I smile to myself, shake my head, and grab my keys.
Maybe I’ll finally let myself have something good tonight.
16
Miles
Ithoughttheworstpart after that fight with Jamie would be game day, watching him and Chloe flirt like they hadn’t a care in the world. The way she laughed when he said something at the sidelines. The way she looked at him when he scored. Hell, the way she looked at him when hemissed.She wore that damn cheer uniform—navy and gold, little skirt swaying when she jumped—and I swear, I almost screamed that she belonged to me first.
But I didn’t.
I stood there, jaw tight, pretending the sting in my ribs was from practice, not pride.
We lost anyway. 3–2. A humiliating finish. Jamie missed a penalty shot that could’ve tied us, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a tiny spark of satisfaction when the puck slipped past the goal. That feeling vanished quick, though. Losing meansmore drills, more meetings, more time with him pretending he doesn’t see me.
And now, a week later, this? This might actually be worse.
The car coughs like it’s dying—a final, pathetic sound before the engine gives up. I thump the steering wheel hard enough to sting my palm. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter, coasting to a stop by the curb.
I pop the hood, not that I know a damn thing about engines. Smoke curls up, like it’s mocking me.
The tow guy takes his sweet time, but when he finally drops the car off at the garage, I already know it won’t be good news.
“Alternator’s shot,” the mechanic says, wiping his hands on a rag. “Timing belt’s frayed to hell. You’re lucky it didn’t snap on the road.” He walks around, squints at the undercarriage. “Oh, and you’re leaking oil. Bad.”
“So what… a day?” I ask, even though I know the answer.
He snorts. “A week, minimum. Maybe ten days if I can’t get the parts.”
“Ten days?” I echo.
He shrugs. “You can take it up with the manufacturer if you want, but I doubt they’ll answer your calls faster than I will.”
I laugh, but it’s sharp and hollow. “Yeah. No, you’re fine.”
He gives me that look—the kind that saysthis kid’s trouble but he pays in cash,and walks off.
This screws everything up. Rico and I were supposed to do a drop tonight. Timing’s tight, margins tighter. I need a car, and I need it fast.
By the time I walk out of the garage, dusk is rolling in. I stand there for a minute, listening to the hum of traffic. Then I see a silver Lexus parked half a block away, still idling. Driver’s probably in the convenience store nearby.
I don’t think twice.
Old habits die hard.
I slip in, hot-wire the thing in under thirty seconds. Feels good—the hum of the engine, the flash of adrenaline. For a second, I feel like myself again. Not the version Jamie punched or the one who keeps screwing up everything with Chloe. Just me—the bastard who knows how to make things work, even when they shouldn’t.
I check the time. Six. Rico won’t need me till ten. Four hours to kill.
I could get a drink, but the thought of The Crest makes my stomach twist. Last time I was there, Jamie was behind thecounter, pretending not to see me. Pretending he was the better man.
No. Not tonight.
Instead, I scroll through my contacts until I hitBella.She’s always a distraction—shallow, beautiful, and loud in all the right ways.
“Hey,” I say when she picks up, voice sugar-sweet and half out of breath.
“Miles! Where’ve you been hiding?” she giggles. “I haven’t seen you in school for days.”
