“Yeah, my mom is itching to, I’m sure,” Carver said. “Sorry.”
“No worries. I accepted her generosity, I knew what strings were attached. And your parents have been very chill, all things considered. After Sana mentioned she’s Afghan, your dad only asked her if she was a refugee once.”
Scott laughed. “Isn’t she from Northern Virginia?”
“Yep, grew up in a McMansion,” Letty said. She tossed the greasy rags into the open toolbox and waved to them both. “See you out there.”
They waved back as she bounded away and up the three stairs that led into the house, the door slamming shut behind her.
Carver slid his hands into his pockets and looked at Scott, who was now lying across the hood of his dead van like a widow on a casket. It was kind of inconceivable to Carver that Scott was hurting for a few thousand dollars, considering he had to at least be making decent royalties from his one hit, if nothing else.
“You’re really not liquid, huh?” Carver said. Normally he didn’t dive into the topic of money with the less fortunate, but it was harder to obey social mores with someone he’d once known so well, at such a tender age.
“No,” Scott said, lifting his head. “I’m really not.”
“Any, uh… particular reason?”
Scott laughed good-naturedly, crinkling around the eyes. “Yeah, I’m bad with money.”
“Have you been, like, managed poorly?”
“Uh… yeah. At times. I don’t know. It’s just a tough business, honestly. Fans are fickle and profit margins are thin, so everyone on the business end wants a huge cut, plus everything about it is expensive. You end up reinvesting most of your profits, which is always a gamble, and one bad gamble can wipe out years of savings.” He shot Carver a smile. “Especially if you’re bad with money.”
Carver nodded, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “My mom made some passing comment about your back taxes.”
Scott put his head back down on the hood. “Okay,” he said, his voice tinny as it vibrated against the metal.
“Not to bust your balls or anything. I’m just wondering if I can help.”
“Ah, Carv. No, no. I wish she hadn’t said anything.”
“The interest, though,” Carver pressed on.
“I know,” Scott said.
“If you know, then…”
“I’m focusing on my credit cards, ‘cause the interest there is a lot worse. Can we not do this?”
“If you want, I can wipe that shit out for you and give you a consolidated loan at like, three percent,” Carver blurted out. What the fuck was he saying? Yes, he was a multimillionaire and Scott’s debt was almost certainly just pocket change to him, but what the fuck was he saying?
Scott lifted his head and shot him a warning look, one eyebrow cocked. “Hey, dude, all love and light, but you were standing right here while I was talking to your cousin. Do I sound like I want charity?”
“No, you sound like youneedit. Why do you think we both offered?”
Scott stared at him for a moment longer, then started laughing. “You prick. You’re such a prick.”
Carver started laughing too. “Yeah, what, did you forget?”
“I did, actually,” Scott said. He shifted his hips, then stretched one long leg out behind him. “I forgot a few things about you.”
“Like what?”
“Like that. I don’t know. You keep making me feel seventeen again.”
This sentence arrested all motion in Carver. Suddenly rooted to the spot, he said, “In what sense?”
Scott surveyed him with warm eyes. “Uh… petulant, and stupid, and hard-headed. And like I want to show off.”
