Chapter 10
Ethan
Cold reality sank back in as he pulled up to Lucky’s Auto Shop. The scent of hot metal and motor oil drifted in through the open window.
Jonah “Lucky” Bell was in the open bay of his shop, hunched under a lifted hood with one boot braced on the bumper. The radio perched on a nearby workbench, playing something smooth and jazzy just like it had been doing for the last twenty years.
Folks started calling him Lucky back in high school, after he crawled out of a wreck that should’ve sent him straight to the pearly gates.
He rolled up to the ER with his leg held together with nothing but duct tape and his car dragging half its bumper, grinning like he’d just won prom king.
Then, on his thirtieth birthday, he won the state lottery with more zeroes than witches in Brim’s Hollow.
After that, the name stuck for good.
Lucky never let the money go to his head or change who he was.
His ball cap was fraying at the brim. Grease stained his coveralls, and fingerprints from half the town's engines smudged them.
There was always a thermos of lukewarm coffee somewhere nearby and a box fan blowing dust in from the open bay doors.
Ethan turned off the engine and sat out front for a long moment.
Lucky had a heart as big as his tool chest. He was the kind of man who’d give you his spare tire, his shop rag, and half his sandwich without asking why you needed any of it.
Which is why Ethan was going to lie to him.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Lucky said, when Ethan finally made his way out of the car and into the shop. “Didn’t think you’d ever take me up on my offer to help you get her fixed up.”
Ethan offered a tight smile. “Not today, man. I need an appraisal.”
“You’re selling?”
“Yeah,” Ethan said, trying hard to sound casual. “A friend of a friend out of town wants to buy, and I just want to make sure I give a fair price.”
There was a beat of silence as the jazz crackled softly in the background.
“Hell,” Lucky said, quieter now. “Never imagined you’d get rid of this old beauty.”
“Me neither.”
Ethan glanced over his shoulder at the car. The cherry-red paint had faded to something closer to rose, but she still turned heads. Growing up visiting his grandma’s, he dreamed about the day he’d own it.
“She’s never really been a family car,” he said finally.
“I don’t know about all that. Marg and Lois managed fine.”
Ethan huffed a breath, lips twitching at the corners. As a teenager, Grandma Marg loaned it to him to impress a girl. He drove fifteen miles an hour under the speed limit the whole time, scared to death of scratching the paint. She’d kissed him anyway, and he’d married her not long after.
But the numbers weren’t lying, and collections didn’t care about sentiment.
“If you need the money, you know I’d help you out,” Lucky said.
Ethan’s jaw tightened. “That’s not what this is.”
Lucky looked at him then, reading all the things Ethan wasn’t saying. He gave a slow nod, then tossed the grease-stained rag onto the workbench. “Alright then. I can give her a look, write up a number.”
“Appreciate it.”
A car door slammed nearby, and they both turned to see Theo getting out of his police cruiser and coming toward them.
“What’re you two gossiping hens up to without me?” Theo called, walking toward them with a grin.
Ethan turned, hands slipping into his pockets. “Just catching up.”
“Uh-huh.” Theo gave the car a once-over, then glanced at Lucky. “He finally admitting this thing’s more rust than ride?”
“Nope,” Ethan said before Lucky could answer.
“Having car trouble?” Theo asked.
Ethan shifted his weight, suddenly more aware of the tightness in his shoulders. “No trouble with the car.”
Theo tipped his head. “Then I’m guessing this has something to do with the federal pencil-pusher sniffing around your place.”
Lucky straightened. “Wait—shoot, I forgot you’ve got that auditor hanging over your head. You doing all right with that?”
There was nothing Ethan hated more than being asked if he was alright. He hadn’t been for a long time. Not since Leticia left, and if he were being honest, probably even before then.
“Yep. All good,” Ethan said, but even he could hear that the words sat wrong.
“Bullshit,” Theo said immediately.
All Ethan could do was stare at him. He wanted to deny it, to swat the whole thing away with some clipped joke or empty reassurance, but the truth sat too close to the surface.
Nothing was going as he expected. Hell, he’d just invited the auditor to stay in his house. Even though she represented everything that threatened his way of life, she didn’t feel like a suit. Not really. He didn’t know what that said about him, but it couldn’t be anything good.
So he said nothing. Just stared back at his best friend while Lucky looked between the two of them.
“Let me get you some paperwork.” Lucky went through the door to his office to give them some privacy.
“What’s going on with you?” Theo asked.
“Nothing's going on. They don’t keep you busy enough at the station? Can’t a guy take his car to the shop without the third degree?”
“You’re selling.”
“I’m thinking about it.”
“You love this thing. Hell, I think you loved it before you loved her.”
“That’s not funny.”
“Wasn’t trying to be.”
Theo’s tone softened. “I get that you’re proud, Ethan. I do. But there’s no shame in saying you’re in over your head. Especially not with what you’ve been carrying.”
Ethan didn’t meet his eyes. He didn’t know how to explain it in a way that made sense.
The days blurred. He was always behind, rushing to catch up and always falling short.
The paperwork, the farm, the kids. It was like trying to hold water in his hands, but the idea of letting someone else step in, even just a little, felt like giving up.
He crossed his arms over his chest, more to hold himself together than anything else, and said firmly, “I’ve got it handled.”
“That’s not what it looks like.”
“Dammit, Theo,” Ethan snapped. “Just let it go.”
Theo pulled back slightly, and guilt settled in Ethan’s chest. He hadn’t meant to bark like that. Theo didn’t deserve it. Ethan knew he was only trying to help. “I’m sorry, man. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
“You know, some of us care what happens,” Theo said. “Not just to the orchard or the girls, but to you.”
Ethan looked down at his shoes, then up at the car. He imagined someone else behind the wheel—someone with more time, more money, less history—and something in his chest pulled tight.
“I’m just weighing my options,” he said finally.
“Well,” Theo said, his voice softer now, with less edge, “you’ve still got people, Ethan. You’re not alone, no matter how much you try to act like it.”
Ethan nodded once. It was all he could manage without something breaking loose.
Lucky’s office door squeaked open. Somewhere in the street a horn beeped a friendly hello. Someone drove by with music pumping. The world kept going.
And Ethan stood there, caught between holding it all together and letting go.