She reaches out and grabs my hand, as if by instinct.
“Get out here! NOW!”
Valencia lets go quickly and rushes to the garage. Easton is standing inside the mudroom, shaking his head and smirking.
“Probably should have left it the original color,” he murmurs as he looks at me.
Valencia gasps and I step around her to see the carnage in the garage. The motor finishes pulling up the garage door, letting the morning sun illuminate the crime scene.
The front of Marcus’s black Mercedes is stained green.
No. It’s Juniper Fog.
Whatever was left in the paint can I put away yesterday is splattered across the hood and drips down to a massive wet puddle in front of it. The paint can is on its side at the puddle’s edge. The lid sits gluedto the windshield with a layer of dried spatter. There’s a half-moon-shaped dent in the hood where the edge of the can must have hit.
I shake my head. “How did this happen?”
Behind me Easton snorts. “Seriously?”
I glare at him over my shoulder. “I put it on the ground!”
“Then how the fuck did it get all over the hood of my car?” Marcus yells. A vein pulses at his temple and his face has gone red.
“Marcus.” Valencia’s voice is a warning.
“What?! Half of it’s probably dried, I don’t have time to go to the car wash, and it won’t come off without detailing anyway.” He walks over to the driver’s side door, opens it, and reaches in to pull a lever. The hood pops and, carefully, he steps around the paint to reach under the hood and unlatch it. His hands come away green-gray as he lifts it up. And yes, the paint has seeped around the edges and into the engine compartment. It only goes down the sides, not touching anything important, but it’s definitely there. Some of it pools around a raised edge, which is most likely there to keep water from getting into anything vital.
Marcus glares at me, shaking his head. He slams the hood again and some of the tacky, still-wet paint splatters onto his pants. He curses again, and Valencia tells him to calm down.
I step around her and point a shaky hand to the ground. “I swear I put it right there.”
“You sure?” Easton asks. “Dad did tell you to put it with the paint stuff.”
“Yes, I’m sure.” I point to the wire rack behind Marcus. “Look, there wasn’t enough room for the paint, so I put it on the ground.”The paint rollers aren’t where I put them. I open my mouth to say so but Marcus interrupts me.
“You’re right,” he says. He points to the dent on the front of the car. “There wasn’t enough room, which is why it fell off and landed here.”
Someone must have moved it. Easton or Valencia. Or, shit, maybe Marcus himself did it and now he’s embarrassed it fell over and he’s looking to pass the buck. Someone clearly moved the paint rollers to put the can on the shelf but didn’t realize it would tip over.
I shake my head. “No! IswearI put it on the ground.”
Valencia puts a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Honey, it’s okay if you put it on the shelf. No one is mad.”
“The fuck we aren’t!” Marcus yells, gesturing to his car. “I’mmad! Look at this mess.” There’s that short temper I’ve been hearing about.
“Yes, and you need to clean yourself up if you’re going to get to work on time,” Valencia says, stepping in front of me like a protective mama bear. But I’m still shaking. Marcus is acting like my own father now, and it makes my heart race with a familiar fear. My dad never hit me, but the threat was always there. Like when he’d get too mad and throw the kitchen chair into the living room or kick some nearby inanimate object, then wince in pain.
Marcus clenches his fists and shakes his head. Then he reaches into his pocket with a hand that doesn’t have paint on it and tosses his keys. I duck, thinking he’s throwing them at my face, but they go wide around me and Easton catches them.
“Easton, back the car out of the garage for me. Nate, you made the mess; get the hose and clean off whatever isn’t dry.”
“I didn’tmakethe me—”
“I don’t care! Do it!” Marcus storms past us and into the house, cursing under his breath and looking down at the paint on his ugly suit.
Easton gets in the car and backs it out while Valencia puts an arm around me.
“I swear I put it on the ground,” I say. I don’t know why I care so damn much, but I need her to believe me.
