I would never look at his lying ass face again.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Give me a damn break!”I shouted, thumping the dashboard of my shitty Vitz. It was blaring a red oil light at me, and I knew I didn’t have long before the engine started making clunking sounds that my bank account wasn’t remotely equipped to fix.
I’d made it back to Glades Bay on autopilot. I had no idea what I was going to do now. It felt like I was floating in space with no tether to pull me back to Earth. I didn’t know who I was. I didn’t know my story. I’d just lost the only family I’d ever known.
I felt more alone than I ever had before—and it wasn’t the first time since arriving here that I wished I’d never opened that email from bloody Trevor.
My phone vibrated in the cupholder, flashing Rick’s name. I let it ring out. If I declined it, he’d call back incessantly, thinking something was wrong.
He’d be right, of course. But I had no interest in accepting a pity-party invite.
This way, he’d probably assume I was still at Dad’s and leave me alone a bit longer. Hopefully.
The sign for J’J’s Repairs and Gas appeared, and I pulled in. It was funny how things could look so different in just a matter of weeks.
The me that had pulled in here less than two months ago seemed like an entirely different person. Younger. Dumber. Part of me wanted to go back and warn her.
The woman at the counter smiled as I walked in. She had something brownish smudged on the shoulder of her black polo that looked suspiciously like baby vomit.
“Can I help you, love?”
I scanned the shelves with my eyes, hoping to locate what I needed and avoid chit-chat altogether.
“Ah, yeah. Looking for oil—for that.” I cocked my head toward the paint-peeling yellow car I typically pretended wasn’t mine.
The woman yawned, catching herself by surprise. “Sorry—late night.”
I arranged my features into what I hoped was a sympathetic expression.
“Jay keeps all the car repair stuff in the garage. Prefers to do that side himself,” she said.
“Jay?”
“Jono,” she smiled, pointing to the workshop next door. The one with the apartment above it.
“Oh,” I swallowed. Instantly hesitant. He’d met me in horny goddess mode. Today I was more… broken cup.
“From out of town?” She asked, stifling another yawn.
“I guess you could say that.”
“Well, don’t you worry. Jay’s one of the best. He’ll fix you right up.”
I gave her a polite smile and caught my reflection in the sunglasses stand on my way out. At least my face had recovered from its earlier leaking pipe. It seemed to be pulling off aflushed look instead of giving away the fruit salad of agony that I was actually feeling. I also silently thanked whoever invented waterproof mascara.
I knocked on the open blue door of the workshop. I’m not entirely sure why because the roller door right next to it was wide open, but it seemed impolite, and potentially dangerous, to barge my way into the oil-smelling garage.
“Yo!” a voice grunted from somewhere at the back. I squinted my eyes, but it was dark like a cave in there, and I couldn’t see anyone.
“I just need some oil,” I called back, determined not to go in if I didn’t have to.
I heard the clink of a dropped tool and the man’s voice cursing. “Hold up,” he grunted. A minute later, a man I recognised was emerging from the shadows, wiping his hands on a grey cloth that I’m sure at one time was white.
“You,” he smirked, leaning in the doorframe, his eyes dropping down my body. His gaze wasn’t unwelcome. There was something about emotional chaos that pushed me toward release. And sex had always been my preferred method. So what if a bullshit magazine called it unhealthy coping? With everything going on, I couldn’t care less what they thought.
There were worse ways to self-soothe. Just ask my dead brother. Correction, my ex-dead-brother. Fuck my life. My point was I couldn’t completely fault my instincts. At least that was what I’d keep telling myself.
