My eyes meet Morgan’s across the garage. “I already knew you were a badass,” he says, and the warmth and affection in it makes me realize that Morgan being my friend isn’t a lie anymore.
It takes an hour for us to clear space for the Roadster. Morgan’s phone rings twice more, and he ignores the call, despite me telling him I’ve got this. “How did my brother come to own this car anyway, without knowing what it was?” Morgan asks once I pull it into the garage.
I cringe, hearing the engine echo in the small space. I quickly turn it off and hop out. “It’s rare, but it happens. People, especially in rural areas, tend to keep cars just lying around, and then the owners die or forget about them. There was a story a few years ago about a woman who passed away, and her kids discovered a Ferrari and a Lamborghini in the garage. Two supercars. I can’t imagine buying this beauty and then forgetting about it.”
“Well, I’m glad it’s ours now.”
I glance at him, wondering if it feels weird to him too to say that something belongs to the both of us. His arms are crossed, and there’s dust in his hair. The sunlight outside is dying, and the harsh lights of the garage make his face look more angular.
I shake the attraction away. “There’s a couple more things I want to do,” I say. “Then I better head out so I can get home in a reasonable time.”
“Yeah, sure. Need any help?”
“Nah, go inside. I’ll be there in a few.”
Morgan leaves, and this next bit gets messy. I take one of the tires off and hide it behind boxes. I pull the spark plugs and drain the engine oil.
Just in case.
We had to shuffle the vehicles around to get the Bronco in the garage, so my motorcycle is out on the street. I put one of the keys in the rear storage space under my seat, just in case.
I head back into the house to say goodbye. I can hear Morgan talking, so I toe off my boots by the front door and follow the sound of his voice.
He’s in the den, the room right off the back door. He’s talking to someone on the phone, and Princess’s head rests on his knee while he absentmindedly pets her. The dog’s eyes rise to look at me in the doorway, but Morgan’s not paying attention.
“Yeah, Mom, I know.”
I freeze. Morgan’s voice is tinged with sadness and frustration. His shoulders are up around his ears.
“He owed me?—”
I can’t tell what his mom is saying, but she’s loud and upset, not letting Morgan finish his sentence.
“Mom—”
The more the woman yells, the more hunched over Morgan gets. His hand leaves Princess’s head only to pinch the bridge of his nose.
I slowly back away and retreat to the living room.
I don’t have many memories of my parents. I’m sure there were tough moments, but the memories I do have are all good ones.
Not like this.
No wonder Morgan is so close to his friends. No wonder he’s so friendly with everyone in town. All the Herevians he’s known his whole life, they’re his real family.
“Hey,” Morgan says as he enters the room, Princess at his heels. “You headed out?”
He’s smiling, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes now.
I hate it. I hate it so much that an excuse to leave isn’t what comes out when I open my mouth.
“Wanna order a pizza?”
His whole face lights up.
“We could watch a movie too,” I add.
“Oh Rory,” he teases, grabbing his phone out of his back pocket and the remote from the coffee table. “I would love to Netflix and chill with you.”
