Chapter 46 Borrowed Trouble
forty-six
Borrowed Trouble
Something about fixing a car. The way everything fits.
Solving the puzzle, putting the pieces together.
Comfortable—me and Tyler, in the shed, listening to the radio and the rain on the roof.
I’m more content doing this than I thought I would be.
Working on her car. I guess not technically hers anymore, but touching the engine almost feels like touching her.
It brings back a flood of memories—Jess sitting on the fence, watching me work, talking, laughing at something I said.
I always liked it when I could make her laugh.
Actually, I liked everything about being with her.
Now I know all I had to do was reach out, pull her into my arms, kiss her, say the word and she would have been mine—back then.
Was I really that blind?
I’ve thought of that a lot. What if I had paid more attention to her earlier? What if I hadn’t waited so long? Would it have been easier to hold on to her now?
Tyler brings me out of my thoughts with his questions. He picked this up quickly. If he keeps working at it, someday this car may even be street-ready. Maybe even more street ready than when Jess used to drive it.
Ty leans against the side of the car and takes a long drink of his soda. “I’m still looking for a better engine, and I want a custom paint job, and glass packs like on your car. Performance-enhancing stuff, not just cosmetic.”
“Slow down. I can’t afford that stuff, and I have a real job.” I wrap a piece of grease rag around a bolt to help me get a better grip while I loosen it.
“But your car is fast, right?”
I shrug. “It can hold its own.”
“So you’ve raced it?”
“A couple of times, actually I...” I trail off, catching the glint in his eye. “No.”
“What?” he tries to look nonchalant, but I know better.
“Hell no,” I say louder.
“No, what?”
“Street racing. No street racing. It’s a bad idea all around. One of my buddies ended up in a wheelchair that way.”
“But you did it.”
I won’t answer that. “Listen, Ty, the last thing your family needs is for you to splatter your guts across the pavement.”
“I’d be careful... I’m a good driver.” He’s looking under the hood of the car again, trying to act casual.
“If you were careful and if you were a good driver, you wouldn’t try anything that stupid. Trust me, kid, sixteen doesn’t mean bulletproof.”
“Okay, Jake, whatever. It was just something I was thinking of.”
“Get it out of your head, and you’ll live longer.”
“Sure whatever. This car won’t be ready for ages anyway.”
I watch his face. He’s still thinking about it. But he’s right; this car won’t be running, much less racing, for a long time. I let it go.
“Jake, I need a really big favor.” Tyler is on the phone again.
“What else is new?” I make it sound like he’s bothering me, but I actually like spending time with him. We’re becoming like brothers. We share a loss and a love of cars, something I never had with Nate or Gage.
“I need to borrow your car.”
“My car?” I laugh. “Yeah right.”
“C’mon Jake, please. I have a date on Friday—a total hottie, but I need a vehicle. The Nag isn’t working yet. Mom is taking her car to Portland to visit her sister, and Dad’s taking his truck for a job in Bellingham.”
“What am I supposed to drive on Friday?”
“You can use Matt’s motorcycle. I’ve ridden it a couple of times. It still runs pretty good.”
“I really don’t think...”
“Please, Jake. I’ll get it back to you on Saturday, gassed up, washed, detailed, whatever you want. This girl is is in my auto shop class. She's totally into cars and insanely hot.”
I can’t believe I’m softening. If this were anyone else...
He plunges into my hesitation. “I’ll do anything. It took me forever to get her to go out with me. There’s no way I can take her on a motorcycle.”
“I don’t let anyone drive my car.” I’m trying to stand firm on this.
“That’s a bunch of bull. You let Jess drive it for a whole year.”
“Different situation.” I let my breath out, loudly, so he gets the picture. “Just this once. If you’re really careful. But I expect it to be washed, full tank, everything ready for me to take it on Saturday morning. A one-time deal Ty. I mean it.”
He starts gushing, thanking me and promising over and over again to take care of my car. I’m pretty sure that this is a mistake, but it’s getting harder for me to say no to him.
Friday night, I’m sitting in a bar on base, shooting pool when I get the call. “Jacob Ricks?” A voice of authority.
I automatically stand up straight. “Yes, sir.”
“This is Deputy Clements of the Thurston County Sheriff’s Department. Do you own a black and silver vehicle, license plate number...”
A cold, sick feeling floods my body. I’m praying that he tells me it’s been parked illegally, that it was towed somewhere.
I know better.
“It’s been involved in an accident.”