Chapter 9
SLADE
“Piece of shit!”
The ratchet clangs to the floor.
“If you broke the tensioner, it’s coming out of your paycheck,” I holler.
Carson groans. “What if I lose a finger? You gonna charge me for that, too?”
“Depends on how much of a mess you make.” I pull my phone from my pocket.
ME: Parts have shipped. I need to know about brakes, rotors, and tires.
SARAH: Know what? Google provides in-depth information about each.
ME: If you want them replaced.
SARAH: Brb
ME: Are you Googling it?
SARAH: Nooooo! On hold to speak with a mechanic who delivers sucky news with a smile.
ME: Text me when they say you need new struts and calipers and strip your lug nuts.
“Hold on. What the fuck? Is that a smile?” Trig asks, pointing the impact wrench at me.
I don’t move a muscle except for the ones that control my eyeballs to meet his smartass gaze. “What the hell are you looking at? I’m not paying you to stand around and make shit up.”
“I don’t know. That defensive tone raises suspicion.” Carson leans against the fender of a Honda, inspecting his hand.
“Maybe it was a spasm. I get those sometimes.” Wind opens and closes his mouth, working his jaw.
“Nah, I saw it. It was like catching sight of the white flag going 200 miles per hour.” Trig taps his index finger to his temple. “Quick as lightning, but I caught it.”
“My ass. The only thing you’re gonna catch is the sidewall if you’re not careful.” I push away from the workbench.
Trig makes a noise like I’m ridiculous, but I’ve seen him race his motorcycle. Although he’s diligent and smart, it can be dangerous.
Carson curses again, and I stroll over. “Want some help?”
“Well, aren’t you in the giving mood?” He grumbles, attempting to stretch the serpentine belt again.
I hear a snort. “Seems he’s turned over a new leaf. Been more than helpful lately.” Wind runs a hand over his shaggy beard, amusement oozing from him.
“Yeah, next thing we know, he’ll be scheduling free safety checks and handing out lollipops.” Trig tries to withhold a smile.
These assholes like to give me shit, but they’d do everything I’m doing and more. Every lousy one of them. It’s why they’re still working here despite how much of a pain in the ass they are.
“Grocery shopping together is pretty intimate,” Carson adds. “What’s next, picking out furniture?”
I don’t even have to see his face to know a smirk is riding across his mouth.
I’ve never grocery shopped with anyone other than Krissy, and I can’t argue with Carson’s statement. There’s something about wandering the aisles with someone and having them witness the items you pull from the shelves that feels invasive .
As I followed Sarah, I watched her carefully evaluate and select items. At first, I wanted to roll my eyes and was tempted to ask her if she was going to Google every item and ingredient, but then I saw it.
Something so familiar it socked me in the stomach.
It happened so fast that I could’ve missed it.
Oliver held up a bag of tiny oranges and asked if he could get them. As he dropped them in the cart and returned to swinging off the end, Sarah casually removed a bag of Starbucks coffee grounds and placed it back on the display.
A memory flashed in my mind of my mother doing the same thing when money was tight.
Krissy and I begged for the big box of brand-named cereal or the Lunchables that every other kid brought to school.
But it was the first time I watched her pay with food stamps that returned clear as day.
She slid them from her pocket and quickly handed them over, hoping no one would see.
Shame filled my belly at the flashback. I was fifteen and I’d waited for her by the entrance, fearful of anyone from school running into us.
I was just a stupid kid with no idea of the kind of strength it took for her to do whatever she needed to take care of us, and that was before I learned she was sick.
“It wasn’t like that.” I grab a wrench and lean over the fender. “Krissy offered for me to take her. Besides, you tell me how she’d get two kids and groceries on and off a bus.”
Carson releases the tensioner. “So, you wouldn’t have taken them if Krissy hadn’t offered?”
The door slams closed with a bang. “Taken who where?” It’s that deep, forceful tone, and my shoulders slump.
We all turn to the stocky old man, strolling toward us.
I took this shop over from Cal, but the man doesn’t leave us be for too long. He said he spent too many years worried about this place to see it go under.
Cal has always given me more shit than I’ve ever known what to do with. I suspect he misses this place, but I think it’s more that he likes to be sure we aren’t getting into mischief without him .
“Which of you dimwits has done what now?” He stands beside me, surveying the guys.
Carson clears his throat as Wind’s gaze drops to the floor, but Trig squares his shoulders, raises his arm, and points his skinny ass finger directly at me.
Cal shifts his weight to the other foot and swivels so slowly to peer up at me. His arms cross over his chest as one bushy gray eyebrow raises in complete delight to join this roast fest.
The complete silence where there’s typically mayhem makes my neck break out in an itchy sweat. The last thing I need is Cal’s solid, sound advice wrapped in thick sarcasm that challenges me to think about Sarah in all the ways I don’t want to.
“Slade went grocery shopping with a woman,” Carson says plainly.
Trig sniffs. “He’s trying to tell us he wouldn’t have except Krissy forced him to.”
This shithead is calling my bluff. “I think she’s struggling for money,” I offer softly, attempting to cover my ass.
Sarah’s financial situation is absolutely none of my business and sure as hell none of theirs, but this conversation needs to be over pronto.
Cal’s gaze tips up to mine. He scratches his chin, covered with white whiskers. “She’s a lawyer and lives in a nice house. That’s her BMW parked on the end, isn’t it?”
My eyes snap to them . I will kill these tattletales and move into this shop to run it every day by myself.
As if they can see the rage building, these assgabs suddenly have tasks to do and scatter like mice.
Cal stares at me, waiting for an answer. He’s like an old dog with a bone and won’t be letting this go.
I inhale slowly to de-escalate my temper while I reevaluate each interaction with Sarah and everything I witnessed, questioning my instincts. I come to the same conclusion. She’s struggling.
“Not everything is as it appears.” It’s all I’m saying .
I remember how my mom looked perfectly healthy and at the prime of her life when she told me she was sick. The CIA should employ moms. They can cover up shit no international spy would be able to pull off.
“Hmmm.” His gaze fades back to the guys. “I always knew you were smart.”
I turn to look at him, but he avoids eye contact.
“You adding tires, new brakes, and rotors when the bearing comes in?”
I exhale. “Yeah,” I offer quietly.
“You’re a good man, Slade. You’re a blunt bastard who might not know how to get out of his own way, but you’re one hell of a man.”
He slaps me on the back. “Don’t listen to these idiots. You’re doing just fine. This isn’t a race. You go at your own pace, son.”
He drops his bomb of wisdom and leaves me to help Carson with the belt.
My phone buzzes, and I pull it from my pocket.
KRISSY: See you in fifteen for the first viewing.
“Shit. I gotta go.” I holler over the noise. “I promised Krissy I’d walk through a couple of apartments tonight.” And it gets me the hell out of here.
Carson’s head raises. “Where?” His tone is stiff.
“One is not too far from the house, and there’s a townhouse near the hospital.”
He grumbles something.
“Can you lock up for me tonight?” I ask him.
He nods, snapping the cover into position.
My phone buzzes in my pocket again.
SARAH: Hey, Fluffy Kitty. Let’s hold off on the brakes and tires for now .
I try not to smile at her constant nicknames, but it’s difficult.
ME: Ok.
It’s too bad I already ordered the replacements. What the confident, self-sufficient lawyer doesn’t know won’t hurt her.
When I look up, Cal’s watching me. “You’d better be careful.
Helping someone is one thing. Helping a smart, beautiful woman who lives across the street and is not inclined to roll over at your bark .
. .” He whistles quietly, a grin spreading across his weathered face.
“It might appear to some as if you like helping her.” He winks.
The guys cackle as if it’s the funniest damn thing they’ve ever heard. “Shut your asses up and get to work. I’ve got to meet Krissy.”
They laugh harder, but Cal’s words linger like pig shit on a hot day. I’m unwilling to admit that driving Sarah to work really hasn’t been that bad.
I grab my coat and keys, also not wanting to think about when her car is fixed, she won’t need me to do that anymore.
______
“Look at this.” Krissy swings her arms wide and spins in the middle of the furnished living room. “Look at all this space.”
The townhouse smells of fresh paint and carpet glue. I peek out the window, surveying the street and the falling sun. “Have you calculated the monthly utilities?”
Her arms fall to her sides, her shoulders drooping. “You’re such a buzz kill with all your anal, mature questions.”
I shove my hands into my pockets. “You won’t live here long if you can’t afford it.”
She rolls her eyes. “I have a spreadsheet, Stone Cold. I can make it work if I’m reasonable with the thermostat and Starbucks, and watch the games at your house. I’ll still be maxing out my 401k and have some left for savings,” she says like she’s totally annoyed by planning for the future.
“So, you’re moving out but mooching off my sports packages?”
She shrugs, wandering back into the spacious kitchen. “If the guys can, I should be able to. I’ve put up with your strict sour ass far longer than they have.”
“They pay me for a portion of the subscription.”