14. Chapter 15
Chapter 15
CHARLOTTE
I can’t believe I agreed to a date.
The entire drive to the car garage, I wonder if I’m crazy. Even after we have my car towed to Chris’s father’s old shop, I question my sanity because he’ll probably take our deal and run with it.
I can’t even imagine the flack I’m going to get for this once I tell the girls.
Rubbing my arms to keep warm, I soak in the dusty garage around me while Chris slides beneath my car. The space is bigger than I envisioned, with towering ceilings, a separate office and room for inventory, as well as three large vehicle bays.
A light buzzes above me, flickering on and off. Cobwebs hang from the corners of the room like thick strands of garland. Retro stickers of car models, makes, popular supply brands, and oil company logos cover the upper half of the tin walls in a rainbow of colors while the shelves by the service desk sit empty.
It’s not hard to see the life this place used to have, and it’s surprisingly easy to imagine the life Chris will bring to it once it’s his.
By the time I return my gaze to my car, I find Chris watching me. He looks ridiculously hot in the old grease-stained coveralls and his backward ball cap as his pale-blue gaze sweeps over me, taking in the way I’m hugging my arms to my chest. “Sorry it’s so chilly in here. We don’t usually run the heat since the shop isn’t operational right now, but the space heater should eventually warm it up.”
I shake my head. “It’s fine.”
He eyes me like he doesn’t believe me before he drops the front of his coveralls and removes his hoodie while I gawk at him in nothing but the tank he wears beneath. “Here,” he says as he pulls it over my head, and before I can even say anything, he disappears out the door into the office. When he returns, much to my disappointment, his coveralls are back in place, but he carries a thick, brown Carhartt coat in hand. “Put this on, too.” He holds it out to me, and when I make no move to take it, he steps forward and helps me into it like a child. “It’s mine,” he clarifies. “I left it the last time I was out here.”
“And when was that?” I ask, slightly breathless. With him this close, I can see the snakeskin pattern of his irises, the tiny flecks of turquoise around his pupils.
“Last spring. I did some work on my mom’s car.”
Silence settles over us, his hands rising to the buttons by my neck as he licks his lips. My thoughts drift to the kiss at Danger’s party, and I swallow. I’m not sure if it’s the warmth from the added layers or the heat in his gaze, but I’m suddenly hot.
He fastens the final button, and I step back, needing some space to clear my head, room to breathe without him in it.
“Thanks.”
“Sure thing.” He tucks his hands into his pockets, staring at me like he has something else to say, and something tells me I don’t want to hear whatever it is, so I tear my gaze from his and slide my phone from my pocket.
“Texting somebody important?” he asks, and though his tone is innocent, his question is not.
“Why?” I ask, after I shoot off a text to Samantha and the girls, telling them I’ll be MIA for the day. “Worried it’s Danger?” I smirk. When he grunts in response, my smile grows. “Jealousy isn’t a good look, you know.”
I’m lying. Jealousy looks fucking fantastic on him.
He scoffs, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Me? Jealous of Soccer Guy?” He shakes his head. “No fucking way.”
“Mm-hmm. Well, just for the record, I was texting the girls,” I say, taking pity on him. “You know, in case you plan on murdering me in this abandoned shop and burying my body in the dumpster, I need somebody to know my whereabouts.”
“Pfft. I’m not that dumb. I’d totally drive you to the marina and dump the pieces of your body in the lake.”
Laughter bursts from my chest as I take a seat on a nearby chair. “You know, when you told me about wanting to reopen your father’s shop, I didn’t realize you were still in possession of it. I guess I just assumed you meant figuratively. That you’d open up something nearby or try to recreate it.”
“Nope. This is it, the real deal,” he says, glancing around him. “We were fortunate enough that it was mostly paid off when he passed.”
He offers me a smile, then sinks down onto the mechanic’s creeper, spreading his long legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankles. “When I was young, I was always out here. If I wasn’t in school, you could find me in the shop. My mom used to joke that I was my father’s shadow.” He shrugs. “Taking over one day was inevitable, even before my dad died. As I got older, I always knew this is where I’d end up. Right here, working for my dad. When he died, not much changed. It’s still what I wanted, and even though some might say I was too young to decide my future, my uncle knew how much I wanted this, so he saved it for me?for us. He handled the payments for the remaining five years left on the loan, and the rest is history. It’s mine when I’m ready. One day, I’ll pay him back, but for now, he has my undying gratitude.”
“That’s amazing,” I admit, thinking of how nice it must be to have extended family who care about you enough to sacrifice certain things to ensure your future. To have a support system beyond their own.
“Yeah, I’m pretty lucky,” he says before he lies down on the creeper and rolls out of sight beneath my car.
“How long do repairs like this usually take?” I ask around the sound of clinking metal.
“It depends on the complexity of the job, but your car shouldn’t be too bad. Maybe six hours or so?”
“Six hours,” I mouth. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but the prospect of sitting here with him alone and watching him work for six hours is more than a little nerve-racking.
“Panicking at having to spend the entire day with me, Baker?”
My eyes widen like I was caught red-handed, thinking that very thing. Am I that obvious?
“What?” I scoff. “No.”
An answering chuckle rumbles from beneath my car, and I marvel at the fact he knows me so well.
“So, what’s with the beater car, anyway?” he asks as he rolls back out, giving me a peek of his face as he sits up and grabs several tools from his tool chest.
“Not everyone can have a Mustang Boss 429,” I say in a snarky tone.
“Smart ass,” he says, dryly before he lies back down on the creeper. “Though I am impressed you remembered the exact model.” He flashes me a toothy grin from his position beside my car, and I blush, grumbling something about having a good memory when he slides out of sight again. “I just meant I’m sure your dad could help you get something newer, maybe a little more reliable.”
“My dad wanted to buy me something newer, but I refused,” I offer, surprising myself.
“Because?”
“Because he had already bought me a car when I turned sixteen, but I gave it away. Seemed unfair to take even more from him.”
“You gave it away?” he asks, and I can practically see the disbelief I know is probably on his face based on his tone, even from beneath the carriage of my car.
“It’s not like I gave it to some stranger or sold it or anything. I just traded my mother for it.”
“Okay. What kind of car?”
“A brand-new Nissan Z?”
A clatter punctuates my words, and I almost laugh when Chris slides back out from the car and peers up at me, wide-eyed. “You traded this clunker for a Nissan Z?”
I shrug as memories flood me. Mom had just lost her job again , and she was behind on some of her payments, so we sold her SUV, I gave her the Nissan, and bought Rhonda, the hunk of metal Chris is currently staring at me from. “It’s a long story, but I thought it might make her happy.”
Spoiler alert: it didn’t.
When Chris says nothing, I shift, uncomfortable in the silence. “Do you mind if I put some music on?”
“Of course not.” He motions toward the counter. “There’s an old stereo with overhead speakers that run through the shop if you want to see if you can figure it out.”
“Okay.” I stand and head to the counter where I find a stereo. After plugging it in and fiddling with a few knobs, classic rock music blasts through the garage at an ear-shattering decibel.
Wincing, I lower the volume and head back to my spot near the bench to find Chris working on the car again. “You know what I don’t understand?” I say, sinking back into my chair as I stare at his lower half. “I told you that my father is holding the car repairs over my head in the hopes I’ll cave and agree to be in the wedding, something you also want, yet you’re still helping me.”
“So?”
“So, aren’t you worried he’ll be mad? You’re taking away his only bargaining chip.”
“I don’t care about your father’s approval; I only care about yours, and it seems you need a car, and I just so happen to pride myself on being a damn good mechanic.”
My heart squeezes, surprised by his candor. “I mean, you’re not that altruistic. You did extort a date out of me.”
“Only because you insisted on giving me something in return.”
I hum under my breath. He’s got me there.
“Anyway, you seemed stressed about not having a car and being unable to go home if and when you need to, and I can help, so . . .”
I sigh and play with the hem of his jacket. “You picked up on that, huh?”
“Hard not to.” His arm darts out from the vehicle, his hand coated in grease as he grabs another tool. “But I get it. Over the summer, I was always running home. Being unable to help out all the time and see my brothers whenever I want is tough now that football season has started.”
Guilt churns in my stomach like acid, because that’s not my problem.
“The truth is I don’t want to go home. In fact, the only time I went home last year was for the holidays. I don’t take summer classes because I have to. I take them because I want to, because being anywhere else is better than being at home.” I release a shaky breath at the confession, suddenly vulnerable. “Doesn’t that make me terrible?”
“Wanting to build your own life doesn’t make you terrible.”
I grunt, wishing I believed him.
Chris slides out from beneath my car and stands, his expression serious as he grabs some kind of large tool that looks like a jack on wheels and rolls it beneath the Rhonda’s frame.
“My mother is sick,” I blurt.
He pauses, sinking down onto the roller, his gaze narrowed in concern. “Like cancer or . . .”
I snort. “Honestly, that would probably be simpler.” I run my hands over my face before I glance down at them and commence examining my cuticles as a means to avoid meeting his gaze. “It’s all mental. Clinical depression is what the experts call it, and it controls every single aspect of her life from her motivation to work to her health and personal hygiene and social life.”
I swallow, afraid of how he’s probably judging her?judging us?when I glance back up at him and catch the sympathy in the watery depths of his eyes. “How long has she been like that?” he asks.
“As far back as I can remember,” I say, unsure of why I’m telling him this. “The truth is, I don’t remember a time when she wasn’t depressed. There have just been varying degrees of it throughout the years, and sometimes there’s no rhyme or reason to it, either. Like things can be going swimmingly and everything is okay, and still, she’ll lock herself in her room for days and do nothing but weep. There was one year she could barely get out of bed in the morning. My father did everything. Dressed me for school and helped me on the bus. He went to work, then came home and made us dinner while my mother sobbed through all of it. And then there are times where I prepare for her to spiral and she doesn’t, like when I left for school. It makes zero sense to me. The whole of last year, she’d done amazingly well, better than I ever expected.”
I swallow over the lump forming in the back of my throat, remembering how much of my upbringing was like living on a rollercoaster.
“What happened . . .” he asks, his voice soft. “With your parents?”
My chin wobbles as I try to smile. “Eventually, my father’s patience wore out, and they started fighting. After that, any time Mom got bad, they’d bicker. Fights at the holidays or family outings because Dad just wanted us to have a good time, and he couldn’t figure out why my mother couldn’t just be happy. It’s not hard to see how he hit a breaking point.”
“So, is the real reason you don’t want my mother to marry your father because you’re afraid?”
“That my mom will spiral?” I clear my throat, sniffing as a bitter laugh tumbles from my lips. “No. I mean, my mother falling into an unreachable depression is an unfortunate side effect, but I was telling the truth when I said your mother and my father will never last. My dad has been serial dating since the day he left my mother, jumping from one woman to the next, barely pausing to take a breath in between. I’m not sure my father even knows how to have a serious relationship anymore, and the one he did have, he bailed on. My mother needed him. I need him.” I think that’s the part that hurts the most. “And even though a part of me gets it, he left us both.”
It’s an unfair statement if there ever was one. My mother was unbearable to be around at times, and though I do believe in the vows “in sickness and in health,” part of me is just so damn mad he got to escape her, and I didn’t. That he didn’t take me with him, but instead, left me inside that house, on the front lines of a war I had no part in starting.
“So, your emergency trip home to your mother the other day. Was that . . . ?”
“Because she was spiraling?” I nod. “Pretty much. She’s taking the news about their engagement as well as you’d expect, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to pull her out of it this time. My birthday weekend was spent picking up the pieces and trying to lift her spirits, but I’m in a losing battle, and I know it. So, I’m just trying my best to do damage control, and right now, her job is at stake. She hasn’t gone to work since finding out, and it’s not like I can make her. I can’t be here and at school. I can’t hold her hand and force her to be an adult.”
I fall silent, feeling the weight of my words settle between us like a stone that’s been dropped into still water, sending ripples through the air and lingering in the space between us.
“Damn, Lettie.” Chris shakes his head, rising to his feet.
He snatches up a white cloth and wipes the grease off his hands as he crosses the room, tossing it to the side before he crouches in front of me, so we’re at eye level.
My heart rate spikes as I take him in. A smudge of grease stains his cheek, and I’m tempted to reach out and swipe it away with the pads of my fingers.
He shakes his head and his mouth parts. “I can’t even imagine what that would be like. I’m so sorry you have to go through that.”
Reaching out, he takes my hand in his, and I fight the urge to completely fall apart. To let someone else hold the pieces of me together for once.
“You know what I don’t get?” I whisper, and he shakes his head. “There are people like your mom. Ones who lose their partners or a child?one of the people they love most in the world?and yet, somehow, they manage to pick up the pieces and build a life for themselves despite their heartbreak.” I swallow, hating the thickness of my voice. “There are people who get cancer or debilitating uncontrollable illnesses and face it with nothing but fierce determination and a smile on their face. And all the while, my mother sits in her house, healthy as a horse, with a daughter who loves her and an ex who would still be there if she called, and she can’t seem to get dressed and brush her hair in the morning. And only god knows why.”
A pained expression crosses his face as he reaches out and cups my face in his hands. Goosebumps spread over my arms.
“Don’t do that, Lettie,” he whispers.
“Do what?”
“Compare them.”
“Why, when it’s true?” I pull away from him and run a hand over my face, trying to get my shit together, stunned I’ve shared so much with him. “I’m sorry. I know what she’s dealing with is real, and I’m sure it’s awful, but sometimes I just get so angry that she can’t just be like other moms. That I can’t go to her about my problems for fear it’ll trigger her. Or that we can’t have one fucking happy day without me fretting her mood will shift, and it’ll all vanish. That I can’t go away to college and just be happy because I’m worried she’s not adulting like she’s supposed to.”
I drag in a ragged breath, embarrassed to be on the verge of tears when Chris groans.
“What?” I ask, blinking up at him.
“I’m not used to you looking sad, Lettie girl, and I have to tell you, it’s taking my fucking breath away, so I need you to stop.”
Lettie girl. I fight the urge to shiver. It’s the first time he’s used my nickname and it hasn’t bothered me.
“And what if I can’t?”
“Then we’re both in trouble because I might kiss you again, and I’m afraid I won’t stop.”
My heart skips a beat. “Oh.” My gaze drops to his mouth, and I think that doesn’t sound so bad, which is precisely why I tear my eyes away from him.
“Yeah, oh .”
I rise to my feet, cheeks burning as I shake off the swell of emotion in my chest. It’s not like me to get emotional. I rarely allow it, and I’m embarrassed I did so in front of him. “Sorry, I’ve never told anyone that before,” I say, feeling self-conscious. “I’m not even sure why I did.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Chris straightens, towering over me again. “You know what always helped me when I had a problem I couldn’t solve or something on my mind?”
I blink up at him warily. “If you say sex, I might punch you.”
His mouth twitches. “Understandable, and though that is an amazing coping strategy, I was going to say that I like to work on cars.”
I fight my smile. “Of course you were.”
“So, what do you say, Lettie girl?” He backs up, picking a wrench up off the floor and plunking it in my hand. “You wanna help me fix your car?”
“Me?” I point to myself.
“Yeah, you . Come on.” He grabs my hand and heads to a nearby shelf where he finds a spare creeper. Placing it on the floor beside his, he takes a seat, then glances up at me and waits. “Unless you’re afraid to get your hands dirty,” he says with a mocking smirk. “Wouldn’t want you to chip a nail.”
“Pfft.” I push my shoulders back, mood lifting at the challenge. “I can probably handle a dipstick better than you can.”
One corner of his mouth quirks, and his eyes brighten. “Oh, I have no doubt, Lettie girl.”