Chapter 5 #2
“No, you don’t.” He clicks his tongue mockingly. “Your light’s still not fixed, and you have a shit-ton of unpaid tickets. So yeah, your junk’s getting towed.”
“Jake, for fuck’s sake, this isn’t fair! I can’t afford to pay everything at once to get my car back.” His humane side clearly checked out years ago, but I make an appeal to it anyway.
“Not my problem.” He shrugs, picking the dirt from underneath his fingernails. Disgusting. “And it’s Officer Attleborough to you.”
“It is your problem!” I exclaim. “The only reason I have so many is because of you constantly targeting me!”
“You’re a reckless driver,” he shoots back, shrugging. I see the muscles of his folded arms flex like he’s imagining strangling me, but I’ve seen meaner and bigger than him, so his attempt to scare me is wasted effort. “And you don’t follow the rules.”
“Like you fuckin’ do,” I snap at him.
What I said must have triggered something because a dark cloud suddenly swarms his face. He pushes away from the cruiser and straightens his pose. His face grows stone-cold, no trace of his signature smirk in sight.
“Got something to say?” His voice is pure menace, and even Bobby shoots curious looks our way while continuing to secure my baby to his truck.
I watch Jake carefully, contemplating what I’m going to say next in light of his reaction—I feel like this is some sort of critical moment that could weigh heavily on our future sparring, but I don’t understand why—or why he looks almost…
afraid. And then it hits me. He thinks I’m referencing what happened at Alex’s cabin—what he did—and he’s scared that I know the truth and could ruin him with it. I level him with a stare.
“Don’t worry, Officer . We trailer trash do have some honor left, even if the law doesn’t.
Your secret ,” I inform him, curving my fingers in air quotes around the word, “is safe with me. But I’m tired of being bullied by you, Jake.
Fuck, by everybody.” I spread my goosebump-covered arms wide.
Not only is it cold out here, but my adrenaline is spiking.
“I’m done with this. Take my car. Might as well transfer the title to yourself because I don’t have the money to get it back.
So enjoy your win, asshole. I hope it’ll make you a little less bitter. ”
A look of uncertainty crosses his face, but it’s gone just as fast. He yanks his ever-present Ray-Bans off, sticks them in the pocket, and opens his mouth to say something, but I’m already gone.
I can see Marina watching me through the window with a look of pure pride on her face.
I’d be proud of myself, too, if I had any mental capacity left to feel anything.
Pride aside, I have no idea what to do. I know Marina will offer me her car and every last dollar she has—which can’t be much after the renovations—but I won’t take either.
I can’t. It’s a trailer girl syndrome: scared of taking anything from anybody because we know nothing is free.
It’s been years, and Marina is family, but I still deal with my problems on my own.
I contemplate not sending the monthly payment for the debt that isn’t mine but quickly disregard it—they need the money more than I do, and I know she’ll find a way to get her green if I miss a payment, and I honestly don’t want to see it happen.
I get a full-body shudder as I remember the first time she came to demand the payment—the whole trailer park was shaken, and we’re not an easily shaken bunch.
I remember Marina has an old bike—it could be good cardio, pedaling miles upon miles from my secluded location to town through the mountain.
Fun times. Or I could move the trailer somewhere closer, but I quickly abandon that thought, because I don’t want people to know about my problems. Or about my living situation.
Which is still a trailer, just at a different location—one that’s turning out to be a huge disadvantage, considering now I don’t have wheels.
It’s not the same trailer I used to live in with my mother and sister; this one I bought on my own.
I bought it. It’s mine . It was run-down and needed a lot of work, but I fixed everything on my own.
I did it, and I’m proud of the home I’ve made.
When Jake or Justin Attleborough calls me trailer trash, they don’t know what they’re talking about.
I didn’t park the trailer with everybody at the park.
Instead, I found the perfect spot on the other side of the mountain—so technically, I don’t live in Little Hope, but I belong there.
My special spot is located on the line between a field of wildflowers and a pine forest. In the morning, I sit with my beautifully mismatched dishes, have breakfast, and watch the sunrise between two twin hills across the field.
And it’s easy for Frank to visit me anytime he wants to .
The trailer is small but very roomy, especially for one person, and very mobile if hooked up to a car.
It’s more of an RV than an actual trailer, but I like to think of it as a trailer: it has all the attributes and resonates with my upbringing.
I’m not sure my Jeep can handle anything heavier than a kid’s stroller, but regardless, my wings aren’t clipped by a house rooting me to the ground.
There is a tiny kitchen, a hybrid of a living room and a corridor, and a decent-sized bedroom.
The kitchen has a loveseat and a tiny coffee table; no dining table, though.
Instead, I use a two-person island connected to the kitchen structure.
My bedroom fits a queen-size bed and a small nightstand.
My shower is a stall with a microscopic sink and a shower.
Everything is small, but it works for me.
So, in my fantasy, whenever I’m ready, I’ll hook this bad boy to my Wrangler (If it’s still alive and still mine by then, which I’ve begun doubting), and we drive off into the night.
“You know you can always take my car,” Marina offers as expected the moment I step over the threshold. “I live nearby and can walk, no biggie.”
I attempt a smile. “No, it’s fine, but if you could give me a ride home today, that would be amazing.”
“Sure, hon.” Her smile is understanding.
She won’t pressure me into taking her car or her money.
She knows enough about pride; in the end, she refused Freya’s help in restoring the diner and caved only when she didn’t have any other options when the bank refused to give a loan.
I feel like I might be in the same boat very soon.
It’s probably time to put my pride aside and look at my options.
JUSTI N
“Hey, Justin,” Paul calls out from the front of the garage. “Can you come here for a sec?”
I’m buried under piles of invoices, so any distraction at this point is welcomed.
I run my hand through my hair, pulling on the strands, trying to escape that haze I get into every time I see a page full of numbers.
“Comin’,” I holler back, then take a sip of piss-cold coffee and head to the front.
Bobby is chatting with Paul. “What’s up? ” I ask, walking up to them.
Bobby’s glancing around and nervously biting the inside of his cheek. Huh .
“What happened, Bobby?”
“I—” His head swivels as he shoots another look around the space. “Do you think we can talk in private?”
“Sure.” I nod to Paul to give us a minute, but he’s already made himself scarce. “What’s up?”
He fidgets with his keys. “Not my business to say this, but—” He cuts himself off again, shaking his head.
“You can say anything. It’ll stay between us.”
“Alright. I just saw Jake.” He swallows.
For fuck’s sake, he needs to hurry the fuck up with his story before I die of old age.
I bite my tongue so I don’t scare him off with my snippy remark.
Bobby’s a good guy—kind and quiet, if not a little soft—and for him to voice his opinion means a lot, so I wait.
“So, I was towing this car. Kayla’s car.
” Oh, fuck. I know where this is going. “For tickets or some shit. I don’t know; Jake had a paper.
But I feel like he’s pushing too much. I’ve seen him around town hot on her heels, and I think he’s using his position to harass the girl.
” The last sentence is so fast I barely register what he’s saying.
“And it’s not only me who’s noticed it. I’ve heard people talk. ”
I clench my jaw; Bobby thinks it’s because of him and rushes to placate me. “Sorry, man. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No, you did the right thing. I’ll deal with it,” I say through gritted teeth, trying hard not to punch the wall over this new information.
“Good.” He nods, looking relieved. “Good.”
“Do you have her car hooked up?” I glance outside but don’t see his truck.
“Yeah.” He points down the road. “Around the bend. Part of me thinks I should have towed it straight to the junkyard. The poor girl’s going to meet her maker trying to get around in it one of these days.”
I heft a sigh. “Agree with you on that one. Hey, I’m about to cash in that favor of yours.” I smirk at him.
Bobby pales and swallows nervously. “Look, I can’t do much?—”
“Relax, Bobby, I just need to fix something in her car, but it’s gotta stay between us. Feel me?” I put my hand on his shoulder, and he nods.
“Yeah, we can do that.”
“I need to finish some stuff here, then I’ll stop by later. Does it work for you?” The favor he owes me is big, so I know he’ll agree to help me out here.
“Yeah. I’ll leave you the key. We’ll be good after that, though, right?” He licks his lips with agitation.
“Yeah, we’ll be good.”
“Okay, then. See you later.” He waves and skitters back to his truck. Did I just bully him into letting me onto his lot? I did, and I have no remorse over it whatsoever.
Am I being a hypocrite, condemning Jake for pouring all his rage on her when I’ve been doing the same for years? Maybe, but I don’t care. Because only I can do that. Only me. She is mine . I mean—the fun of tormenting her is mine and mine alone.
Besides that, everything is playing out perfectly: I can fix her car and be discreet about it. Nobody will ever know it was me.
We finish up at the garage early, so I say goodbye to the guys and go to load my truck with everything I need to fix her car. New brakes and a new alternator. Tools, rags, pads. Once everything’s loaded up, I lock up the shop and drive to Bobby’s.
He’s waiting for me in his car by the gates to his lot.
He hefts himself out when he sees me. “Here are the keys.” He passes them to me, clearly still nervous.
“Just put ’em under the can by the gates once you’re done.
” He’s about to walk back to his car when he turns to me and adds, “You’re not back to the racing, are you? ”
“No, Bobby, I’m here to fix Kayla’s car. That’s all, I promise.” It sounds surreal to say her name out loud. In my mind, it’s always her or she , as if she’s some great and formidable god, and I dare not speak her name, so Kayla feels foreign on my tongue.
He nods slowly, accepting this. “Alright. I don’t know why you’re doing that—” I give him a look, after which he amends—“and frankly, it’s none of my business, but you’re doing a good thing. This girl needs a break.”
I clench my jaw to barricade pure venom from spitting out. Needs a break , my ass. I almost change my mind about fixing her car at that. Almost .
While I’m contemplating whether I should follow logic or guilt, Bobby takes off, leaving me alone with the keys to his junk kingdom in my hands.
Bobby has a huge lot, half of which is for towing while the other is a literal junkyard.
I’m not sure which part he put her Jeep in—it sure as fuck belongs in the latter—but I get the feeling he spared it.
I get back into my truck and pull in, confirming it is waiting on the towed side, and stop there.
First, I need to replace the alternator and the battery.
Then I need to get the car to the rack to change the brakes.
Luckily, Bobby has a car lift, so I don’t have to haul her Jeep all the way back to my shop.
Once I pop the hood, I whistle. It’s even worse than I remember from a few days ago.
I get my tools from the truck and get to work.
It takes me a good few hours to get everything fixed, and by the time I’m done, it’s deep into the night.
I decide to leave the broken headlight as it would be too obvious that somebody’s been meddling with the car.
I lock everything up, hide the keys at the usual place by the fence, and drive home. By the time I arrive at the garage, I feel exhaustion enveloping my body and muting my feelings. I’m about to crash. I park my car and barely make it inside before collapsing on the couch.