FAGE... the 14th.
Title: The Rescue
Written For: KitsuShel
Written By: DaniDarlingxx
Beta: Sunflower Fran
Banner Maker: DaniDarlingxx
Rating: M
Pairing: Bella/Edward
Prompt used: photo link can be found on profile.
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-1-
I hate the winter.
Panting from the cold and the effort it takes to hook up the plow rig to the front of my truck, my breath creates its own fog as it chills my lungs.
t's hard to make money in Erwin, Tennessee, at this time of year because most people stay indoors and don't drive as much, which means the shop is usually empty. The cold bites harder because we spend so many other months in warmth. However, when a car does come in, it's usually a big job—some emergency repair or fixing a car that was in an accident. That's why I decided to start plowing to fill in the gaps. In a small town like this, it's hard to get the more mainstream companies out to clear the parking lots of the businesses that built this place. We don't have the luxury around here to stop working when the weather gets bad, so since I'd have to work in the snow anyway, I figured I'd make as much extra money plowing as possible.
Lucky for me, we got damn near a foot of the white stuff last night.
I may complain about it when I'm frozen to the bone at all hours of the night while the rest of the town is tucked warmly in their homes, but you won't hear a sound from me when the money hits the bank.
It's still nighttime when I pull out of my driveway, the gravel crunching under my tires. The air smells crisp and clean, but it's tainted by the dirt and diesel oil that coats every inch of the work truck, jostling me down the road. She's old, but she's mine. Bought her myself when I turned sixteen with the money from working in the shop. She had a decade under her belt then, and I've had her about fifteen years since, but she's still going. The shop was still my dad's back then, but now, the shop and the truck are two things I can call my own after years of hard work.
Even though it's dark out, the fresh-fallen snow makes it look like the sun is rising. I hardly even need my headlights, but I keep them on cause Rose would kill me if she found out I didn't.
It only takes me about four hours to knock out all the jobs for today, and I've never been as happy to head back to the shop as I am at this moment. The cold has made its way straight down to my bones, melted and leaking through my coveralls and the beanie I wore to cover my ears.
I'm exhausted by the time we sputter onto the gravel parking lot behind Cullen Mechanics. After all, it's Dad's legacy, so I do everything I can to keep his dream alive and running as smoothly as possible. Still, it'd be nice if my brothers would lend a hand every once in a while.
"Lord have mercy, get your popsicle ass in here and warm up, Cub. I just put on a fresh pot of coffee; get yourself in front of the fire. And don't you even think about arguing with me; you know it won't do you no good."
That'd be Rose, my receptionist and basically my life assistant. Her words are warming me like the steaming cup of coffee she hands me. She's exactly the kind of warmth I like to find when I open the doors to my shop. If I'm being honest with myself, she's more like a mom to me than anything, even if she's only about ten years older. I keep the shop running, and she keeps me running in return.
She's pretty, I suppose, if the way all the men who work for me and all the men who get work done by me is any way to tell. She has that typical blonde bombshell look. I've heard her be referred to as a MILF but…fucking gross. I can't make myself think of her like that.
"Yes, ma'am," I reply, needing no more persuasion to fill my empty caffeine tank. "What's on the books for today, doll?"
"Whole lotta nothin'. Basically sitting around, looking pretty, and praying someone's car doesn't start when they try to leave for work." Rose falls back into the purple threadbare office chair that's always been hers, the stuffing sticking out of the worn-down armrests. I make a mental note to get it fixed come spring. I'd get her a new one, but I know her well enough to know she'd rather have hers redone.
"Kinda makes us shitty people, huh?" I muse, leaning back against the counter and pressing the warm mug to my lips.
"Nah, Cub. The whole world capitalizes off other people's misery. We're just getting our piece of the pie, is all."
And that's about how the day goes by. I clean my tools…again. I organize them…again. I listen to the same shitty classic rock radio station and do the same amount of restless pacing until the sun goes down. And then I wait for the clock to strike six so I can turn my open sign off and close for the day.
"Rose, why don't you go on home? I think I can handle closing things up, considering we did a whole lotta jack shit today."
"You sure, baby? I can always help with the sweeping and—"
"Rose. Go home to your babies. Make 'em a nice dinner and give 'em a kiss from their Uncle Ed, okay?" I squeeze her shoulder, warm and strong from the way she carries around everyone's burdens.
Her blue eyes light up in that way all mamas tend to do. Full of love and awe because not a single soul on this planet could ever tell me I'm not just as good as one of her kids in the eyes of Rosalie Hawthorne.
Lifting on the tips of her toes, she kisses my cheek.
"Love you, Cub."
"Love you. Drive safe."
It doesn't take me longer than an hour to get everything shut down, and the sound of metal on metal in the lock of my back door reminds me all too well how tired I am and how ready I am to be back at my place.
I'm not sure why; it's not like anyone is waiting for me; not even a damn dog.
I work too much.
My run-down little house is only a short walk through my salvage yard, lit only by the moon reflecting off the snow. My boots crunch against the snow, creating footprints in the path left behind by the tread of my tires. I always get lost in my own world this time of night, and tonight is no different. My mind wanders, contemplating bills and due dates and numbers and chores that need to be done.
Mrrow.
The fuck?
Mrrowwww.
This time the sound is longer, deeper. Almost like it's crying, whatever it is. It's so fucking sweet and sorrowful, and I instantly wanna help.
Whatever it is. Listen to me. It's obviously a fucking cat.
I've come across the occasional stray in my life, but they just come and go. I'll see em a few times, then assume someone took them in when I don't see em again.
My green eyes dart around the yard, searching for the source and hoping the thing meows again so I can find it.
And then it does.
There's an old, wrecked Honda about ten feet from me, and I get on my hands and knees to inspect the situation. There's a rustle, a scraping sound of a small body against rusted metal, and then another long meow.
"Come on, baby kitty, I ain't gonna hurt ya. Just wanna get you out of the cold."
I make sure to take it slow when I reach my hand up where I saw the cat move. It's too dark for me to see what color it is or what it looks like.
Clicking my tongue a few times, I reach back further, only to have it hunker away from me more.
Poor thing is scared. I would be, too, if I were alone in a strange place, stuck in the cold with some weird dude clicking at me.
Slowly, I push myself to my feet and make my way towards my house. Part of me wants to say forget about it, prop my feet up in front of the TV, and get lost in some sitcom before falling asleep in my chair. But I don't have the heart to leave the little guy out in the cold, and this is nothing a can of tuna won't fix. My steps are sure and measured as I set out on my mission, finishing the trek into my house, where I know I have a can in my cabinet.
When I move back to the car, I catch just a flash of glowing eyes dart back underneath.
The can opener clicks into the can, and a curious, sweet little face peeks out from behind the wheel. He knows just what this is. Once I have it open, I set the can on the ground and step back, giving the little guy plenty of room to come out without feeling like he's in danger.
It takes him a few seconds, but eventually, he makes his way out from under the car and into the moonlight, where I can see him while he scarfs down the tuna.
He's a big boy. Not fat, just big. Long black hair I'm sure he's glad to have keeping him warm. It looks like his paws are white, but maybe that's just from the snow.
Just as he's getting to the end of his meal, I kneel to see how he'll take to a little scratch behind the ears. Instantly, his little motor starts running, purring like that '67 Chevelle Dad used to have.
"That's some good tuna, huh, buddy? Probably been a minute since you ate. You wanna come home with me?"
I say it before I even think. I don't have the equipment to take care of a cat. Not a litter box, a scratcher, nothin'.
But this little guy is so sweet; I can't just leave him.
"Come on, bud. Let's get you where it's warm."