She’s crying, thick sobs over the phone line. I did this to her.
“I’m so sorry, Ani. I would do anything to take the last twenty-four hours back and fix this.”
“You can’t fix me.”
She hangs up. I try to call her back, but it goes to voicemail.
I tap out a text, then delete it. Again. Again.
If an apology text is deleted and never sent, was anyone really sorry?
How many times can one man say he’s sorry in his life before he has to accept that he’s an unfixable asshole?
Chapter Seventeen
Tiffani
I text Tanner to tell her I’m not feeling well and I won’t be coming in after the house inspection, which is stupid and awful ’cause everyone is going to find out the truth anyway. But I don’t want to see anyone. I don’t want to admit I fell for the same guy who broke my heart the first time all over again. That I packed its broken pieces up in a sweet little gift box and carried it to him, only to snatch it back at the last moment because I realized broken hearts make terrible gifts.
Tanner leaves me a voicemail on my phone asking if I’ll make it to the car clinic. I ignore it as long as I can, then send a text: I’ll be there tomorrow.
The house inspector arrives with the new buyer in tow, and they walk through and around the house while I hide in the living room with my coffee. When they finally leave, I go back to bed.
Matt texts me three times.
Can we talk about this? I’m sorry.
My flight leaves in half an hour. I love you. Don’t give up on us.
That one makes me cry. Big ugly, snotty sobs into my pillow. Us? I haven’t given up on anyone but me.
I have to turn off my phone now. I’ll call you when I land. Please pick up, okay? Love you.
I turn off my phone and bury it in a drawer.
Around noon, I get up and start packing up the house. A lot of the personal stuff is already in storage from staging. Most of the furniture will be donated to charity, so I ignore that. I pack up the kitchen appliances first. Then I open the cupboards and start with the glasses. Then my parents’ wedding china.
When I get hungry, I sit on the kitchen floor and eat a bowl of Cheerios, staring listlessly at the refrigerator magnets. Should I keep those? They aren’t personal ones. Just boring plain ones the real estate agent disapproved of but said I could keep “if you absolutely must.”
I’ve long forgotten that my phone is upstairs in my dresser drawer as I start cleaning out under the sink in the bathroom, so I’m startled when there’s a frantic pounding on the door.
I put down the box of cleaning supplies and make my way to the front door. I open it to find Duke standing, red-faced, on my front steps. “Britney’s in labor.”
“What?”
“Tanner called me from the hospital. She went home for lunch and Britney was having contractions. She’s having a baby. My little sister.”
“Okay.” I stare at him. “Isn’t it too early? She just had her shower last night.”
He shakes his head. “No, the shower kept getting pushed back because of all the drama with Ma and Clifton. Can you put your shoes on, please?”
“Why do I need my shoes on?”
“I need to go to the hospital and help my sister deliver a baby!” he practically shouts. “You need to put your shoes on and go to the shop. We can’t leave Ven in charge of everything. He’s not even full time.”
“Oh.” That makes total sense. “I called in sick.”
“Yeah, but you’re not sick, are you?” He looks at me suspiciously.
Does heartsick count? I shake my head. “No.”
“Okay, so I’m gonna need you to suck this up and take one for the team.”
I drop my head to my chest, stifling back the threatening tears.
“Awww, Tiff.” Duke pulls me into his arms and squeezes me tight. “I don’t know what’s going on; I can tell you’re hurting. Can you pull it together for me for the next couple hours?”
I nod, sniffling into his shirt. “This is a very inconvenient time to have feelings.”
He laughs, a low rumble. “Feelings are never convenient, sweetheart. Come on, the shop’s on the way to the hospital. I’ll drop you off.”
I grab my shoes and lock the door. I climb into Duke’s truck and stare at his fingers drumming nervously on the steering wheel.
“She’s going to be okay,” I tell him. “Women have babies every day. She’s young and healthy, she’s gotten excellent prenatal care.”
“Your mom—” he starts, and I put a hand on his arm.
“Your sister is not my mom. She’s going to be fine.”
We ride in silence to the shop, my pain and his fear filling the cab of the truck thicker than any words could. When he pulls up out front, I grab his hand and squeeze. “Thanks for the ride. Go meet your niece.”
He grins at me and squeezes back. “Thank you, Tiff.”
I walk past the office and drop in on Tegan at the parts counter. “Hey. Everything okay here?”
She nods. “You look like shit. Are you okay?”
“Nope. But I’m here. I’ll be in the office.”
I make my way to the locker room, knocking once. No answer, so I go in and change into my coveralls. I check on Ven. I find him bent over the hood of an old Mustang. “What’s up, Ven?”
He smiles at me over his shoulder. “I have a Stingray in the lot that needs a second look. The customer complained of a rattle, but I can’t duplicate the problem. How are you feeling? Tanner said you were sick.”
I manage a tight smile. “Just heartsick. Boyfriend troubles.”
He straightens up, frowning. “The guy with the Chevelle? Do you still want me to crew for him?”
“Yeah. Definitely. He’ll pay you well. And he’s not a bad guy, we just have too much history I can’t get over.”
“That sucks.”
“So, I’m going to take the Stingray for a drive, see if I can find the rattle. You good for a little bit?”
“Sure am. Let me know what you figure out with the Corvette.”
The rattle is a loose bolt in the convertible top. I identify it before I get out of the lot. I pull it into the shop and park it in my bay.
“Did you test drive it with the top down?” I ask Ven, and he nods.
“Figured I would hear more.”
“Whenever you’re looking for a noise complaint, you need to check it both ways. Look here.” I point at the loose bolt and flick it with my thumb. “At speed, that makes a sound like a rattlesnake. You won’t hear it if you’re listening for engine noise with the top down.”
“Heard. Thanks, Tiffani.”
“You’re welcome. These ragtops are noisy as hell anyway, so it’s a good practice to check for loose bolts any time there’s a noise complaint. Mark it as diagnostic time.”
“I’m not used to people trusting me to diag their cars.” He smiles shyly. “I’m getting more education in just a few months here than I had in years at my old job.”
“Good. We like you smart.” I toss him the keys. “You can finish her up. I’ll be in the office.”
In the office, I reach into my pocket for my phone, only to realize it’s still in my desk drawer. I pull up the appointment sheet for the car clinic and start looking it over. Fifteen appointments. Not too bad—if Duke isn’t at the hospital all night. Otherwise, it’s me and Ven and fifteen cars.
I pick up the phone and call Tegan’s extension. “What’s Ty up to tomorrow?”
“Not sure. Do we need him for clinic?”
“I think so. Just in case. I’d like to have three techs here for clinic. Don’t take any new appointments for tomorrow. Book ’em for next weekend.”
“Got it. I’ll call Tyler.”
I let the rhythm of th
e shop soothe me. From walking around to check on Ven, to helping Tegan with the parts orders, there’s something calming about being here when it’s quiet and everything is running smoothly. It almost feels like Dad’s still with us. I start the closing paperwork at five. Tegan has confirmed all the appointments and let the owners of the cars we finished today know they can pick them up tomorrow. Everything is in order. Which means I can’t avoid going home any longer.
“Give me a ride?” I ask Tegan, who’s got a chat window up on her computer screen, as always.
She glances over her shoulder at me. “One sec.”
She types a message to her friend, then closes the laptop and grabs her bag. “Do you ever wish you were gay?” she asks as I open the door to her GTO.
“Uh...” I glance at her, wide-eyed. “I—No? I mean, it’s great that you are, don’t get me wrong.”
She shakes her head. “That was a bad way of phrasing it. Have you ever met someone, and you feel like you’re just destined to be with them? But something too big to get over is in the way?”
Uh, yeah. I’ve felt that. “You know, Tegan, this is a really bad time. Matt and I broke up again last night.”
“Oh shit. Tiff, I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, well. You know, I’m bad at feelings.”
“And I bring up my stupid crush. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, really. Are you wishing you were straight?”
She shrugs. “No, not really. I love women. I just wish I could meet a woman I got along with the way I do with Cal.”
“Your friend online?”
She nods. “I mean, he’s super easy to talk to. He gets me, like really gets me. He doesn’t think the cars are weird.”
“What about Matt’s friend? The blonde?”
She rolls her eyes and blows out a breath. “We had a good time, but it was just a hookup. There was no connection past the physical chemistry. I need more than that.”
“Yeah. I get that.”
“What happened with you and Matt? He didn’t cheat on you again, did he? ’Cause I will cut off his—”
“No. It’s me this time. I saw a video of him on the red carpet last night. He was with a woman, and I got—super disappointed and jealous.”
“Well, that’s fair, isn’t it? I’d be jealous if my girlfriend was on a date with someone else and I didn’t know about it.”
“It wasn’t a date, though. He should have told me about it, but that’s not the problem. The problem is me. I don’t know if I can ever trust him again. And I don’t like being a jealous bitch who searches Twitter hashtags for her boyfriend with other women.”
“Were you?”
“Was I what?”
She pulls the car into my driveway and puts it in Park. “Were you looking for pictures of him with other women?”
I shake my head. “No. I was just looking for pictures of him in his tux.”
“So, you were surprised by something you weren’t looking for and weren’t expecting to see, and you’re mad at yourself—to the point of breaking up with him—because of that?”
“Well—”
“No, see, I love you, Tiffani, but this seems pretty simple. You’re calling yourself a jealous bitch and describing behavior that isn’t actually what you did. And while I don’t doubt you were jealous, I don’t think your actual behavior was particularly shameful. So, are you mad at yourself for being surprised? Or are you mad at yourself for having feelings?”
My face heats, and tears threaten again. “I don’t know.”
“Maybe figure that out? Like for real? Because the way I see it, you have it made. You love a guy who is crazy about you, you have insane chemistry with him and have since you were teenagers. You have common interests like whoa. And you’re mad at yourself because you can’t control everything? For fuck’s sake, at least you like guys!”
“Tegan—”
“Seriously, Tiffani, listen to yourself. And go turn your phone back on, wherever you’ve stashed it. Tanner texted a while ago and said Britney was in transition, whatever that means, but it sounds like the baby is coming soon.”
“Okay.”
“Get out of my car. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
I stare at my dresser drawer for a long time before I open it and dig out my phone. I turn it on and notifications start popping up like crazy on my screen.
Five messages from Duke. Three from Tanner. Three from Matt.
I sit down on my bed and mark Duke and Tanner’s messages as read. Then I read the ones from Matt.
In Atlanta. Call me?
I’m shooting Saturday, but maybe we can talk Sunday?
I am so very fucking sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I surprised you. For all I know you’ve blocked my number, and I probably deserve it. But in case you didn’t—please, please don’t think there’s anything wrong with you. You’re better than an Oscar. You’re better than driving a fast car. You’re amazing and you deserve to be happy. Please be happy.
I hit reply.
Phone was off all day. I’m sorry, Matt. I need time. I’ll see you in a few weeks at the race at Tate. Ven’s still happy to crew for you.
I attach Ven’s contact card and press send.
Matt
I’m not going to lie, I’m looking for Tiffani from the minute I enter the pit. It’s been almost a month since I’ve seen her. A month since lying to ourselves turned into the shortest official relationship in the history of time. A month since I told her I love her.
And for me, nothing has changed. Being with her these last months, officially or not, made one thing clear to me: Tiffani Ellis is—has always been—the love of my life. If she’ll have me, she always will be.
It hasn’t been total radio silence. I’ve texted her, asking how she’s doing, and she’s replied with short but friendly answers. Enough to keep hope alive.
Ven moves around my car, checking everything out, making sure the parachute is packed properly. He waves me over.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Your car’s fine. You can stop looking around. Tiffani isn’t going to be here until the afternoon when the pro class races start. The family is having a cookout at Duke’s place.”
Oh. The family. “How are they doing?”
He shakes his head and starts wiping some dirt off my fender with a shop rag. “They’re fine, all things considered.”
All things considered. What does that mean? And then it hits me. Her father passed away last summer. That night she broke down and cried at my apartment, she told me it had been almost a year. And she’s going through the anniversary of his death alone.
Not alone. Just not with me. She has her family.
“So she’s not emceeing the sportsman class?”
“Nah. They don’t bother with an emcee for your asses.” He throws the rag at me. “She’ll be here later, Romeo.”
Disappointment runs like ice through my veins. “Okay. I’m gonna walk around a bit.”
I walk through the pit, saying hi to the folks I’ve gotten to know through the last few races. I run into Tiffani’s Tío Javi by the vending machines.
“Javier,” I greet him with a nod. “How’s it going?”
“Matt.” He nods back. “I was hoping for a rematch, but it looks like a no-go. Who are you racing today?”
“Some guy in a Camaro with three first names.”
Javier laughs. “Yeah, I know the guy. John-Paul Edwards. He had a false start down in South Carolina. Car’s fast as hell, though.”
“Great.” I grimace.
“Where’s my girl?” He looks around. “She isn’t crewing for you?”
I shake my head. “Conflict of interest ’cause she works for the venue. She’s emceeing the pro races.”
“Good for her.”
“Oh, she was, was she?” Javier laughs. “Tell her I’m fine, just getting old. I can’t win every race.”
Eli and Alex approach us, arguing in Spanish. When they reach us, Eli says something to Javier, who replies curtly, and they retreat. “I’m up in fifteen. Good luck today.”
“Same to you.” I raise a hand in farewell.
Since I’m not racing until the very last heat, I get comfortable to watch his race from the hood of my own car. Ven climbs up next to me and offers a bottle of water.
“Thanks.” I take it. “Who do you think has this one?”
“Javier for sure. He’s a legend around here, and that Coronet he’s driving is smoking fast.”
We watch the cars burn out and then idle up to the pre-stage. The tree lights up and they’re off. The crowd in the stands roars as Javier takes the win. Soon we’re down to the last two races of the day. We’re watching the heat before mine roll up to the staging area when I hear a noise behind me.
I know, somehow, that when I turn around, it’ll be her, and yet, she takes my breath away just the same. She’s wearing a denim shirt tied up over her belly button with her hair in two long braids hanging to the waistband of microscopic white shorts. I follow the line of her long legs down to where they disappear into cowboy boots, and my mouth goes dry.
“Ani.” I open my arms and she walks into them, burying her face into my shoulder and taking a deep shuddering breath. I hold her, not sure what to say or do.
“I wasn’t sure how I would feel when I saw you again,” she says, speaking into my shoulder.
I push her back so I can look at her. “And how do you feel?”
“Conflicted. Confused. Horny.” She laughs. “I missed the shit out of you.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “I have to go drive. Tell me about it later?”
She nods and hugs me again. “Come find me after the pro races are over. Go win this thing.”
Flying Gold Page 17