Page 3 of Knot A Chance

Chapter One

Bennett

June

The light from an incoming call brought my attention back to where I’d tossed my phone on the concrete floor of my garage while I changed a set of tires on a car. I was behind schedule, but Wyatt almost never called me in the middle of the day. I grabbed the phone and swiped the screen to answer, balancing it between my shoulder and my cheek so I could keep working.

My only employee, Calvin, had called out again—something he did way too frequently and if I had anyone else knocking on my door looking for work as a mechanic, I’d have fired him a long time ago. Unfortunately, there weren’t exactly a bunch of people lining up for jobs in Mirror Lake. It was a small town with a small population, and almost everyone here was already working hard at one job or another. Plus, Calvin ran the detailing side of the shop while I focused on actual repairs, and his work was profitable, despite his frequent absences.

“Hey, Wyatt. What’s up?” I asked.

“I’m so sorry, Bennett,” Wyatt said softly. “This is the last call I wanted to make today, but Felix is in the hospital.”

“What?” I asked, dropping the torque wrench. It clattered to the cement as I shot to my feet, fear pulsing through my veins.

“Felix was in a car accident,” he said gently, sounding less like the town sheriff who was required to make this call and more like the best friend he’d been to me for years.

“No,” I said, gripping the phone tightly and slamming it against my thigh as I closed my eyes. I blew out a sharp breath through my nose and put the phone back to my ear, running a hand through my chin-length brown hair and sprinting for my truck in the parking lot. “What the fuck happened?”

I cradled the phone between my shoulder and cheek again as I shoved one hand into the pocket of my jeans for the keys and yanked the door open with the other.

Wyatt’s lack of response made my blood pressure spike again.

“Why the fuck aren’t you answering me, Wyatt?” I asked.

“His car was found in a pull-off on the side of the road near the town sign headed to Crescent River. Someone hit his car and we received an anonymous 911 call. It looked like a hit and run.”

“What was he doing on the side of the road?” I turned the key in the ignition. The newly installed engine in my fifteen-year-old truck roared to life and my phone connected to the Bluetooth speaker I’d added a few years ago.

“He appeared to be getting high. I found him with a needle in his arm, and I could smell the heroin from a hundred yards away.”

My heart must have stopped because my vision went black and I nearly drove off the road as I pulled out of the garage parking lot. “That’s impossible.”

“I saw it myself, Bennett.”

“He wouldn’t.” I slammed on the accelerator.

“Well, he did.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. You’re positive he was high? Was anyone with him?” I whipped around a corner, pulse pounding as I barely registered the other cars on Main Street.

“He was alone.”

“Did you check his car for prints? Maybe someone else was with him and left.”

“There was no need for an investigation of anything except the hit and run.”

“There is obviously a need, Wyatt!” I yelled into the phone as I swerved around a pothole and booked it through a yellow light. “My fucking mate was found with a needle in his arm after three years of sobriety.”

“Felix isn’t your mate,” Wyatt said calmly.

“Fuck you! You know he is.”

“Listen, Ben. You’re mad at the wrong person here.”

“Check his car for prints,” I demanded.

“All of our resources are looking into the hit and run right now. I don’t think putting our efforts into what could very well be a relapse is the best place to start.”