“I was fucking busy!”
I just… I just stood there, honestly, seriously, totally confused. What the hell was happening to him? It was one thing for him to be in a grumpy mood and gripe and be all condescending, but this?
Ripley looked at me and shook his head, his breathing choppy, going in and out of his nostrils. He dropped his hand then lifted it back up to the top of his head.
I didn’t move.
Rip shook his head, shook his hand out at his side and muttered in this crazy calm voice that I didn’t know what to do with. “Do it all over again.”
Do it all over again?
Was this a joke?
I wasn’t a drama queen, and I didn’t get offended easily either, but all I could do was literally stand there.
What he was asking me to do…
I squeezed my eyes closed, squeezed my hands closed, and told myself that there was nothing to be upset about. It wasn’t like I wouldn’t get paid hourly. It wasn’t like this was going to hurt me.
Besides internally for getting blamed for something that wasn’t technically my fault.
At least I thought so.
And you screwed up not that long ago, my brain reminded me.
“Start on it now. I’ll find the paint sample and call in the order. I’ll get somebody to pick it up,” he said in that low, icy voice that I had zero affection for.
I didn’t say anything as I opened my eyes and just stared at him, indignation and I don’t know what else taking the breath and the fight right out of me.
He wanted me to start over again. He wanted me to repaint a project I had already been working on. And if that wasn’t bad enough, he was blaming me.
We both knew I was right. Deep down he had to know I hadn’t been in the wrong. Because we both knew that I had called. It wasn’t my fault he hadn’t been paying attention or he’d been too distracted to tell me what he wanted.
It definitely wasn’t my fault that he’d been on a roll with his triggers and short temper.
But I didn’t call him out on that or say any of that to his face.
He was my boss.
This was a job I didn’t want to lose, especially not over something that some subconscious part of me realized wasn’t worth being right over.
But that little part of me… that little Luna who’d gotten blamed for things she had nothing to do with… she wasn’t a fan of getting blamed for something that wasn’t anywhere near being her fault. I was tired of that.
But he was my boss.
My boss that was staring down at me, as I stared right back at him.
There was something going on with him. I knew it. This wasn’t like him. He couldn’t have hidden this kind of crazy for three years, and I had to understand it.
I bit the inside of my cheek and just went for it. What was he going to do? Yell at me some more? So I asked him, even though I wasn’t sure if this would just come back and bite me in the butt even more. “Rip, what’s wrong?”
Those teal eyes stayed zeroed in on me. His body almost too still, but he said, “You fucked up the car, Luna. What do you think?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
His response was a glare.
So, we were back to that. Okay.
I wasn’t going to say anything about the dumb car. I knew he was wrong, he knew he was wrong, and something in my gut said that this, to a certain point, had nothing to do with the damn car he claimed to be so riled up about. But I had always struggled with leaving people alone, even though they might take their anger out on me, yet I still couldn’t keep my mouth closed.
I stood my ground. “I know you hate how much I try and joke with you, but if you wanted to talk about something, I would never tell anyone. Honest.” I blinked at him, lifting a shoulder. “I’m really good with secrets. No foolin’.”
He watched me, but he still didn’t respond. Those wide shoulders stayed tight. That mean expression stayed on his face, and this handsome, handsome man gave me nothing at all. Not a single thing.
I should have been used to it.
After a moment, he started to shake his head. “Start all over again” was all he said.
Then he turned around and walked out.
Life was a choice.
You get to choose how you handle things. You get to choose how you deal with those things. You get to choose if a rose is beautiful or if its thorns are a menace to your fingers.
What I chose was to not let Rip ruin my day. I was going to choose to not stay mad or hurt over this.
So, I balled up my anger toward Rip and I threw it in the trash.
He was my boss.
He was going with me to San Antonio, I was going to assume, and that was all that was going to matter to me. Something was wrong with him, and I’d just had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or something like that.
Whatever had just happened hadn’t been my fault.
But he’d still been a jerk. An unfair jerk to be specific.
I had a job to do though. I had money that needed to be made. That’s what I had to do. Ripley wasn’t my friend and wasn’t trying to ever be my friend. He was my boss.
I accepted that with a sigh, and then I got to work.
Chapter 7
When I got to the shop the next day thirty minutes earlier than usual, I told myself I was doing it because I had a lot of work to do.
Not because I was holding a grudge toward Rip.
And most definitely not because I’d had another bad dream including my dad that had me waking up sweating. I couldn’t remember exactly what had happened in it, only bits and pieces, but the dread and the nausea had been there. Live and present even after so long.
I had tossed and turned the rest of the night, trying to avoid the tiny bit of heartache I had felt because of it. Of how real it felt. Maybe because what I did recall was so similar to things that had really happened. The stupid-ass. Being called the wrong name. The drunkenness… That fear.
What the dream didn’t continue reminding me of was how I had grown up. Of how I’d gotten the hell out of there and gotten my sisters out too, the only way I’d known how.
Since that moment, that decision, I had clung onto every moment of happiness that I could.
So just like I had for the last going-on ten years, when I had felt more helpless than ever, I went to the one place that always took my mind off things I didn’t want to think about. I went to the shop.
I told myself that it worked in my favor because I hadn’t exactly had the most productive afternoon the day before thanks to the hours I’d spent fixing “my mistake.” Miguel had come over and helped me for about an hour, telling me all about how Rip had chewed him out for standing in his way.
But even with his help, I still hadn’t gotten enough done. It didn’t help that I had left work right at five o’clock. Rip hadn’t looked at me when I had walked by him with all of my things, but I had been ready.
Ready to pretend like I hadn’t heard a single word he might have said since he was going to pretend like I hadn’t called him to ask about the one thing he’d blown up at me over.
Ugh.
I couldn’t say my day had gotten better once I made it home.
My sister had been home, and that had been great, but the second I told her about the phone call I had gotten days ago—not that I admitted that part—it had gone downhill real quick. Specifically the part that involved me going to San Antonio had been like pouring gasoline on a small fire.
“Why are you doing this?” Lily had wailed. She had stood up the second I had mentioned the name of the city I’d be visiting for the first time in six years. “You know what they’re like!”
Of course I knew what they were like. How could I forget?
That conversation had spread wide and far to include a three-way call on speakerphone with our other two sisters, who had gotten tense and quiet as Lily ranted for fifteen minutes about how dumb it was for me to go.
I had a feeling they were all going to give me the cold shoulder for a while, even during the weekend when everyone came down for Lily’s graduation, but they weren’t going to change my mind. I knew the best thing I could do for my sanity was not to think about going in the first place so that I wouldn’t get more nervous or start second-guessing myself more than I already had. I needed to go. It was the right thing to do.
So, I knew going in that morning that I needed to zone out everything else and spend the day preparing the car for the Tropical Turquoise that was going to cover the pale grayish-blue it had been the day before. Then, eventually, I’d be spraying more color before topping it off with two coats of clear.
Hooray.
I hated making mistakes, even if what had happened hadn’t technically been one. I remembered Mack, the man who had taught me everything I knew, telling me once that I was too hard on myself when I didn’t do something right. Everyone makes mistakes, he had said, giving me a slap on the back. It isn’t the end of the world, Luna-girl.
And part of me was well aware of that. But the majority of me couldn’t let go of that mentality, no matter how old I got. Probably because I thought the whole thing was mostly Rip’s fault. I had called him. He hadn’t been paying attention, but it was still my fault.
Like it was always.
If I stopped at the drive-thru and bought a cup of coffee instead of making my own, it was only because I was in the mood for a white chocolate mocha instead of the same old thing I had every other morning. If my hands weren’t going to be as steady as they usually were… Oh well.
I was in the middle of working on the freaking Mustang in the big room right beside mine when I happened to look up and see a familiar face on the other side of the window of the door.
Rip.
Not wanting to mess up my flow so I could get to priming sooner than later, I turned my attention back and moved my arm along. I kept moving, finishing up the last section before I stopped.
If he needed something and didn’t want to wait, he could leave a note.
He knew better than to try and get me to stop in the middle of what I was doing. I didn’t want to screw up again, especially not in front of him.
When I was finally done, I left the sanding pad on the floor and pulled my hood down, my fingers snagging for a second on my headband as I made my way toward the door to open it.
“Morning,” I said, trying not to make it sound like a mutter as I peeled my goggles off and then tugged my respirator over my head. Most of the guys just wore masks, but I didn’t mess around with inhaling things that would come back and kill me later.
He blinked, and it was right then that I noticed he didn’t have his coveralls on. He had his gray compression shirt on, except this time it was underneath a tight black T-shirt that said COOPER’S COLLISION AND CUSTOMS in marigold yellow lettering. I’d forgotten today was an auction day. And even though I didn’t want or mean to, I flicked my gaze down to see he had on a pair of faded jeans that didn’t have any stains on them and boots that weren’t the same boots he wore to the shop all the time.
A small white paper bag hung from where it was being pinched at his side by his index finger and thumb.
I bit the inside of my cheek, remembering just how unfair he’d been yesterday.
Then I reminded myself he was my boss and even if he was wrong—and he was—I would have to be the one to eat shit unless I wanted to trade jobs.
And I didn’t want to do that.
“Luna,” he said in that deep voice that normally felt like a cold finger up my spine but today did nothing.
Okay, mostly nothing.
“Morning, boss,” I greeted him, my face straight.
Rip thrust the small white bag at me. “I’m not mad at you,” he said first thing, his voice calm, those teal-colored eyes locked on my face.
He wasn’t mad at me?
Like I had done something in the first place to get him angry?
I pressed my lips together and eyed the bag he was still holding between us.
Those eyes moved over my face, and something small moved across Ripley’s, almost… softening? Nicer? …Guilt? “It’s not the end of the fucking world, Luna.”
Of all the words….
“I can’t let you get away with things that I wouldn’t let the rest of the guys get away with,” he kept going, watching me closely with that face I wasn’t sure how to take from how serious it was. “Making me a birthday cake doesn’t get you a Get Out of Jail Free card.”
All I could do was stare at him and swallow his Monopoly reference.
He gave the white bag a light shake, inching it even closer to me. “I brought you that donut shit you like. Take it. It’s the twist one,” he went on, like I had no idea what my favorite donut was.
But the only person who didn’t have an idea of what was going on was him.
He’d brought me a donut?
Was this his way of apologizing for blaming me for something that wasn’t my fault?
Yeah. It was. It had to be.
It really was his way of apologizing.
A tiny little part of me wanted to hold a grudge….
But most grudges were a waste of time. They were a vortex where you lost time, energy, and happiness. Time, energy, and happiness you could apply toward something that was good, something that your whole life benefited from. Something that could actually make you happy.
And I wanted to be happy more than I wanted to be right.
Which was why I only really held onto big grudges, and I rarely let myself think of them. Usually.
I eyed Rip one more time then glanced down at the bag… and then I sighed.
I was going to choose, maybe not necessarily being happy, but not being mad. Ripley wouldn’t be the first person to blame me for things they had caused. If anything, he might be one of many, but he was one of the few to ever apologize… in his own way.
That was worth something. More than something really. And if I really thought about it, I might have appreciated the effort it took to even do as much as he just had. Hadn’t I just avoided telling my sisters that I’d known something for days because I didn’t want them to get madder at me than they already were?
I didn’t want to be a hypocrite.
I bit the inside of my cheek and said, “Thank you,” even though it sounded like more of a question.
He tipped his chin down once and only once, his eyes narrowing like he could read my mind.
He didn’t say he was sorry for bitching me out—for no reason—but he’d brought me a donut. My favorite. I hadn’t figured he’d paid enough attention to know something like that.
I reached over slowly, like he was going to change his mind and jerk it away at the last minute as I took the bag from him, watching his face as he did the same in return to me, looking for who knows what. To make sure I didn’t quit? To make sure I didn’t cry?
I’d barely taken it when he asked, “How busy are you today?”
It was hard not to think that was a trick question; he knew I had an entire car to prime and paint on top of trying to catch up on things so that I wouldn’t fall behind since I was taking a day off to go to San Antonio. “Pretty busy.”
His eyes slid around the room for a moment before he dipped his chin down in a way that seemed like it was more for himself than me. “Finish what you’re working on and meet me outside.”
“Why?”
He still didn’t look at me. “There’s an auction going on. You’re coming with me.”
What? “But—“
“Hurry up. It starts in an hour,” he stated, taking a step back and finally making direct eye contact again. His face was smooth. No hint of frustration or tightness on it at all, and I wasn’t sure what to think of that.
“I have to do the car that you—”
Those bright eyes landed on me, and his eyebrows went up a quarter of an inch. “It can wait.”
Now it could wait?
On the rare occasion that I did go, it had been with Mr. Cooper, but the last time I’d gone with him had been… three years ago? Four years ago? Maybe longer? When I’d first started trying to learn things about cars, he would take me all the time and point at things, explaining everything he could think of and everything I was curious about. I’d enjoyed it a lot. I would have never guessed just how much it would have interested me.
But since taking over the lead painter position, I had other things to do instead.
“He’s not coming in today. You’re up.”
I reached up to flick at one of the heart-shaped fake ruby earrings I’d put on that morning with the tip of my index finger. “But—”
Rip’s eyes strayed to the side of my face for a moment before focusing again. “Everything can wait. I’ll meet you by my truck.”
He was being serious about me going with him. “But…,” I mumbled, trailing off, because I wasn’t sure what other argument to give him for why I should stay.
Other than him taking his crap out on me the day before, there was no reason I should want to stay and work. Who would say no to taking a few hours off? Me, apparently, and I wasn’t even sure I knew why I was totally fighting it other than just being a tiny bit resentful over how he’d been. Sure, I was going to forgive him and get over it, but I wasn’t a robot. I couldn’t just turn my feelings on and off. I needed at least ten minutes.
“I’ll deal with it if you fall behind. Let’s go,” he stated in that voice that was somewhere between patient and not.
He took another step back and then turned around to head toward the door, calling out over his shoulder, “You can eat that in my truck. Let’s go.”
Eat—
He was really being serious. He wanted me to go with him.
The door shut just as I stood there and glanced at the bag in my hand.
I sighed again.
Luna and the Lie Page 10