Well, that doesn’t sound promising. Even the optimist in me is hiding from the outcome when she puts it like that.
“Right.” Not sure what to say now. I rock forward on the balls of my feet, trying not to shiver in my athletic shorts that leave most of my legs exposed to the breeze. Just because I’m short doesn’t mean there’s not plenty of skin to still freeze. I bury my hands in the long sleeves of my sweatshirt and nod up at the gorgeous woman who would still tower over me even if she weren’t in heels.
“I’m headed there now, he’s got a late night ahead of him, just thought I’d offer you a ride if you’d like one. Save you from this breeze as the sun starts to sink.”
The baby in her arms reaches for something, leaning out of her mom’s arms and giggling. Rory kisses her on the side of her head, indulgent, and then looks back at me expectantly.
I practically trip over my tongue accepting her offer. “Yeah, that’d be great, thank you.”
“This way,” she says briskly, and marches off toward a parking lot nestled behind the row of buildings I hadn’t even noticed on my first walkthrough of downtown. The air of authority around her is mesmerizing and I follow, entranced by this woman after just a few words. She has more confidence and swagger than the women I’ve been exposed to in my life.
That intensity stirring behind her brown eyes makes everything I’ve done to appear bigger and stronger feel almost childlike in comparison.
I bet no one considersherfragile or delicate, or in need of defending.
I think she’s my new hero.
FIVE
WESTON
It’s an excuse. A shallow one at that. I know it. He’ll probably know it. I just hope he doesn’t call me out on it.
Gravel crunches beneath my work boots with each step I take toward Gonzo’s Garage. Its namesake is nowhere in sight when I approach though.
Just my warm, welcoming older brother.
Like a mug of warm apple cider.
Warm apple cider vinegar maybe.
I’d call out in greeting, but it’d be no use. He’s decked out in his gear, coveralls and a welding hood, shade down as he finishes working on a body panel.
My eyes roam the place while he finishes what he’s doing rather than risk startling him with a jump scare and getting treated like the Tin Man.
Large, open space, cleaner than I remember it being. Three bays, doors wide open, in the front of the garage, one with the Oldsmobile that seems to be missing a body panel, another with an ancient Mercury Sable, and the third with a Sprinter van that shouldn’t make my stomach leap up into the space reserved for my heart. Only one four-wheeled ride is supposed to do that, and it’s my own.
Behind the cars in the front of the shop, an assortment of small and large vehicles fill the rest of the space, up to the back bay doors, currently closed. One wall appears reserved for workbenches and every tool a mechanic might ever need, plus a restroom and a small office that’s probably in complete disarray if Gonzo uses it. The other wall has a sink, an eye wash station, and a first aid kit, with more equipment for more specialized jobs, like his welding cart, plus a washer and dryer for shop rags, and some cabinets. There’s an assortment of chairs that I think Gonzo considers a waiting room along the wall too.
Scanning the ATVs, RZRs, motorbikes, and cars they’ve got stored in here, I’m starting to think he wasn't just being a dick when he said it might take a few days to get to Amelia’s diagnosis and estimate. This place ispacked.
And in the back corner, near a large boombox that’s probably almost as old as I am, I spy a dirty tarp slung across a familiar shape.
Bingo. My excuse for being here.
The sizzling and hissing of the welding stops, and I turn to see my brother emerge from behind the shade as he pushes it back up and removes the hood entirely.
“Gonzo lets you play with the big boy equipment now, huh?”
He doesn’t even crack a smile or try to jab me back. “It’s just me here now. Gonzo’s all but retired these days. Had a heart attack.”
Oof. Buzzkill much?
He must see the look on my face because he softens those words—which is shocking enough on its own. “It was a minor one, but it made him reevaluate his priorities. Old lady has him on a health regimen that doesn’t include shoveling honey buns and Moon Pies while hitting his head on shit in the garage.”
“Well, fuck.” What else is there to say?
Changing the subject in a flash, my brother is getting better at conversation than I remember him being. “You seen Mom yet?”
