Breaking Down Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Breaking Down | A Stevenson Family Story | L.E. Wagensveld

  dedication

  PROLOGUE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  sNEAK pEEK AT THE second BOOK IN THE stevenson family story | Breaking Through

  About the Author

  Breaking Down

  A Stevenson Family Story

  L.E. Wagensveld

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  IF YOU PURCHASE THIS book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher. In such case the author has not received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  BREAKING DOWN

  Copyright © 2022 L.E. Wagensveld

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: (EBOOK) 978-1-953335-98-2

  INKSPELL PUBLISHING

  207 Moonglow Circle #101

  Murrells Inlet, SC 29576

  EDITED BY YEZANARIA

  Cover Art By Fantasia Frog

  THIS BOOK, OR PARTS thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The copying, scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  dedication

  To Joshua, who has never wavered in his support of my dreams.

  PROLOGUE

  He couldn’t believe he’d hit her. What was wrong with him? He had to fix this. His head was spinning. He clenched his fists, pushing his knuckles into the flesh of his thighs. Idiot. Why did he always mess things up? He’d find her. He would find her, and he would make her listen, no matter what it took. Just because she’d run from him didn’t mean it was over. He could make her see reason once again. He could do better; he was sure he could. If only she hadn’t made him lose his temper . . . none of this would have happened.

  Chapter 1

  “PLEASE,” CARMEN MACLEAN begged as she pushed up her ’87 Volkswagen Beetle’s deck lid. “Please, don’t do this to me, you old, infernal bucket of rust!” She glared at the mound of baffling mechanics and wires. There was a choking sound followed by a sputtering before the engine ground to a stop.

  “I’m sorry. I take it back; do not quit on me now. You are new! New! You practically just rolled off the lot!” She wiggled a few of the wires in a futile effort. Her dad, for so many years, had attempted to teach her about cars. In her infinite teenage wisdom, what had she done instead? She learned how to wing her eyeliner and followed boys around the park. She wasted countless hours in asinine arguments with her siblings. All that time, she could have been learning how to get herself out of messes like this one. Pressing her damp brow against the sharp lip of rusting metal, she squeezed her eyes shut and breathed.

  “In through the nose and out through the mouth.” After working through the mantra a few times, Carmen closed the lid with a slam that reverberated off the surrounding wooded hills and stepped away from the car.

  Carmen moved to the middle of the road and pushed herself onto her tiptoes, spinning in a slow circle while she craned her neck. In every direction, rolling hills thick with pine trees bordered the curving ribbon of asphalt. She completed the motion again. But no houses magically appeared, and no amount of hopping or squinting made a difference. Shoving her hair from her face, she released a frustrated growl. If she was honest, she blamed her brother for this.

  The sun hung fat and low in the sky, steadily losing its interest in the day. Carmen could not remember how long it had been since she passed anything that resembled civilization. Lost as she had been in rampaging thoughts, the feeling of the road passing beneath her wheels had been her song of freedom. She knew she was moving in the right direction, and the forward momentum was all she needed.

  Retrieving her cell from her purse, Carmen scowled down at the screen. The thing struggled to open its search engine, growing hot in her palm before prompting her to switch on the GPS. She did, typed in tow trucks/garages/mechanics and closed her eyes with a silent plea to the Gods of cell phone service and technology. Stevenson and Sons Garage. The name and number topped the list in bright blue.

  With a breath of relief, she pressed the link. A long moment passed before the call option came up. “Hello?” a man’s voice answered abruptly after the first ring.

  “He—” Carmen’s voice came out in a croak. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Hello, is this the garage?”

  A pause. “This is.”

  “I need help. I don’t know exactly where I am, and my car made some weird noises and died. Your place came up as closest to my location . . .” She trailed off and waited for a response.

  There was a long pause. The man on the line must have heard the restrained panic in her voice, for his tone softened somewhat when he answered. “How long since you went through town?”

  “I’m sorry, I’ve never driven this way before. I’m not sure.”

  A long, suffering sigh sounded on the other end. “All right. What direction were you headed?”

  She thought for a moment. She had mapped out the route to where her brother was staying before she left Vancouver. “North, on Highway 39. I was trying to get to Cascade Creek.”

  A whistle sounded through the line. “I’ll leave now. I hope it doesn’t take me too long to find you. It’s almost dinnertime.” The line went dead.

  Carmen stared at the silent phone for a moment, her mouth agape. “Top-notch customer service,” she grumbled. After tossing her cell back into her purse, she wrapped her arms around her ribs and paced up and down the road beside her vehicle. The cooling engine emitted a tick tick sound. Besides the call of birds somewhere in the trees, it was the only sound in the darkening hills.

  CARMEN WAS SHIVERING by the time a plume of dust and an ominous rattling of chains announced the tow truck’s arrival an hour and a half later. The truck passed her, then reversed, stopping a foot from her car’s bumper in a well-practiced motion.

  A middle-aged man unfolded himself from the truck, dusting his hands on his worn overalls before extending a broad palm to her. “Dan Stevenson. Sorry that it took so long. You were way out here.” His sharp blue eyes wandered over her, paused at her cheek. One dark brow rose a fraction, but he didn’t comment.

  Carmen shook the offered hand, ignoring his look as she had done with the others received over the last few days. “I’m Carmen. Carmen Maclean. I’m just glad you’re here, really; you’re my hero for coming so late.”

  As significant in stature as he was, Dan was short on small talk. With a grunt and a nod, he turned to Carmen’s vehicle and circled it once. Running his fingers over a close-trimmed salt-and-pepper beard, he studied the bug for a moment before shaking his head, releasing another grunt, and setting to work connecting the automobiles for transport.

  When he finished, Dan pulled a rag from his back pocket and wiped his grease-stained hands before going to the passenger side door of the tow truck. There was a groan of hinges as he opened it and stepped aside. “Climb in,” he said.

  Carmen pushed her hands into the pocket of her shorts and rocked up on her toes, hesitating. “Do you have any idea what’s wrong with it?”

  Dan gave the Beetle a pointed look. “Could be a number of things.”

  “I suppose.” Carmen chewed at her lip, then sighed. It wasn’t like she could stay here.

  “You getting in or not?” Dan’s stern façade made her feel lighter somehow. “Someone else may be along in an hour or two if you’d prefer to wait.”

  “I’m getting in.” Carmen inclined her head and dipped into a small mock curtsey. “Thank you, kind sir.” She flashed him a tired grin before hoisting herself up and sliding onto the truck’s bench seat. As Dan shut the door behind her, Carmen was sure a smile twitched beneath the cover of his facial hair.

  There was a calm, paternal air about Dan, and his gruff silence soothed Carmen as they drove. She cast glances at him on the rare occasions a car passed in the opposite lane.

  “Do you live in Willow Brook?” she asked after a few quiet moments.

  Dan nodded. “Most of my life.”

  Though he was likely in his sixties, he was a handsome man. The firm line of his nose bent
to the right. Perhaps a souvenir from an old break? It looked like the same crookedness so many of the hockey players in her high school had sported. The greys threading his thick beard lent him a sophisticated air, rather than age him.

  Carmen chewed at her lip, contemplating questioning him more, but she turned back to the window instead. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, which shocked her. She wasn’t sure she could remember a time she had sat quietly beside a stranger and felt relaxed about it. The tow truck’s cab smelled of musky, hard-working male, metal, and grease with underlying notes of stale coffee. The scents reminded her of her childhood, and a sudden lump clogged her throat.

  Memories of going for ice cream and how the space in her dad’s old Chevy’s cab had grown tighter every year bubbled to the surface. When her brother hit six feet tall at age fifteen, they made him ride in the truck’s bed. He would open the little sliding window and poke her and Marcy through the opening until one of them would slide it closed, sometimes on his arm, and lock it shut. Those rides often ended in an argument, but they were still some of Carmen’s most treasured memories. A snippet from a time when they had all been happy. Now, Jake and Marcy couldn’t stand to be in the same room together.

  Leaning against the warm glass of the window, Carmen swallowed. Unfamiliar pine-choked landscape passed in a dusky, eye-numbing blur. The dying sun painted the serpentine curves of asphalt in bright oranges and pinks. The beauty of the landscape was at complete odds with her mood.

  The long days of stress chose that moment to strike full force, and Carmen’s hands began to shake. She squeezed her eyes shut and pushed back against the nerves, focused on the engine’s hum, the AC’s whir. With a strength that surprised her, Carmen blocked thoughts of Billy, and the last few days, from her mind. Long, focused breaths pulled deep into her lungs worked to undo the knot in her stomach and still the clamouring in her head before it could throb. Dan glanced sideways when one of her deep breaths caught and emerged suspiciously close to a sob, but he remained silent, and so did she.

  Chapter 2

  SAWYER STEVENSON SANK onto his couch, groaning as the muscles in his back protested at the movement. Digging a nail under the tab of his beer, he pulled, sighing at the crisp hiss of released pressure. It was the best time of the day. When he could shower, scrub the grease from his nails and settle into the spot where over the years his butt had made the perfect groove in the cushion.

  Taking a long pull on the beer, he set it on the coffee table. He was tired. It seemed he was always tired lately. Was he getting old? With a sigh he tugged out the elastic that bound his hair back and scrubbed his fingers into his scalp. He’d finish this beer then take that shower. The smell of the day was clinging to his hair and, not for the first time, he considered cutting it.

  Sawyer liked his job, and he enjoyed his customers, but the long hours and constant presence of his father were a drain on his soul. Maybe he needed to get away for a while. He raised the can to his lips, about to tip it and drink, when a loud bang from the bay doors of the downstairs garage echoed up the stairwell.

  “What the hell?” Sawyer’s gaze flew up to the clock: 7:20 p.m. He groaned. He threw back a long swallow to fortify himself, then stood and headed back downstairs to see what was going on.

  Sawyer pushed through the office doors and into the garage in time to watch his father manoeuvre the tow truck inside, a ratty old VW bug hooked to the arm. The motor cut and Dan stepped out and walked around the car before he noticed him.

  Sawyer leaned his hip against the doorjamb, crossed his arms, raised a brow at his father. “You went out late.”

  His father hitched his shoulders. “She needed a hand.”

  Sawyer chuckled. “She. I see. You big softy.”

  His father scowled and brushed past him. “Just doing my job, maybe you should try it sometime.”

  “Maybe I would have if you’d bothered to tell me you were going out again.” Sawyer grabbed his coveralls from the hook by the office door and stepped into them. “What can I do?”

  Dan gave him a long look, and for a moment, Sawyer saw something in his father’s blue gaze he almost believed was gratitude. “Help me get this heap off here.” Dan jerked his chin toward the tow truck. “She’s asleep. It looks like she’s had a rough couple of days. May as well let her be while we do this.”

  With an efficiency born of long practice, the two unhooked the car and settled it near the jacks. Once they had finished, Dan jerked his head, beckoning Sawyer to follow him to the far corner of the garage. “Before she wakes up, I wanted to say . . . well, she’s got a bruise on her face. A bad one. So, don’t say anything stupid.”

  “Why do you always—” Sawyer broke off with a growl, there was no use. He glanced over at the truck, curiosity stirring in his chest. “Did she hit it on the wheel when the car stalled?”

  Dan frowned, his lips tightening into a thin line within his beard. “No.” He glanced over his shoulder at the window. “No, it’s at least a few days old, turning green.” His sharp gaze found Sawyer’s. “Probably none of our business . . . could be nothing, but it doesn’t sit right.”

  A sharp creak of rusty hinges echoed through the garage, making both men jump guiltily as the girl hopped down from the truck. She stretched, then her eyes met Sawyer’s, and a crooked smile inched over her face. Gathering up the mess of long, thick cinnamon strands from around her face, she began to twist them together into a braid as she navigated through the maze of machinery toward them. A pair of frayed, cut-off denim shorts displayed long pale legs, and a green cardigan hung around her slim form.

  She yawned as she approached, hiding it behind the back of a freckled hand, and Sawyer’s heart did an odd little clench within the shelter of his ribs. He pressed the heel of his hand against the spot.

  “I can’t believe I fell asleep,” she said, sheepishly. “I hope I didn’t drool in your truck, Dan.”

  Sawyer’s dad waved a hand at her, brushing away her comment. “There’s been worse in that truck, I’m sure.”

  Sawyer glanced at his father; then, before he could think of any comment to needle him with, his gaze strayed back to the woman’s face on their own accord. The bruise branded the freckle-dusted arc of her left cheekbone, an ugly mottled patch of bright green and blue spilling like oil across her fair skin. Sawyer curled his fingers into fists at his side. He had to force himself to look away from the mark. Anger, wild and targetless, rolled in his gut. He swallowed, hard. Dan was the first to break the silence.

  “Carmen, this is my son Sawyer.” He graced Carmen with a smile Sawyer had only seen his father use on his daughter, Sasha. His eyes bugged in shock as he looked back and forth between the two of them. What on earth was happening? If he didn’t know better, he would think his father was totally smitten.

  “I’m getting too old for all the grunt work,” Dan explained. “Sawyer will do most of the labour on your car.”

  Carmen turned to Sawyer, the corners of her full lips lifting as she met his eyes. “Nice to meet you, Sawyer. I’m afraid you might have your work cut out for you with this one.” She hitched a thumb over her shoulder toward the Beetle, grimacing.

  Sawyer chuckled, then stopped when her eyes met and held his. He was close enough now to see the mesmerizing colour of them. Forest. They were the colour of the forest—a mix of earthy greens and browns, far too intriguing for the word hazel to encompass.

  Swallowing, Sawyer relaxed his hand from his side and took hers. Her fingers were long and cool, her grip firm. Heat spread up from where their hands joined, flooding over his wrist and through his chest. His tongue thickened in his mouth. Suddenly self-conscious of his calloused palm, he broke contact and rubbed his hand against his thigh to dispel the tingling that spread across it.

  “Hey, uh, nice to meet you too.” He stopped his gaze from inching over her face to the bruise. “So, beautiful summer so far, eh?” Nodding in answer to his question, then feeling like an idiot, Sawyer picked up a wrench from the tool chest and fiddled at the metal while silence permeated the room. His father’s incredulous stare bore into the side of Sawyer’s head like a laser beam. “Should we look at it?” Sawyer was desperate to do something, say anything, to make time move again.