I won.
But somehow my father got wind of it, that a girl had stolen my car. Or maybe he was keeping better tabs on me than I’d arrogantly expected. And since he’d had it with me and my tantrums, he took advantage of the situation.
He used her to get what he wanted.
We Jackson men are real bastards, aren’t we?
I used her to win at soccer so I could piss off my father and he used her to get to me.
“Nice song.”
My thoughts break at the rough, gravelly voice and I pull myself from under the ’68 Chevy that I’m working on. It’s a sweet ride, or at least has the potential to be.
Right now it’s a dump though.
Salvaged from a yard, it’s all rusted and banged up. Needs a new engine, new tires, new paint job. It’s got alignment issues when you drive and the sound of it starting is like an animal being tortured.
But I’ve got plans for it.
Especially for that engine. I’m going to build it from scratch, rebore the cylinders, put in new pistons. It’s going to be fucking sexy when it’s done and it’s going to purr like a kitten.
And Pete knows that. The guy who just interrupted me.
That’s why he gave me the job even though I don’t work with him anymore. He knows I can make it run and look like a million bucks.
I press a few buttons on my phone and lower the volume of the song I’ve been playing. “Hey, what time is it?”
“Time for you to go home.”
I chuckle and get up and put away the wrench as I shoot back, “Which means it’s past your bedtime, isn’t it, old man?”
Peteisold, yeah.
He’s probably north of sixty and you can see every inch of that age on his ruddy face and his white beard. Pair that witha beer belly and the red and white checkered shirt that he’s wearing right now, Pete is a regular Santa Claus.
I met him when I was thirteen.
Back then I only knew him as the guy who was giving my dad trouble.
Since my dad has a habit of wanting things and acquiring things, Pete’s garage called Auto Alpha in Wuthering Garden, one of the towns that neighbors Bardstown, was in his sights. Pete was and is known, among other things, for restoring vintage cars and selling them for a fuck-ton of money.
My dad offered Pete a lot of sweet deals to give it up to Jackson Builders. My dad was going to turn it into a car showroom or something. Despite my dad’s intimidation tactics, a lot of them illegal, Pete never budged and my dad had to back off.
I guess Pete was the only man I ever saw who stood up to my dad.
Pete laughs at my comeback and offers me a beer. “So this song. Is it about her?”
Leaning against the Chevy, I was about to take a sip of the beer but I stop. “What?”
Pete has no problem sipping his beer though. He has no problem smirking either. “You’ve had it on repeat since you showed up at the shop.”
I showed up at the shop only an hour ago so I don’t know what he’s bitching about.
I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight.
Especially because of where I’m coming from. Dropping her off at St. Mary’s after her midnight practice.
“And?”
