by Alexa Land
“I swear to you I didn’t hit your car on purpose,” he said. “I was definitely fishtailing when your tire blew, but that’s not what caused the accident.”
“I believe you.”
“Finally.”
I slowly circled around the back of the car, and he stood his ground. “Apologizing to you was only half the reason I hoped you’d be at the races tonight.”
“Did you want a rematch?”
“No, not really. I don’t always have to be on top.” I grinned a little when I said that.
“So, what was the other reason?”
I stopped right in front of Trigger and looked up at him. “I wanted to ask you out. Or, well, in. Will you come over next Friday night and let me cook you dinner?”
Now it was his turn to grin. “Can you cook?”
“Yeah, as long as you like Italian. The woman I work for has a cooking show on cable TV. Mostly, she just cusses a lot and accidentally makes things look like a dick. But I’ve been helping her out for a while now, and in the process I’ve actually learned my way around a kitchen.”
He smiled at me. “So, you can make dick-shaped Italian food.”
“Basically. It’s a funny thing. She doesn’t set out to do it, but maybe she always has dicks in the back of her mind or something and it comes out subconsciously.”
Trigger watched me for a moment, then said, “As fun as that sounds, we shouldn’t go out.”
“Why not?”
He turned partly away from me. “Even though I’d intended to ask you out on Valentine’s Day, I thought afterwards that it was probably a good thing we ended up arguing. This would be a mistake.”
“What makes you say that?”
“The fact that it was so intense when we had sex. I think I’d have a really hard time keeping my distance from you.”
“And that’s the goal? Keeping your distance?” Trigger nodded, and I said, “So, you don’t want to start anything with me because we have amazing chemistry.”
He frowned and said, “It sounds stupid when you put it that way.”
“Hey, you came up with it, not me.”
“Asking you out was impulsive. I don’t date, so I really don’t know what I was thinking there.”
“You don’t?”
“You already know I’m a parent, and my daughter comes first,” he said. “If I dated, that would mean bringing people into Izzy’s life who she’d probably get attached to, and when they eventually broke up with me, they’d break her heart in the process.”
That sounded an awful lot like he was finding excuses for not getting involved with anyone, but I didn’t call him on it. Instead I said, “Sounds lonely.”
Trigger sighed and looked over his shoulder at me for a long moment, then headed toward a door at the back of the shop. “I need another drink. Do you want one?”
“Another? Sure. What are we drinking?” I asked as I followed him.
“Whiskey now. I finished off the beer before you got here.”
The back room was part office with a cluttered desk, cluttered shelves, and a rickety-looking swivel chair, part kitchen with a mini fridge and small counter with a coffee maker, and part bedroom with an unmade twin bed. Beyond it, another door revealed a small restroom. “Do you live here?” I asked as he pulled a bottle and two coffee mugs from the shelves.
“No, I just spend the night here a couple times a week, after my daughter goes to bed. I tend to work really late, obviously, and sometimes I’m too tired to drive home.”
“Where’s home?”
“The other side of Bernal Heights. Izzy and I live with my sister, mom, and grandmother.”
“You and four women. That’s a lot of estrogen.”
He poured some whiskey into a mug and handed it to me with a crooked grin. “Now you understand why I need this man cave.”
After he poured a drink for himself, I raised a toast and said, “Cheers,” before slamming it down. I didn’t love the taste, but it left a nice, warm sensation in my belly. He tossed his back too before refilling our mugs.
On the shelves to my right, amid stacks of manuals and papers, were several family photos in wooden frames, and I wandered over to take a look at them. Unlike the rest of the room, they’d been dusted recently. There were a few snapshots of Trigger as a kid with a man I assumed was his dad, and the rest were all pictures of Izzy, spanning her infancy to the present day. There were photos of her with Trigger, his sister, and a couple older women with dark hair and bright smiles, but there was someone notably absent, and I said, “What happened to Izzy’s mom, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“She left.”
“Left? What do you mean?”
“I got Candice pregnant our senior year of high school, and let’s just say having a kid didn’t fit into her plans. She gave birth two weeks before she left for Princeton, gave me full custody and never looked back.”
“She didn’t keep in touch?” I asked.
“Izzy’s mom hasn’t seen her since the day she was born. I think Candice likes to pretend the pregnancy never happened. She didn’t stay in touch with me either, but we have a mutual friend, and he told me Candice never mentions her daughter. She was always really focused and ambitious, and after she graduated from Princeton, she went on to medical school on the east coast. By now, I guess she’s moved on to her residency.”
“She sounds cold.”
“She’s not. It’s basically the same as a woman giving her baby up for adoption, only in this case instead of giving her to strangers, she gave Izzy to me.”
I was a bit surprised he’d defend her, and asked gently, “Were you in love with her?”
“She was my best friend, so I did love her, but not in the way you mean.”
I sat down in the office chair and took a sip from my mug before saying, “Now I get why you’re so concerned about Izzy getting attached to people who might take off on her.”
“Exactly.”
“Does she miss her mom?”
Trigger sat down on the narrow bed and said, “In a way. I mean, Candice is a complete stranger to her, so I guess what she misses is the idea of a mom. She sees her classmates with their mothers and wonders why she doesn’t have that. Izzy knows Candice is out there somewhere, and that she’s chosen not to be a part of her life. I’ve always been careful not to talk about her, but my daughter’s overheard my family saying things. My mom hates Candice and doesn’t try very hard to conceal it. All of that’s confusing for a kindergartener.”
“I can imagine.”
Trigger and I finished our drinks and he poured us another. Since each was probably the equivalent of two shots, I was definitely starting to feel a nice buzz. “She’s still talking about you,” he said after a while. “I don’t know what you said to my daughter at that open house, but you made a huge impression. In fact, thanks to you, Izzy agreed to let me sign her up for music lessons and is looking forward to going back to the art center.”
“Kids love me. I think it’s basically because I’m Peter Pan. I never grew up, so they accept me as one of their own,” I said with a grin. “I’m glad to hear she’s going back, it’s a terrific place. A good friend of mine runs it.”
“Christian George? I wasn’t sure what to make of that guy. He looked like a wanna-be rock star and seemed really young to be running such a big nonprofit.”
“Christian’s one of the greatest people you’ll ever meet, and he has a heart of gold. He’s smart, too. He brought in a lot of terrific people, both to run the business end of things and to teach classes. I’m incredibly proud of him. How often do you get to watch someone so young accomplish so much?”
“I feel a bit better about sending Izzy there now, since you obviously have a high opinion of him.”
I smiled at Trigger and said, “Sounds like you’re pretty overprotective.”
“Of course I am. It’s my job to look out for my little girl.”
I thought that was touching. After a moment, I sai
d, “Tell me something, Trigger.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Your name. I only know your racing moniker.”
He said, “I’ll trade you. My name for yours.”
“You already know mine, you’ve seen my driver’s license.”
“I saw what you changed it to. I want to know your birth name.”
“Why?”
“I’m curious.”
I frowned at him and asked, “Do you own this shop?”
“Yeah. Why do you ask?”
I reached to my right and rested my hand on an unopened stack of mail. “All I have to do to find out your name is flip over this envelope. I have no incentive for telling you my original name.”
“Please? I promise I won’t make fun of it.”
“You wouldn’t be able to keep that promise, once you found out what it was.”
“Oh, come on. How bad could it be?”
“Really incredibly horrible.”
“Now I’m dying of curiosity.”
I picked up the business-size envelope and placed it face-down on my lap with a teasing grin. “I’ll miss you when you die.”
“Damn it, my name was my only bargaining chip!” He put down his mug, got up and crossed the three feet between us before dropping to his knees in front of me. As he captured my wrists, he said, “Please? Just tell me. I’ll never use it, and I’ll never make fun of it, I swear.”
He was so handsome, and as he looked up at me with those big, dark eyes I had a powerful urge to kiss him. I fought it though, and instead leaned forward and rested my forehead against his. After a moment, I murmured, “What were we talking about?”
“Names. Yours and mine.”
“Oh. Right.”
“I got you drunk, didn’t I? Sorry, that wasn’t intentional.”
I sat up a bit and looked at him. “I’m not that drunk, just nicely buzzed. And you know you have to let go of me eventually. When you do, I can pick up almost any envelope or sheet of paper in here and read your name, so I have zero incentive for telling you mine.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“Go out with me and I will,” I said with a smile.
He rubbed my wrists with his thumbs and said, “I’m going to. I shouldn’t, because I really think this might turn into more than I bargained for, but I’m way too attracted to you to deny myself at least a little time with you.” Trigger let go of me and picked up a small notepad and a pen from the desk. He handed them to me, took the envelope, and said as he looked in my eyes, “Trade your name for mine, not because you have to, but because you want to. Write it on a piece of paper and hand it to me when I give back the envelope.”
“This is really important to you.”
He nodded. “It’s not just because I’m curious. You came here to tell me you were wrong about me. Show me you believe that. I’ve promised not to laugh or make fun of your name. I want to know you trust me.”
I watched him for a long moment. Then I wrote three words, tore the sheet off the pad, and folded it in half. As I returned the pen and notepad to the desk, I said, “I was teased mercilessly for this name all throughout my childhood. My dad’s a Baptist minister, so my brothers and sister and I were all given Biblical names, but I got the worst of the lot. I changed it as soon as I was out on my own. Funnily enough, there’s also a Jesse in the Bible, but I didn’t think of that when I renamed myself. I just liked the name, especially the way I chose to spell it. It feels right to me, like this is what I should have been called all along.”
I handed him the slip of paper, and he handed me the envelope. I watched him closely as he unfolded it, and I expected him to burst out laughing. But instead he said gently, “That’s a pretty shitty thing to do to a kid. I’m sorry you had to grow up with that. It was an absolute guarantee you’d get teased.”
“That showed remarkable willpower. I can’t believe you didn’t crack up.”
He handed the note back to me. “I’m a dad. It’s absolutely heartbreaking when my child gets teased. I’d do anything to protect her from the cruelty of other children, but your parents pretty much set you up for it. No way am I going to add to all you must have endured by laughing at you.”
That meant more to me than he could ever imagine. I looked at what I’d written in my tiny handwriting and said, “Those names remind me not only of being teased mercilessly, but of a family that doesn’t want me anymore. I’m so glad I don’t have to be Jehosaphat James Jorgensen ever again.” I crumpled the paper and tossed it into a nearby trash can, and embraced Trigger as a lot of emotion welled up in me. “I’d gotten so used to being laughed at. That’s literally the first time in my life that someone my age didn’t instantly treat my name like a big joke.”
He kissed the side of my head and hugged me. “I didn’t realize how much was behind your name change. I’m sorry I pushed.”
“It’s okay.”
After a few moments, he said, “Your turn.”
I let go of him and turned over the envelope in my hand. Then I grinned and asked, “How do you pronounce your last name?”
“Kah-hall-lay.”
“It says, ‘To the parent or guardian of Isabella Kahale.’ I think it’s from Izzy’s school.”
“Oops.” He grabbed a few more envelopes from the desk and quickly rifled through them, then handed me one.
I read out loud, “Malakai Kahale.”
“I just go by Kai.”
“That’s a beautiful name. Is Kahale Hawaiian?” He nodded and I asked, “Have you ever been there?”
“I was born on the Big Island and spent the first part of my life in a small town outside Hilo. But when my dad died, my mom moved us to San Francisco to live with her mother. I was fifteen when we came here.”
“I’m sorry about your dad.”
“Thanks.”
“That must have been some pretty extreme culture shock, moving here after growing up in a small town in Hawaii,” I said as I put down the envelope.
“It was like moving to a different planet.”
“Do you think you’ll ever move back?”
“No. My family’s here now and I want to stay close to them.”
I looked around at the wood-paneled walls and asked, “How long have you had this garage?”
He sat back on his heels and said, “I bought it when I turned eighteen.”
“Wow. How’d you manage that?”
“My dad left me some money. He was the person who taught me to work on cars, they were his passion and they became mine, too. The Mustang I race was his prize possession, by the way. He wanted it to be a part of my inheritance, so my mom paid a fortune to ship it to the mainland when we moved here, way more than the car was worth at the time, actually. Anyway, I turned eighteen and got the rest of my inheritance three months before Izzy was born. I thought about how I could support myself and my child and decided to buy a garage, because fixing cars is the only thing I’m good at. I’m a shitty businessman though, and I’ve had a hard time getting it to turn a profit. I’ve had some pressure to sell it, but I can’t give up. It means way too much to me.” He stopped talking and grinned self-consciously. “That was a long answer to a simple question. Sorry.”
“Was the garage named Kit’s when you bought it?”
He shook his head, and then he moved back to the bed, pushed off his sneakers, and stretched out on his side. “I named it after my dad. His real name was Keikilani, but everyone called him Kit. Don’t ask me how his family got that from his name.”
“Is Malakai a Hawaiian name?”
“No, my mom just liked it.”
I said, “I’m glad I have something else to call you now besides Trigger. Did you name yourself after a horse on purpose?”
He chuckled at that. “That word has other contexts too, you know. Why does it have to refer to a horse that’s been dead for fifty years?”
“Good point. How’d you pick your racing name, anyway?”
“The fi
rst time I raced go-karts as a kid, my dad said I took off so fast that it was like someone had pulled a trigger. He started the nickname, and it just felt right to use it for racing.”
“It sounds like you and your dad were really close.”
“We were,” Kai said. “I could tell him anything.”
“What happened to him?”
“He died of stomach cancer at forty-three, a month and a day after being diagnosed with it. He showed symptoms for more than a year, but he just wrote it off as indigestion. He was always popping those chalky antacid tablets. My mom kept bugging him to go to a doctor, but he was a hard worker and didn’t want to take time off for something he thought would just go away on its own. By the time he finally went in, it was already in stage four.”
“I’m so sorry, Kai.”
“It was a long time ago.” I could tell it took a lot of effort for him to keep his emotions in check as he said that.
After a pause, I said, “Thank you for opening up to me. I didn’t expect that. You always struck me as the strong, silent type.”
“You just never bothered to talk to me. I mean, I’m not blaming you. I didn’t talk to you either. I tend to keep to myself at the races.”
“I noticed.”
“I will say, normally I’m not this chatty. I’ve had a lot to drink tonight.”
I asked, “How much beer did you have before I got here?”
“A six-pack.”
I crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. “I know this isn’t how you usually spend your Saturday night. Will you be back at the races next weekend?”
“Will you be there?”
“Does that change your answer?”
“No. I was just curious.”
I said, “I’m planning on going.”
The whiskey was making me bold, so I reached out and lightly stroked his hair. He watched me for a while before asking, “Does the offer of dinner Friday still stand?”
I nodded and told him, “I would have asked you out for tomorrow night, but the kitchen will be in use. Nana always makes a big Sunday dinner for the family. Actually, you should join us if you want to, it’s a lot of fun.”
“Dinner with your family is probably more than we should be aiming for at this point. If we’re going to start dating, I have to take this slow. I meant what I said about letting Izzy get attached to people who might not always be around.”