Chapter 19 #2
“He’s asking right now,” I say.
We’re both quiet, doing our best to eavesdrop on their conversation several feet away. There’s a lot of talk about turning things in certain directions and making sure valves are closed, and then we hear the magic words. “I don’t know why Tess won’t talk to me about it.”
It’s impossible to hold our laughter in. The harder we try, the louder our cackling grows, until finally Jersey pushes out from under the truck and sits up to glare at us.
“You guys are assholes. You know that?” He gets up off his board and moves to the front of the truck. “Saylor, join me up here, and I’ll show you the rest.”
“Sorry, Jers,” I say as he scowls my direction.
“Ignore them. You’re right to ask a woman for advice,” Saylor says, breaking my gaze with Jersey. Suddenly, all I see is her as she steps up next to him and leans over the engine bay.
A woman for advice.
She is a woman. I think that’s what’s got me so tangled inside, trying to sort out how this girl who was always just that—a girl—is suddenly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
Did I just wake up one day and see her differently?
Or was my mind opened to having something real with Saylor thanks to a massive grudge against my brother?
I suppose, in a way, I have him to thank for all of this. Whatever happens.
Saylor’s lips slip into a faint smile as her gaze moves between me and the space where Jersey is tipping the oil canister into the opening.
Our friend rattles on the same story he’s told us, about how he bought airline tickets for Cabo for Thanksgiving without consulting his girlfriend, not realizing she maybe wanted to spend the holiday with her family.
Rather than make fun of him the way Mig and I did, though, Saylor listens and digests his frustration.
“You were trying to be spontaneous,” she says.
He stands up straight and lets his head fall back.
“Yes! Exactly!” He waves his free hand at her, then toward me. “She gets it, see?”
I nod, and Mig rolls his eyes and flips open the laptop to pour his attention into the books.
“But is it possible that she was maybe planning on introducing you to her family during the holiday? Did she drop any hints?” Saylor’s eyes soften as Jersey sucks in his lips and tightens his jaw.
“Fuck,” he finally mutters. “She totally wanted to do that, and I completely missed it.”
He slaps his palm on his forehead, and Saylor pulls his wrist away with her hand. I shift my feet, wriggling out the spikes of jealousy that are suddenly prodding my insides.
“Don’t beat yourself up. Just be honest. You’d be surprised how sexy that is to a woman.” Saylor blinks slowly, and her eyes open on me before shifting back to Jersey.
“You really think so?”
Saylor nods.
“You want to go call her right now?” she asks.
“Kinda . . . hey, Row? You got this?” He tilts his head toward the open engine bay.
“Yeah, buddy. I got this. Go on,” I say, ignoring Mig’s low groan from behind the computer screen.
“Thanks, man. I owe you one!” Jersey says, surprising Saylor with a sudden hug that leaves her to look at me over my friend’s shoulder.
“What is this?” she mouths, and all I can do is shrug.
“You know you’re totally enabling him. He’s never going to get anything done if you keep giving him hall passes,” Mig says the second Jersey jets out of the garage toward his truck.
“Yeah, I know. But that’s what we do, isn’t it? The three of us? We have each other’s backs despite all our fucking faults.” My gaze lingers on the front of Jersey’s truck as his daytime running lights flicker on, and it takes a bump from Mig’s elbow into my bicep to snap me out of my daze.
“Hey, you know that I don’t hold any of your shit against you, right?
” Mig shifts his posture enough to insert himself between me and Saylor, who is still hovering around the truck.
I blink a few times and drop my gaze with a nod, not so sure about what he says.
I’m a lot to handle. My baggage. My decisions.
“Don’t do that,” he says, snapping to draw my eyes back up.
“You and Jersey, you guys aren’t the same.
He’s a lazy hippy who is, unfortunately, an electrical genius that we need to have around.
You’re a genius who was born into a fucked-up family dynamic.
Two different circumstances. Not your choice. ”
“Thanks. But maybe some of the chaos is my choice,” I say, glancing toward the truck, and the girl lifting her body up on her arms so she gets a better look inside a sixty-four Chevy.
Mig leans his elbow on my shoulder.
“Nah, that’s not such a bad move. I mean, is she your brother’s ex? Yeah. And is she younger than you? Yes. But that girl right there has her shit together a whole lot more than most. Age is a number. And your brother’s a dick, no offense.”
“No, he’s a dick,” I affirm.
We both shake with a quiet laugh.
“Right, well then? That decision? It’s growing on me. My sister loves her, and Cami’s got good taste in people. And you seem happy. That’s refreshing.” He tilts his head the other way and steps back from the counter, creating a path for me to head to the truck and join my best mistake.
“I might be a little happy,” I mutter as I pass through.
I stop along the opposite side of the engine bay, leaning on my forearms. Saylor lifts her head and falls back to her feet before gathering her hair at the nape of her neck, twisting it into this mysterious knot that somehow stays in place.
Her cheeks are pink from spending more time in the pool during the hot afternoons.
The outline of her swimsuit is starting to show on her shoulders, too.
“You learn anything from Jersey?” I squint one eye as our eyes meet.
“Uh, make sure you put the drain plug back in before you add the new oil. That’s my big takeaway.” She twists her lips, and I chuckle.
“Well, that’s a key component, so yeah. That’s good to know. Wanna help me change the filter?”
She nods, so I wave for her to follow me to the supply racks in the back of the shop.
I walk her through every little step, from picking the right filter type to how to remove the old one and replace it.
I let her put the filter cap back in place when we’re done, and she gets a bit of oil on the side of her hand, which she proceeds to wipe across the middle of her shirt as well as her forearm and chin.
“You were so close to making it,” I tease, gesturing to the fresh oil stain that’s likely ruined my favorite shirt of hers.
“Aww, damn.” She pulls the center of her shirt out from her stomach and heads toward the towel bin. I stop her before she makes things worse, though, grabbing my sweatshirt from the hook by the counter.
“I’m convinced you did that on purpose just to get one more article of clothing out of me,” I laugh out.
“I was missing a piece of winter wear.”
She dangles my sweatshirt on a finger and heads toward the hallway, probably for the bathroom. I slide up to sit on the counter just as Mig finishes up reconciling our books. His gaze passes me, and I catch the tight smirk on his lips as he stows the laptop away in the safe below the counter.
“What’s that for?” I have a hunch, and I’m sure my hot cheeks give my inkling away.
“It’s sweet, is all, seeing you all goofy and shit. You really like that girl.” He taps the center of my chest with his fist and moves toward the open bay doors to wait for our next client.
I follow him and lean against the outside wall, bending a knee and flattening my foot against the tan stucco siding.
“What’s coming in next? I didn’t bother to look too closely at the day’s docket. I figured I’d still be at the precinct right now.”
“Get this, you know that band they’re playing a lot lately on the alt channel, Killer Mongoose?”
I shake my head because I don’t listen to anything Mig doesn’t introduce me to. I’m too busy treading water just to breathe. I don’t have spare minutes to spend on music apps, and if it’s not on my phone playlist right now, it’s not getting heard.
“Right, well, they’re about to blow up. Anyhow, I guess they’re in town for a gig, and . . .”
I shift my posture, straightening my spine and drying my suddenly sweaty palms in my pockets.
“I guess a few of the guys are from the area, so it’s like a homecoming show and shit. And the lead guitarist has this seventies Ford pickup, with original olive-green paint. And—”
“Fuuuuuuck,” I breathe out, closing my eyes and tilting my head back.
“I mean, yeah. Olive green isn’t everyone’s taste, but—”
“No, that’s not it. I know the truck. I know the guy.
” I peek back inside the garage, to the back rooms where Saylor is still stripping out of her shirt and putting on one of mine.
Just in time for her dad to pull up in the same fucking truck I helped him pack when he ended his marriage and left her mom.
“Yeah? His name’s Jason something . . . I can look.” Mig starts to walk back to the desk, but I touch his shoulder, stopping him.
“It’s Jason Kelly. Saylor’s dad.” I study my friend’s movement, his slow pivot as he mentally puts together the little pieces I shared with him years ago.
Mig’s always been the one person I could talk to, and I’ve had to hold so many things inside, alone, that when something had to give, I shared the details of Saylor’s dad finding out about her mom’s affair .
. . with my dad. At the same time I found out.
“Oh . . . shit.” His wide eyes probably mirror mine. My stomach churns, and my mouth feels bone dry.
I couldn’t tell Caleb back then because the less he knew, the better.
That fact still stands. And I didn’t want to blow up Saylor’s life.
I still don’t. I figured I’d be able to handle a short meet and greet, maybe even a dinner with her dad during his gig.
I’ve been mentally preparing for it. But I’m not ready now.
Especially knowing that he must know I’m one of the owners here.
His visit feels suddenly intentional. And it’s beginning . . . right . . . now.
“Is that?” Saylor steps through the back doorway and points out toward the lot where a familiar classic F-250 crawls to a stop.
“Daddy!” She rushes toward the truck just as the driver’s door opens. My feet, however, are suddenly set in cement.
“Like I said, it was nice seeing you happy . . . while it lasted.” Mig slaps my back and heads toward our next client while I try to dislodge my tongue from my throat.