11. Korine
11
KORINE
“I saw this posted on the Chop Shop’s Facebook page. I want the job if it’s still open.”
Blake’s lying beside his FXDB Street Bob parked just outside his trailer. In one hand, he holds a torque wrench; in the other, new fasteners he’s tightening onto the rear axle. At the sound of my voice, he shifts his gaze from his gleaming crimson red bike so he can watch my approach.
I’m holding out my iPhone to show him what I’m talking about, though I suspect he already knows.
He returns his gaze to his bike. “That’s not happening.”
“You know I can do just as good if not better than anybody else you hire,” I say, embellishing the confidence in my tone. It’s been a while since I’ve been confident about anything. Right now... it’s just pretend.
“Yeah, you probably would be,” he admits, twerking the wrench around. “But that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea. You’ve been through a lot. Take the time to rest and recover.”
“I’ve rested. I’ve recovered. I’m ready to do more than lay on your couch all day and night. You remember how good I was back in high school. That summer I worked at the shop.” My hands shoot to my hips, taking on an authoritative kind of stance that feels foreign—after years of being married to Ken, I’m not used to being so bold. Everything with him, from my tone of voice to my facial expressions had to be docile. Deferential at all times.
At the sight of me striking such a pose, Blake pauses long enough from working on his bike and smirks up at me.
“I do remember. You were damn good. They all doubted you. But you proved ’em wrong. You did that a lot when we were growing up.”
“Maybe it’s because there were boys named Blake Cash that sometimes doubted me.”
Blake jumps up from his lying position on the ground. His fingers slide through his golden hair in the way only he can pull off, his amusement rolling off him in a flirtatious wave that’s palpable.
“But I enjoyed seeing you put those boys in their place. Including me.”
On the receiving end of his smile, suddenly standing so close, I find myself flustered. My skin warms against my wishes, and when I draw my next breath, I’m out of air.
It shouldn’t be a surprise—Blake’s proximity has always had profound effects on me. I might as well be fifteen again when I first started noticing the facial hair he had growing in and how tall he’d sprung up over the summer. The girls in the hall at school hung on his every word, sighing dreamily in his wake, while I was the one walking by his side as his best friend.
Just his best friend.
Much to my disappointment the older we got and the more my hormones had me acting like a boy-crazy fool.
Even now, as he peers into my eyes with a spark lit in his, nothing’s changed. How is it possible that our chemistry could be this strong after so long? How are we able to pick right back up like nothing’s happened?
Blake seemingly reads my mind. His lips tip slightly wider and he releases a short chuckle. A familiar, deep-pitched sound that’s easy-going and infectious. That makes me smile too. He reaches out and palms the ball of my shoulder, giving it an affectionate squeeze.
And if I wasn’t flustered before, I’m damn sure flustered now. The flutter in my belly confirms it.
“Alright, Kori,” he says in his gritty drawl. “The job’s yours if you want it. But I’ve got a couple stipulations.”
I raise my right brow. “Stipulations… like what?”
“You work the shift I work,” he says. “And if he or any of his friends come around the shop, you come get me.”
“Blake…” I shake my head.
“Call me an overprotective ass for insisting on it… but I’m not letting anything else go down. It’s only been a couple weeks. You said it yourself—he’s not giving up easy. This could be the calm before the storm.”
“Fine. If you insist.”
I should be relieved Blake cares so much. All signs point to him being right; it’s true that this could be a calm period before the storm. It’s only a matter of time before Ken makes another move.
Yet I can’t get rid of the heavy guilt for even involving Blake in my mess of a marriage. It should be my burden and my burden alone.
“Alright, Miss Chop Shop Mechanic,” he goes on, gesturing to his bike. “Got any bright ideas about this next mod I’m going to be making? It’s time for these buckhorns to go.”
I fold my arms and strut around the perimeter of his bike as if performing an appraisal. “You’re right—these buckhorns are dated as hell. Whoever picked them out has bad taste.”
“You know what?” he growls, rushing toward me, his arms engulfing me in a ticklish hug.
His fingers dance up and down my torso as I break out in a shriek of involuntary laughter. Most of my bruises have healed, but the few tender spots give a twinge of protest. My laughter falls off for a wince that makes Blake stop at once.
Our happy, playful moment darkens as if a storm cloud has migrated in.
Blake drops his arms to his side, his expression tense. Not at me but for me. “Sorry… got caught up in the moment and forgot…”
“It’s okay,” I say, my hand on the achy part of my ribs. “I forget sometimes too. It’s easier when I do.”
He nods, still visibly tense. Pissed . “Tomorrow morning, you start. Better bring your A game.”
* * *
The dark storm cloud seems to clear up. My first day at the Chop Shop gives me déjà vu. Ten years ago, I’d practically run the day-to-day operations. The manager at the time, a surly ruddy-faced guy named Styx, had enjoyed my work so much he gave me extra perks. Extra authority on managing the shop and our work orders.
Returning to the shop now, it’s like I’ve never left. A fond familiarity washes over me. The moment’s a homecoming in the best way.
A greased-up little man in coveralls approaches with a toothy grin. “Hey ma’am. Whatcha in for? Don’t tell me a pretty thing like you rides?”
Blake cuts in straightaway. “That pretty thing is Korine McKibbens… and she’s about to be your coworker. So you better be respectful.”
“Blake,” I mutter. Then I present the man my hand to shake. “Hi, I’m Korine. I used to work here a while back.”
The guy takes hold of the tips of my fingers and gives them a weak shake, his attempt at chivalry. “You handled the front desk? It has been a while since we’ve had a receptionist?—”
“Korine’s an experienced mechanic—she’s also got a degree in mechanical engineering. Safe to say she’s no receptionist.”
Blake’s snappish tone might come across as rude, but it makes me feel strangely… flattered. He’s boasting about me as if I’m the most amazing person in the world when that couldn’t be further from the truth.
Let Ken tell it, I couldn’t do anything right, especially fix and repair cars…
“An engineer?” the short guy whistles. “Chop Shop’s going all fancy. Next thing you know, you’re gonna only hire mechanics with high school diplomas. Only made it to the eighth grade so I’d be shit outta luck. I’m Chaz, by the way.”
“Why don’t you show me what you’re working on, Chaz? Maybe I can help.”
I wink at Blake as Chaz rushes to fulfill my request. He bounces across the garage like he’s been struck by a bolt of energy.
Blake chuckles with a shake of his head but doesn’t interfere.
My first day ends with me assisting Chaz on an engine replacement.
He elbows Blake in the ribs. “Your girl’s a keeper.”
A funny warmth pours over me at Chaz’s words. Spoken in jest but still enough to make both me and Blake avoid each other’s gaze.
During the course of the next week, it becomes a regular occurrence, whether it’s at the shop toiling over bike repairs, or within the confines of Blake’s trailer. The space in the room always seems to shrink whenever we’re around each other. Suddenly, it becomes a difficult task staying apart.
Accidental touches. Shared smiles. Moments where we get carried away and freeze up catching ourselves.
I almost always ruin it first—thoughts about Ken and our marriage flash through my mind and remind me how messed up my life is.
Blake doesn’t question me on it. Knowing him, he gets me. He understands the war going on inside my head.
My heart.
“You wrapping up soon?” he asks late one evening.
We’re the last two in the shop. Chaz and Moss, another mechanic, have already left for the night. I peek at him from over my shoulder, the corner of my mouth quirking.
“Just one more second. I’m almost done with this Road King.”
“I’ll lock up the office.” The thud of his boots fades from the garage.
I’m racing against the clock to finish the last job of the night. My fingers move fast to be done by the time he returns. More so a game I’m playing with myself to prove I still got it. I can still have a bike like new in no time.
“Yes!” I jump up from where I’m sprawled out on the garage floor and whoop at the air. A giddy victory dance follows—swinging my hips and shaking my behind.
Then it dawns on me, I’m not alone. Blake’s walked back up. A grin spreads across his face and I feel mine flush.
“That…” he says slowly, “was fucking adorable.”
“Anyone ever tell you it’s rude to sneak up on people?”
“Yeah, but I’ve never been one to follow rules. You got something on your cheek.”
I go still as he comes closer, ensconcing me in his soapy masculine scent, and swipes at my cheek. His thumb rubs against the soft curve of it. Our gazes lock, and it’s as if the world slows down around us.
The night becomes stuck in time much like we are.
Stuck on each other. So in tune as my eyes meet the boundless blue of his that I’m able to read his mind.
We’re seventeen again, discovering something in each other that we’ve spent years hiding from…
I drop my gaze from his and seek out a way to break the tension. “Blake Cash, I forgot about your clubbed thumbs.”
The comment’s so random, so out of nowhere it makes him break out in a hearty laugh. His head tilts back and the once studious expression on his handsome face eases up. That flirtatious sort of playfulness about him returns as he slides fingers through his hair and gets his revenge.
“You’ll never let me forget about my thumbs.”
“It’s your one flaw. Of course I’ve got to bring it up every now and then to humble you.”
“Yeah? Well, at least I don’t got Flintstone toes, Miss Bedrock.”
My jaw drops open in offense and he roars with more laughter. He has enough sense to move far enough out of the way so I can’t smack him.
He throws an arm around me as we finally turn for the exit. “Kidding, Kori. You know I’ve got a thing for those Flintstone toes.”
I can’t even be mad. The sense of ease that fills me when with Blake makes it impossible to be.
* * *
The more settled I become with life away from Ken, working at the Chop Shop, and staying at Blake’s, the more freedoms I seek. It only feels natural as I try to figure myself out.
While I’ve been pulling shifts with Blake, Mama’s stayed home at the trailer. It worked out fine the first week because she didn’t have any medical appointments, but by the second week, it poses a real issue to our arrangement.
“I’ll have to drive to the shop,” I explain to Blake. His silence and steely expression tells me he doesn’t like the idea. “Then I can use my lunch hour to drive Mama. And… and if it’s okay, I can take a second break in the afternoon to pick her up. I’ll pull an extra hour.”
“I can drive you both.”
A small sigh puffs out of me. “Blake… I’d like to do it myself. You don’t understand what it was like not being able to go where I wanted. Sometimes… not even being allowed to drive at all. I need this.”
He agonizes over it for another second. His conflicted thoughts on the matter flit across his features before he nods. “Alright, take your car then. But promise me you won’t go anywhere near him.”
“That’s the easiest promise ever to make, you know that right?”
He grips my shoulder for his signature squeeze of affection. “I mean it, Kori. Be careful, alright?”
We still haven’t collected my things. I still haven’t officially filed for divorce.
I still haven’t taken care of a lot of things—including seeing Ken for the first time since that violent night.
Though I don’t dare mention it to Blake, my insides knot at the mere possibility. For as brave as I might seem venturing out in my car by myself to drop off and pick up Mama, I’m a bundle of nerves. The entire drive, it’s a constant on my mind.
I throw wild glances around at my surroundings. My eyes flick to my rearview mirror every other second to make sure nobody familiar’s behind me. I drive straight to and from and make sure Mama’s taken care of at the trailer when I do return to the garage.
The second day driving her to her medical appointments are little better. Blake offers again to drive, but I wave him off. Certain it’s something I’ve got to do. Agency I need .
…even if it scares me to death every second of the way.
By the third day that week, which happens to be Friday, I’m feeling marginally better. I pick up Mama with a smile and drop her off with a kiss to the cheek. The mood strikes me, so I dial up the music on the crappy FM radio of my Geo Metro.
The tiny car bumbles along the roads of Pulsboro, getting me where I need to be.
It’s the freest, most refreshing feeling as I pull up to the garage and swing my keyring around my finger.
Blake raises his brows. “You look like you’ve just come back from a joyride.”
“As close to it in a Geo Metro.”
He grins. “That Geo gets you places. That’s all that counts.”
* * *
“Look at my baby and her wheels,” Mama says as I pull up outside the trailer. She’s waiting with her handbag dangling from her wrist and cape coat she’s so fond of. She waddles over to the passenger’s side door and slides in. “Maybe we should do something special tonight. Dinner somewhere. How about Steak and Cow? That place was good.”
“In Houston?”
“Oh,” she says, frowning. “We’re not in Houston.”
I give her a sympathetic pat on the lap. “No, Mama. Not anymore. But dinner sound’s good. I’ll text Blake.”
The entire drive to the doctor’s office, Mama talks my ear off about her ‘stories’ as she calls them. She tells me about which soap opera characters are sleeping with whom and about another one returning from the dead.
I laugh along, grateful we’re able to have light moments like this after so much bad.
Once I drop Mama off, I shoot off that text about dinner to Blake and hit the roads. I’m turning down one of the more barren streets in town when my phone vibrates with an incoming call.
It’s Mama. I press accept, putting her on speaker as I drive.
“Hello, is everything okay?”
Before she even says a word, I know she’s in tears. She’s panic stricken and sniveling.
“Mama!” I say, immediately alarmed. “What’s wrong?”
“They… they say it’s no good anymore.”
“What is? Mama?—”
“Korine, where do I go? They say I can’t go here. My card—it’s not accepted.”
My insides run cold. “Your insurance card? They turned you away?”
“They say it’s not good anymore,” she repeats between sniffles.
“Mama, stay where you are. I’m coming to straighten it out. I’m sure… I’m sure it’s a mistake.”
But as I hang up and then pop a U-turn, deep inside I know it’s not. It’s no coincidence and it’s no mistake that this is happening.
Worry fills me as I think up what to do. Mama’s medical bills have always been a point of stress for me. The disability coverage she has from the government isn’t the best; it’s barely covered any of Mama’s needs and the quality of care is downright criminal.
Ken’s insurance has always been what we’ve used. It’s gotten us seen by some of the best specialists in the state.
He’s cut us off.
I figured the day would come when he would. I just didn’t count on it happening so soon. Without any notice.
I’m so distracted that it takes me another second to realize red and blue lights are flashing behind me.
Oh no…
There’s an instantaneous shift in my behavior. A numbing that paralyzes me over the course of the next few seconds as if subconsciously preparing myself.
I pull over to the shoulder of the road. The patrol car mirrors my actions, parking up behind me. The driver’s side door pops open and out steps Ken in his uniform.
Where did he even come from? How did he appear so suddenly?
I swallow against the panic. I grip the wheel so tightly, my nails dig into the leather cover. Chills break out across my skin, an icy sensation running down my spine.
Ken takes his time making it over—he’s pretending this is an official stop. He grabs his metal clipboard and speaks into the radio clipped to his shoulder. His boots strike the pavement one at a time as he strolls over.
Sunglasses disguise his eyes. The rest of his face is vacant. Devoid of any emotion or humanity.
You’d think we were strangers…
He stops by the window and motions for me to roll it down. My hand shakes as I press the button.
“Ken,” I sputter out. “I don’t want?—”
“Do you know why I stopped you this afternoon?” he interrupts in an almost robotic tone.
I shake my head. “No, but I really don’t?—”
“You popped an illegal U-turn back there,” he speaks over me. He gestures down the road to the point where I’d turned around. “You were also going twelve over the speed limit.”
My stomach sinks. “I’m… sorry.”
I don’t know what else to say. I don’t know what else to do. It’s all I can manage not to spiral into a panic attack.
“License and registration,” he says.
Careful to move slow, I reach for my glove compartment and grab hold of the item’s requested. He snatches them out of my hand and barely gives them a once-over.
“I’m going to have to ask you to get out of the vehicle.”
“Ken—”
“Now.” His lips tighten. Terrifying against the rest of the blank mask that’s his face.
I give a small nod and let out a feeble breath from my lungs.
This can’t be good…