Page 1 of Don’t Look Back

PART ONE

THANK YOU

“Let gratitude be the pillow upon which you kneel to say your nightly prayer. And let faith be the bride you build to overcome evil and welcome good.”

- Maya Angelou

CHAPTER ONE

Seriously? You’re doing this now?

Can’t we meet after work and talk?

No, JJ. I’m sorry. It’s over

“Genie!”

Startled, I nearly dropped my phone. It was probably for the best, considering I was in the midst of typing a lengthy—and nasty—response to my girlfriend.

Ex-girlfriend.

I cursed my best friend. Turns out my hiding spot wasn’t so hidden. I deleted the entire message and spun around, taking a deep breath to steady my heart. Charlotte—Charlie for short—was doubled over with laughter, bracing herself with her hands on her knees. Not only had we been close since we were children, she was the only other person my dad trusted in the shop. With long blonde hair and pale gray eyes, we were often mistaken for siblings. Most times, I didn’t mind being her unofficial little brother. In that moment, however, I was less than amused.

“Very funny,” I mumbled, pocketing my phone.

“What’s got you so skittish?”

I ignored the question. “Did you need something?”

Straightening up, Charlie brushed tears from her eyes. “Yeah, can you do an oil change for me? It’ll let me finish up my tire rotation and we can both get out of here on time.”

“Sure.”

She tossed me the keys in her hand. “The gray Honda out front.”

“You got it.”

Charlie returned to the garage and I leaned against the wall. The oil change could wait a couple minutes. I needed to catch my breath. My phone all but burned a hole in my pocket. With every ounce of energy I had in my body, I willed my phone to go off and for it to be her.

I wanted her to take it back, to say that it was some fucked up joke or that her best friend made her do it

God, anything but the truth.

Seconds turned into minutes with nothing but the drum of my fingers against my knee—and Charlie using some tool that I was tempted to drive into her skull.

Deciding against homicide as a form of entertainment, I pushed off the wall in search of the car I needed. Almost on instinct, I let the seat back. Standing at six-foot-four, it was part of my daily routine. I often felt sorry for the people that had to readjust their cars after I’d been in them.

I’d been working in the shop since I could walk, and was doing oil changes before I was even old enough to drive myself. They were second nature to me now. I blew through the service, and Charlie was lowering the lift on hers as I finished.

“Who does this car belong to?”

“Quiet kid, glasses, orange shirt. I didn’t get his name, but he should be the only one waiting.”

I let myself into the office, pausing for a moment to enjoy the blast of air from the vent. It was a nice change from the sticky summer heat I’d been working in all day. I was more than ready to get home to take a cool shower.

As I stepped up to the counter, only one person sat in the waiting room. He stared down at his phone, but looked up when the door shut. I held up the keys and asked, “Gray Honda?”

The guy stepped up to the counter, pocketing his phone and withdrawing his wallet. I handed the keys over, typing the services into the invoice.