Claws & Crochet

Part 45

WARNER

I've been working on this bike for two hours, the practice normally meditative. But I can't get Zoey out of my mind.

The events of a few nights ago play on a loop in my head, an old black and white monster movie, jerky and poorly constructed. Like my decision making.

She's gone.

I fucked up my chance with the only woman who's ever made my wolf restless as the full moon. For the first time in a long time, the beast and I are in complete agreement.

We want Zoey Gunner.

Then an image stutters across my mind. The brave, enthusiastic woman of my dreams, staring at me with blank eyes. My teeth grind together at the memory of her complete shift in personality. Zoey shut down, as if she needed to protect herself.

From me.

She thinks I'm a monster.

She's not wrong. A portion of the town thinks the wolves are terrifying creatures to be placated so we don't fill the streets with blood.

Not that we ever would.

But we could.

Sometimes, I worry my wolf will wake and demand more control. That the animal in me will overwhelm the logic of my human half. That I'll do something to deserve fear.

A vibration fills my ears with a rumbling noise. It takes me a moment to realize I'm growling.

Just like a monster would.

I clear my throat, pushing the impulse down. Luckily, Harvey has the radio blaring hard core metal, so he didn't hear my slip. The guy knows about wolves, likes us even, but there still aren't many humans comfortable with being reminded.

I was naive to think Zoey would accept my truth as if I were merely showing her an ugly birthmark. A small blessing that she didn't run away screaming her head off.

And if I'm being honest with myself, I could've kept it from her.

If I had been firmer about her leaving, she might've gone.

Or I could've stayed in my human form and fought the lion off that way. Would've taken longer and been bloodier, but I'm strong and heal fast. If I had gone that route, I might be with her now, getting nursed back to health. Zoey would probably be babying me this very moment. Maybe kissing my bruises to make them feel better, while scolding me for being stupidly reckless.

Instead, I'm sitting here, alone, covered in grease, mourning the loss of her.

All because I wanted her to know. In that moment, the decision to reveal my secret had seemed easy. Certain the connection I could almost see between us, must mean something. That she wouldn't cringe from me but accept what I am with open arms and her excited smile.

Sometimes, I can be completely dense.

Also, sometimes, I hallucinate. Because there's no way that Zoey Gunner just walked into Harvey's shop. Especially not looking like that.

The woman I know wears sweatpants, maybe jeans, and paint-stained t-shirts or possibly a soft sweater.

Zoey Gunner does not wear dresses. Definitely not white ones that hug her waist and have trails of copper buttons down the front. The material sways around her thighs, showing off a set of legs meant to make a man fall to his knees and crawl behind her in the hopes of catching an ounce of her attention.

And so I know, for certain, this cannot be her.

It's impossible she'd come into this shop with her honeyed hair down, curling softly around her shoulders. One small section is pulled away from her face with a glittery clip.

This can't be her.

Because that would just be cruel.

But, the world is often cruel, which I know for a fact when, over the scent of motor oil, I finally pick up on that lovely tease of earthy maple-ness.

A loud clang reverberates around the shop, and I realize I dropped the wrench I was holding when my hands went slack.

The flesh and bone and temptation incarnate Zoey starts at the sound, her eyes finding mine.

"What the hell is wrong with you, boy?" Harvey rolls out from under the car whose oil he's been changing. "You throw my tools around, and I'm gonna kick your ass out of my shop."

"I'm sorry, sir." Zoey steps around the front end of the car, coming into Harvey's view. "That's my fault. I think I surprised him."

With a customer in the mix, the mechanic changes his scowl to a smile real fast.

"Well, hello there. I didn't hear you come in. How can I help you?" Harvey stands up, all six foot three of him. He's an intimidating figure, still sporting a good amount of muscle even in his early sixties.

But Zoey doesn't step back. She just tilts her head and smiles up at him.

The sight reminds me of that first night, her sitting in The Rabbit Hole, surrounded by bikers but not showing even the inclination toward fear. I'm just as fascinated with her now as I was then. If she came here to tell me to leave her alone, she's making the experience good and torturous.

Does she know I've been running the parameter of her property each night?

I needed to know she was safe. And that she hadn't packed up to leave.

"The fuel gauge in my truck is broken. Would you mind taking a look?"

Of course. She's not here for me. Zoey was probably just as shocked to find me in this shop as I was to see her walk into it.

"Sure ma'am. You parked out front?"

"Yes. Thank you." I expect her to lead him toward the door. Instead, she steps farther into the shop. Closer to me. "But the main reason I came to your garage was to talk to Warner. Would you mind if I took a moment to do so?"

Harvey's eyes go wide as he glances between the two of us. Luckily, he's not one to pry. "Sure. Give me your keys, and I'll see what I can find while you two . . . talk."

"That would be perfect." Zoey rummages in the bag hanging on her shoulder until a clinking of metal sounds out. She hands the keys over then strolls across the shop toward me. Harvey gives me a final incredulous stare before heading outside.

Then we're alone. And I experience one of the rare moments in my life where words don't come easy.

I should apologize.

But before I can figure out what words to say, Zoey takes over.