“Of course. Anything I can do to help. Do we know if anyone was hurt?” she asks, sending another slice of pain ripping through my body.
“Logan was inside,” Julianne whispers.
Emmy’s hand flies to her face, and her eyes immediately fill with tears. “No. That’s not possible. He couldn’t have been—”
“We’re not going to be able to tell for sure until the fire is out and the chief can walk through the structure,” Cody says.
We all know what he’s not saying. That the fire chief, Logan’s friend, has to look for a body to be sure.
My chest feels like it’s collapsing under a thousand-pound weight, and sobs rack my body.
Chapter 33
Logan
Fifteen minutes earlier
Today just hasn’t been my day. Seriously, sometimes I wonder how in the hell my employees manage to do a damned thing right when Rick can’t remember any of his shit when he leaves the shop.
Julianne’s words stay with me as I head back into the garage to grab a chamois to wipe down the Olds 442 one more time before Banner gets here. That’s when I see Rick’s wallet sticking out from the top of his toolbox, which he also forgot to close and lock up in his haste to leave.
I don’t blame him for being in a hurry. Both he and Jock have busted their asses working on this car and the other repair jobs we’ve had come in.
I owe Holly one hell of a thank-you for talking this place up to Boone, because this is going to change everything. Just goes to show that life really does revolve around who you know.
I could get pissed at that reality, or I can accept it. I choose the second. I may never be on Banner’s financial level, what with her inheritance, but at least I’m not some hick who looks like he’s just with her as a sugar mama. My pride wouldn’t allow it.
With the chamois and wallet in hand, I check the time. She said a few minutes, but I’ve learned that in Banner speak, that could be an hour. Might as well fire up the old girl and put her through her paces.
There’s nothing quite like the rumble of a big-block engine, and when I turn the key, I’m anticipating the vibrations that will roll through my body. Instead, all I get is a click.
Fuck. My stomach sinks.
I pull the hood release, hop out of the car, and go around to check. It only takes a few minutes before I realize what the problem is. Battery is still disconnected. I hook it back up and shut the hood.
Do not fuck with me, world. This needs to be perfect.
I hold my breath the second time I turn the key.
Thank God.
The rumble of the big block rolls through my body, and a sense of accomplishment comes along with it.
I did this.
After I shift into gear, I press down on the accelerator and let her roll out of the garage. Adrenaline dumps into my veins, and I decide to sayfuck itabout putting the door down. I’ll be back quick, and the nosy people of Gold Haven are enough of a security system for me.
I keep the growl of the exhaust low until I’m a quarter mile away from the Four Corners where the speed limit changes from thirty-five to fifty-five. Then I open her up.
My laugh is lost in the snarl of the engine as the speedometer climbs. I can’t wait to do this with Banner in the seat beside me.
Life is fucking good.
* * *
It took longer than I thought to drop off Rick’s wallet at the bowling alley. Every single person who was there for the Thursday-night bowling league came out to admire Boone Thrasher’s new beauty of a car.
If I had to make a bet, I’d say that more than one guy went back inside and started searching for his own project. They might not be able to afford my prices for the entire thing, but I think I just started a muscle-car revolution.