wasn’t real.”

  A breeze rustles through and a lock of sandy hair drops onto his forehead, he looks even better here, now, standing before me in the flesh than he did in any of those dreams.

  “I wanted to blame you, I wanted to hate you, and I tried… so hard. But it just wouldn’t come, because, deep down, I knew it wasn’t just you. I pushed things too fast, I told you we would just practice and then I expected you to be totally open with me, to meet expectations that weren’t reasonable or fair. I set us up to fail because I was too afraid to be vulnerable, to be hurt again, and in the end, I hurt myself. I don’t want to do that again.”

  I’ve slowly been drawing closer to him, but I pause and he looks nervous. I take a deep breath and brace myself for the scary part. “I want to be open with you. I’ve spent a lot of my life hanging out on the sidelines, staying out of the fray, making things and people fit into the roles that felt safe for me. I don’t want to stand on the sidelines anymore. I want to dive in. Whatever it means, if it’s taking things slowly, if it means adjusting my expectations of what a relationship is supposed to look like, I don’t care. I just want to be with you.”

  I’m in front of him now and as the last words leave my lips he reaches out, putting his hands at my hips and pulling me into his form. Instinctively, I tilt my face up to him, desperate to kiss him.

  He puts his hand to my cheek, the weight of it heavenly against my tingling skin. His clear blue eyes look serious and he licks his lips before he speaks.