Page 18 of Rhodes

“I came in swinging because he needs to know I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Okay, but Rhodes didn’t make you live there.”

I go quiet.

“Cooper did. You’re pissed at Cooper and taking it out on the guy who’s bending over backwards to make sure you’re comfortable.”

I look at the dirt-bike bin under the coffee table again.

“Yeah, I see what you’re saying.”

“Exactly. Now the poor guy announces himself before entering his own hallway because you came in like a feral cat.”

“He is not afraid of me.”

“I didn’t say afraid.”

“You absolutely implied afraid.”

“Fine. He’s respectfully terrified. You just did six months with Ericka. Do you really want another four months hiding in your bedroom because you hate the person you live with?”

“No.” I hate that she has a point. My neck goes hot, and I roll my shoulders like I can throw off an annoyance I can't aim at anything.

"Oh, before I forget, I got us a smaller boat for Friday. My uncle's letting us take his center console, so we can get in tight on the beds without the dinghy."

"Perfect. Thank him for me."

"Anyway." Her voice softens, circling right back before I can get off the phone. "I know I need to let you go."

"You're right, I need to leave, or I'll be late." I grab the bottle and take the key off the wall. "Tuesday meeting."

"Love you, mean it," she says before ending the call.

I put the phone in my pocket and step out into the chilly afternoon.

Climbing into the driver's seat, I put my water bottle in the cup holder first, then check the clock on my phone. I've got about twenty minutes. It's a fifteen-minute drive, and I hate walking into those meetings late, so I like the buffer.

I turn the key.

Click.

The engine doesn't turn over. Just one flat click, sharp as a knuckle on a table, and then nothing. I turn it back to off and forward again, listening this time. Same single click, and then nothing.

"Come on."

I flip the headlights on and check the dash. The lights come up bright, and the radio crackles alive when I push the knob, so the battery's got juice. That rules out the easy answer, the one I was hoping for.

I kill the accessories, pop the hood, and climb out into the driveway.

The engine bay gives up a wave of cold metal and old oil when I lift the hood. I prop the rod and look around like I know what in the hell I'm doing.

My fingers go to the terminals first anyway, even though the lights already told me the battery's not dead. I find the negative post, and there it is, a crust of white-green corrosion built up around the clamp like dried salt.

I pull my sleeve down over my palm, work the clamp loose, and scrape at the buildup with my thumbnail and the edge of my key until I'm down to bare metal. Grit packs under my nails. I wiggle the clamp back on and lean my weight into it until it's snug, then check the positive side, which is cleaner, but I check it anyway.

Back in the seat. I wipe my hand on my shorts and turn the key.

The same flat click. No change at all.