Chapter 23
“Oh my God, I wrecked one of these once.” Flynn darted in between two cars to look inside an Acura Integra Type R. “I wonder if this is it. Mine was white too.”
Q watched her bend and stick her head inside the window, not at all liking the idea of her wrecking a car, especially not like the one in front of him. The airbags were blown, the front end was crumpled, and all the windows were busted. It had been a bad wreck. The kind someone could’ve died in.
“How did that happen?”
“No stickers on the dash. Not mine.” She pulled her head out of the car window and looked at him. “Uhhh … during a race.”
“How many times has that happened?” he asked, more grateful than ever she’d said she was done, especially before the old boyfriend had mentioned the cars and cash in Atlantic City.
“Only twice. I’m super careful. Harness, bucket seat, helmet, and roll cage now. Always.” She clearly read the displeasure on his face. “I walked away both times. Well, limped away one time.”
“Flynn.”
“I’m fine. It was years ago. Only one crash ever happened after you even knew I existed.”
“When?”
“It doesn’t matter, does it?”
“So, when I said street racing wasn’t safe—”
“No one knows better than me what can happen firsthand. I’m just lucky I’ve never been there when someone died.”
“It’s fucking stupid and reckless.”
“Hey, neither accident was my fault. Both times, other people tried to drive me off the road. And, well, it worked.”
He came toward her. “Never. Again.”
“I already said I wasn’t planning on it after tomorrow.”
“Ever.”
“Hey! Marcus! Can you give us a hand? This alternator is stuck, and someone wants it on that eBay thing,” Pop yelled across the yard from a couple hundred yards away.
“Be right there.” He looked at Flynn. “To be continued.”
“I’ll just be wandering the rows, looking for hidden gems.”
He jogged over to his dad. “Whatcha need help with, Pop?”
“You already brought that girl back,” Pop said.
“Yeah.”
“Don’t you work today?”
“No.”
“What’s going on with you?”
“I thought you needed help with an alternator?”
“Like there’s anything I can’t get out of a car, even at my age. I wanted to know what you were doing in my scrapyard with a pretty girl on a Monday afternoon.”
“She wanted a tour.”
“No girl gives a shit about a scrapyard.”
“No girl but Flynn.”
“You know what you’re doing here, Marcus?”
“I’m …” He paused and watched her jump to see into the window of a jacked-up truck missing its bed and fenders. “She’s so fucking cute, Pop. I can’t stay away.”
“Cute?”
“You know, sweet, funny, fun to be around, humble, smart, and just all-around awesome.”
“I have never heard you talk about a woman like that in your life, Marcus. Cute …” His dad followed his gaze. “I knew she’d be a good match for you that day she called Scarlett to bail her out of jail. Good to know my instincts are still spot-on.”
“Her birthday’s tomorrow. She’s never had a homemade cake.”
“Never had a homemade cake? What kind of nonsense is that? Not even from a box?”
“No. She said she usually forgets, but this year is special. She’s turning twenty-five.”
“I’d already given your ma three baby girls by twenty-five.”
“I know.”
“Well, are we throwing her a birthday party at the house or what? I can call off poker night.”
He jerked his attention away from Flynn and looked at his dad. “You never cancel poker, unless it’s a holiday or a family birthday.”
“My boy’s finally found the girl he thinks is cute. Seems like she’s already family to me.” Pop smiled at him. “I’m happy for you. Started to wonder if I’d ever see the day.”
“What day?”
“The day my boy found the one. Get on back over there. You put a ring on her finger before you give her any babies. You hear me? She might not have a father, but you do, and I raised you right.”
“I hear you, Pop.”
“Your ma and I got married a month and a half after we met. Just sayin’.”
Marcus should have felt frozen in fear, but he laughed instead. “I think you’ve told us a million times. When you know—”
“You know,” Pop finished. “That’s right. And it sounds like you know. Cute.” He smiled. “Thank God. Wait until I tell Joanie. That girl is getting one helluva birthday cake—I’ll bet you anything.”