Dusk to Dawn

Chapter 4

We spent the rest of the evening up in his shop. He was finishing up on a truck whose parts came in late, and the owner would come get it the next day. So I hung out on a stool and flipped through TV channels while asking him about cars. Even though the summer officially ended a week ago, the air still feels hot, and Dusty sweated off his coveralls about an hour ago. He's got his work pants cinched to his slim hips and a simple t-shirt on, showcasing a litany of tattoos that cover every inch of exposed skin.

For someone who I thought was a crabby butt, Dusty never made me feel less than for asking all sorts of questions. What's the difference between a diesel and a regular car? What's a clutch? What was the hose thingy ma jig used for?Dusty answered all of them.

All this time spent with him made me feel bad for hating the guy for so long. It also made the knife in my chest from my earlier interaction with Ricky feel even more painful. I missed having people actually want me around. I confessed this to Dusty when the conversation lulled, and he closed the truck's hood.

"Just call him in the mornin' babe, he'll be alright - he's a big boy. Now let's get the fuck on, I'm bout to pass out."

I feel a silly giggle come up to my throat, and I'm mortified that Dusty is making me feel like a blushing schoolgirl when there was a sudden pounding on the bay door, the noise echoing throughout the rest of the workshop. Dusty freezes at the noise and slowly looks at the doors as the pounding starts again.

"Office now, Bambi." He doesn't spare another glance my way as his long legs eat up the distance to the door. He gets to the door and looks outside through the slats in the blinds. "God fucking dammit." I hear the muttered curse and feel his body's tension build up. I'm standing now, unsure what to do. I don't want to leave him alone if he needs help, but I don't want to overstep.

"What's wrong Dusty?" Dusty whips back quickly, and suddenly, he is right there, his body heat wrapping me up. His hand reaches out and tugs on my upper arms, forcing me to follow after him. I yelp and start telling him to back off. I had just finished telling him that I didn't like being treated like a child, and here he was, pushing me around like he was my Boss."I said to go to the office, Mona. No time to argue." Before I finish telling him off, he closes the door, and I can hear the bay door open a moment later.

I hear the engines of motorcycles start up, and their echo growls louder as they pull into the garage. I want to peek through the blinds in the door's window, but I don't want to be too obvious. So I gently lift the bottom one up, leaning over carefully, peering out to scope what I can see.

So far, just the bottom of the truck Dusty was working on. I hear a loud laugh and a deep voice muffled through the door. There sounds to be about 5 men, all with deep voices talking, and I don't hear Dusty's distinct lilt at all. I can listen to it much better as they step closer and the engines collectively shut off.

"You've been skittish there, Dusty. Where ya been, son? Haven't seen you at the clubhouse in a few weeks. You know you gotta report to the Boss at least every Friday." The man has a booming voice, and I hear the shuffle of boots on the floor.

"You know that's a load of crap, Smoke. You old geezers only come sniffin' around for drama. You ain't gonna find it here." I hear the men scoffing, and I listen to them step closer. I see the back of Dusty's boots step closer to the door. Like he is guarding the entrance. They sound like they are his friends. I don't know why I have to be hidden away. A sick niggling feeling started at the base of my throat - Dusty wouldn't be embarrassed by me, would he? Why else would he shove me in an office while his friends are here.

The anxiousness grows, and I feel sweaty as the room shrinks. It's like college all over again, the reminder of being quickly tossed aside for someone newer, with better social connections. The years of training myself to put myself out there more, that I deserve love and affection, it's all falling apart in these moments.

"What? Us? Want drama? Naaah - see, Ratchet here was just curious, you see. Who was that sweet thing you had hanging from your arms tonight?" Smoke's voice grows louder like he is super close. I can see Dusty shift his stance; his feet are wide apart now. I want him to hurry up so I can get out of this tiny closet of an office and just go home. "She isn't a sweet thing, so don't you worry about her none. Kay Smoke? Why don't yall go somewhere yall are wanted. I told you I needed time away for work, I don't see why you gotta come sniffing around."

"Touchy. Listen, Dusty. Them boys from Phoenix have been sniffing around, looking for ya. We can only hold them off for so long, get your shit in order soon, son. I don't know how long Prez will let this slide."

It gets quiet for a long time, and I'm still trying to process what is happening. Who are these men? What are they talking about? And why was Dusty so adamant about hiding me? I hear more muffled talking, like they are walking away now, and the sound of the engines and bay door closing follows. I don't want a second more and open the door and stomp out.I really don't care about his little conversation. It's not my business to pry into Dusty when I have a closet full of skeletons. But I still don't like being treated like a little girl. Why does every man in my life have to boss me around? The anger is bubbling out of me, and I force myself to take deep breaths as Dusty walks over to me slowly. My face feels hot, and my palms are getting clammy. I look over to the giant clock they have on the wall and see that it's well past midnight. We spent most of the night sitting and talking, and now it feels tainted almost.

Dusty doesn't say anything, though, and the scowl is back on his face, his head tipped back, looking down at me. His arms are crossed over his shoulders, and his stance is wide - like he is blocking me from grabbing my stuff and leaving him.

"You ready to go? I'm tired."

He looks confused, shuffles his feet a little, and readjusts the beanie on his head. There are a million questions I could be asking him right now, but the only one I want to ask is if he is going to walk me to my car. After a tense silence, he sighs and grabs my backpack for me. I glare at the hand holding it, hating that I love watching the tattoos on his forearms dance as his muscles clench. He fishes my keys from the front pocket and leads me out the door, locking up behind us. The walk to my car is short, and I don't even act shocked when Dusty climbs into the driver's side.

"What about your ride?" I ask, stepping into the passenger seat and buckling up. The engine revs up, and Dusty starts driving down the road, that pensive look still on his face.

"I got my truck at home, should be good." Huh. Dusty's lack of response, nor the sound of his usual pet names for me, left me with a sour taste in my mouth. And my anger quickly fades into sadness. This happens every time I start getting close to anyone.

I just nod and look out the window, staring at the stars. They seem so much brighter out here than in the city. Dusty drops me off at home and waits for me to walk into my front door before he turns to his house, saying nothing more than a "See you."I told myself I would get better at this anxiety regarding the other sex, but I couldn't stop it from keeping me up all night while I stared out my bedroom window. I don't know what those men said to Dusty, but now it feels like he is retracting his friendship. The loneliness of my life is swallowing me up again.