Dean's PoV
Whenever I get with someone, I make sure they know my one rule: it's one night, and one night only. If they can't get that rule across their head, then I drop them and they can figure out what just happened to them on their own. I don't do cuddly and snuggly relationships, I don't do long term. The "longest term" relationship I was in was when I got snowed in at one girl's house, and we made out the entire day until someone dug us out.
A lot of the guys at the shop have adopted this policy as well. On Friday nights, all five of us head down to the local bar, and make a bet between us all to see who's gonna get laid that night. Most of the time they put their money on either me or my buddy Seth, but sometimes a girl walks over and she'll surprise us by picking up John, Stephen, or Barry. Not that they're bad looking guys, but they aren't as open as Seth and I, and they do that whole "committed" thing.
For example, last Friday night, a girl walks over. Smoking hot. She makes our way to the table, and John just gave me a nod like she's coming for you. We all turned, except for Barry. For whatever reason, the guy, poor kid, was flustered as all get out and refused to make eye contact with her. Now this girl, she was a wolf. Poor Barry never stood a chance against her, so when she sunk her claws into him, he had no escaping. And off that poor kid went; he'd fallen for the she-wolf.
My brother, Sammy, he's different than I am. We're polar opposites. While I've never done the whole committed thing, going back to the snow girl, Sammy's got Jessica. She's beautiful, may I tell you. Sammy's lucky, and I'm happy for him. We don't talk as much anymore though, our paths don't really cross even though he's just one town over. He's got his group of friends, and I've got mine. Plus, I'd bring down his reputation. He's got his smart friends, and I'd look fairly stupid around them, and I couldn't do that to Sam.
Growing up, we had a fairly happy home. That is, until dad died. He went to war when I was 10, came home once when I was 11, and I never saw the man again. I remember coming home that day after school, Sammy trailing behind me, whistling some song I didn't recognize. The sun was shining, the grass was green; summer vacation was in a week, and I was thrilled. Dad was coming home in two weeks, after all.
But when I walked into the house, something didn't feel right. I didn't know why, everything was just as it always was. Sammy and I kick off our shoes, hung up our jackets, and put our book bags on the little hooks by the door. Sam went into the kitchen to grab a knife, but I went looking for mom. She wasn't in the living room, she wasn't in any of the bathrooms, nor was she in mine or Sammy's bedroom cleaning. But then I realized something: her bedroom door was closed, and mom never closed her door except for at night time. It was hard to open, and she always complained it was too much to deal with when you had either a laundry basket in your arms or your hands were full. So I twisted the door knob, jerked it up, and then shouldered it a couple times before it opened, scratching the floor as it went.
There laid mom on her bed, clutching hers and dads wedding photo, crying silently. I knew enough about death at that point to know what had happened. In that moment, I had a choice: break down in front of mom, or be there for her. I chose the second option, walked over to the end, and sat next to mom. She didn't even look up, didn't acknowledge my presence. That's when I really knew, because mom always said "Hey there sunshine," when she first saw me when I came home from school. This time, she didn't say anything. She only cried. So I sat there, put her hair out of her face, and petted her head.
"It's okay mom," I'd said, and she looked up at me. Her blue green eyes held no light, no spark they always did. They were dull, dark, sad. "I'll take care of you."
After that, I grew up as Sam's caretaker. I made his lunches every morning for almost a year after dad died, when mom was still too heartbroken to even consider getting out of bed. I helped him after school with his homework, even if it meant I never got my own done. If anyone ever gave him trouble at school, I made sure they knew who his big brother was before they ever tried anything again. He was my little brother, and I was his protector.
"Dean, man, are you going to help us out or stare off into space?" Seth's voice breaks through my wall of thoughts. I shake my head and smile, rolling my eyes.
"I'm fine, thanks," I jeer, motioning to my comfy spot on the beat up couch at the back of the shop. Seth glares at me.
"Shut up and get over here!" John barks, everyone else carrying in heavy boxes of parts. I chuckle and stand up with a sigh, walking over and effortlessly picking up one of the boxes. Barry looks at me in disbelief, shaking his head.
"Unbelievable," He whispers, and Stephen gives him a pointed look.
"Close your mouth I boy, you'll catch flies," He states, and my head flies back as I laugh, setting the box down. When I open my eyes, I find myself staring at the feet of someone, obviously not one of the guy's at the shop based off of the heeled black boots. I stand up, eyes never drifting from the girl's body. I'm slightly taken aback though when I see her impatient face, her hands on her hips, and her foot tapping.
I smile at her, but she doesn't look amused.
"Can I help you?" I ask, and she huffs, brushing a piece of coffee brown hair from her slight pale face.
"Can I use your tools? There's something in my carburetor that's jingling and it's driving me crazy, so I've got to tighten whatever it is and my tools are at my house," She explains hastily. I hold up one finger, and turn my body a bit to look at Seth.
"Hey Seth?" I call back, and he looks back, stopping in his tracks when he sees the girl.
"Uh, yeah?" He replies, eyes not falling from the girl. I roll my eyes. Smooth like crunchy peanut butter.
"Can this girl..." I drift off, turning to her, and asking for her name.
"Madelyn," She sighs impatiently, and I turn back to Seth.
"Madelyn, use our tools? She's got a loose bolt or something her carburetor, and she needs to tighten it," I explain, and he nods, walking forward, setting the box on top of my box and looking Madelyn up and down with a small smirk. Madelyn glares back at him, which causes him to step back again, pursing his lips and stiffly walking back to the truck to keep unloading boxes.
I turn back to her with a low chuckle, and notice she doesn't look nearly as impressed. I cough and clear my throat, setting my face into a serious tone, pointing towards where the tools are.
"Let me show you where they are," I suggest, and she nods.
Once she has everything she needs, she walks over to her car. I let out a long whistle as I stare into the windshield of a navy blue, beautiful 1967 Pontiac GTO. I step forward to put a hand on the hood, and Madelyn shoots me a harsh glare.
"You touch her, you die," She snarls, and I step back, hands raised in surrender.
She pops the hood, and sure enough, she knows her stuff. She's able to navigate her way through the car, unlike how I thought she would. I barely focus on the view of the car, though, as my eyes focus on something else as she bends over.
"Aren't there boxes you should be unloading?" She barks, turning her head to look at me over her shoulder. I quickly look up to her eyes, only to discover her glowering coldly at me.
"I've got to make sure you don't steal my tools," I counter, crossing my arms.
"Then keep your eyes on the tools," She snaps, and I wince. I've been caught.
Once she has all the bolts fixed up and tightened, she puts the tools back and shuts the hood, grabbing a grease cloth nearby to wipe her hands with. She digs her phone out of her back pocket, checking for the time. She curses under her breath, running a hand through her curled hair.
"Great, I'm late for work," She huffs, and starts walking over to her car. I hold her car door open for her, mainly so she can't shut it once she gets in. I look at her, smirking and raising my eyebrows.
"What do you say we hang out tonight?" I suggest, leaning on the car door. She scoffs.
"So you can bring me home, and then dump me the next day?" She says, and I stand up straight, opening my mouth to argue before I realize I don't have an argument. She nods. "That's what I thought. Now let go of my door, I don't have time for this."
I step back, still in shock from what just happened. Out from the back of the shop, behind me, I hear Seth call "Shots fired!" which makes me turn around quickly to glare at him. When I turn back around, a comeback formed and ready to fire on my lips, I see that she's already pulled out and gone. I shut my mouth, nod, and accept defeat.
Throughout the rest of the day, I can't get my mind off of that girl. Madelyn. For whatever reason, and one I can't pinpoint for the life of me, I grow more and more curious about her as the day goes on. When my shift ends at 5:30, I'm basically going crazy to find out more about her.
As I slip on my worn leather jacket, wiping the grease from my hands and stuffing the cloth into my back pocket, Seth suggests that we go for burgers and beers. It's a tempting offer, but I explain to him that I have to go and check on my mom. He joshes that I'm a mommy's boy, and while I play it off as a joke, it bugs me a little bit. He knows why I take care of her, even if she doesn't really need taking care of. He knows about my dad and he knows about my brother, but I guess he was just joking.
I say goodnight to the rest of the guys, wave, and head out to the parking lot. The spring air is warm, yet a nipping breeze still resides that prickles my skin. I make my way over of my pride and joy, my black 67 Chevy Impala. I slide into the driver's seat, digging my keys from my jacket pocket, and I listen as she hums to life when I turn the key. Classic rock fills my car, Seven Bridges Road by the Eagles the actual song. I smirk, turn it up, and cruise down the road, healthily over the speed limit. My window is open, one arm on the wheel, the other on the window, tapping to the beat of the song.
Mom's house is only twenty minutes from the shop, which I manage to shorten down to ten. I turn my music down as I pull into her yard so I don't appear to be rude. I pocket my keys as I get out, walking up the drive and her steps, knocking on the door. When she opens the door, blonde yet greying hair on her shoulders, eyes bright and happy, I smile.
"Hey there sunshine!" She exclaims, wrapping her arms around me. I laugh and wrap my own arms around her, leaning my head down on hers.
"Hey there mom," I reply, and she steps back, inviting me in. I kick off my boots and hang up my jacket, following her into the kitchen. On the stove sits a fresh baked chicken pot pie I could smell as soon as I walked into the house. I rub my hands together, licking my lips. "I'll set the table," I state, grabbing the plates and silverware, as well as glasses.
I set the dining room table so my plate is at dad's seat, mom's chair off to the left of that. Mom comes in, setting the chicken pot pie in the centre of table. I squeeze out past her to the kitchen, grabbing a basket of rolls and butter, while she fills the cups with ice water. Once everything is finished, we sit down, serve ourselves, and begin to eat.
She tells me about how it's finally beginning to be the perfect weather for gardening. Despite not having any knowledge on gardening whatsoever, I just nod and smile, going along with whatever she says. Apparently, her and a couple of other women along the block are having a barbecue to kick off the spring, at Margaret's house a couple houses down. She invites me, but I kindly decline, saying that I think I have extra shifts that day. I know for a fact that I have that day off, and I'm pretty sure she does as well, but she just nods and smiles back.
Once dinner is over, I help her clean up by washing the dishes and putting them away. She thanks me as she puts the leftovers in a Tupperware container, insisting that I take them with me. I play it off like I think she should have them, but secretly, I love mom's leftovers. I'd fill her fridge with her food if I could. She knows that, so she insists again, and I "reluctantly" accept them.
As I'm driving home, Warrant playing across my speaker's, I see a very recognizable car trailing behind me as I enter town. I keep telling myself it must be someone else, it must be someone else, even as we both pull into the same apartment buildings. But sure enough, as I get out of my car next to the mystery car, it's not much of a "mystery car" anymore.
Madelyn and I avoid eye contact as we enter the building. I fish my keys out of my pocket as I make my way upstairs, knowing full well the elevator is broken and that the landlord has no intention on fixing it any time soon. He flight of stairs, I silently pray that she lives on this floor. Well, maybe this floor. Maybe this floor.
I do this until we reach my apartment, all the way up at the fifth floor. I silently pray hers is on the sixth, but to my luck, her apartment is on the same floor. That's alright, I tell myself. She probably lives way down the hall. So as I make my way to my door, I nearly curse as I find myself right across the hall from my version of the she-wolf.
"I thought you said you didn't want to come home with me?" I say slyly, immediately cursing myself afterwards. I saw an opportunity and I took it.
"Last time I checked, it was you who wanted in my pants," She says just as slyly back. Letting herself into her apartment, she leaves me alone in the hallway, staring with a dumbfound expression on my face at my door. Touché.
I let myself into my apartment, questions about the mysterious Madelyn still raging through my mind.