Till The Sun Dies: Checkmate, #2

by Finn, Emilia

  “I would never dump you.” I run my fingertips along the faded paint and glance at the roof frame. Some of the old fabric remains, but it’s mostly dust now.

  “But you protected your car, huh?” I lean over the door and run a hand over the almost immaculate leather bench seat. “Sitting in the weather for God knows how many years, but the leather is still almost perfect.” I imagine a whole new life for this car. A life of fun and sand and lazy days in the sun.

  I imagine couples lying head to head on the backseat, with their feet hanging over the doors, their fingers twined, and their tongues teasing; words, caresses, sass.

  I imagine Ang and… Frowning, I’m not sure who I imagine him with. She’s blurry to me, but she’s someone, and she’s beautiful and kind, because that’s what he deserves. I imagine them planning a lifetime together, and every plan they make will include this car.

  “I wonder if I can buy it from him?” I walk around to the still open hood and run my thumb over the oil and dirt covered engine. “Will you ever run properly? Will you make me proud?”

  I spend an hour with the beautiful car. I fiddle, but I don’t unpack any of the million boxes stacked against the wall.

  This isn’t my car.

  Not my garage, either.

  I simply walk around and poke my nose into an engine bay that never invited me. I hum under my breath, and tuck my hands into my pockets when they itch to touch.

  But when the mosquitoes eat me to death and the cicadas grow loud enough to drown out Jess’ giggles from upstairs – or perhaps Kane is done making out with her – I step back through the open door, flip the light switch, and head back upstairs.

  Nine hours later, I come back to find two industrial sized bug zappers and a candy bar.

  12

  Angelo

  Bonding

  “She went down to the car!” As soon as Kane walks into the garage I own and operate six days a week, I toss my shifter down with a clang and herd him toward the office. “She went down. She looked.”

  He grins. “Thanks, Sherlock. You solved the mystery of who the hell did I let into my garage last night. I knew someone was down there, but I couldn’t figure out who owned all that blonde hair. Jess was with me, so I was clueless. Couldn’t figure it out.”

  “Shut up.” I flop into my chair, and leaning to a mini fridge beneath my desk, I pull out a Coke and pass it over as he sits opposite me. “I didn’t expect she’d go down so soon. I figured I’d have to rebuild half the engine before she gave in and checked it out again.”

  “She’s curious.” He pops the can and takes a sip. “How many times did you have to swoop in and save those girls from their own curiosity when they were kids?”

  I laugh. “You mean like the time they went to the old haunted house on the edge of town, but the floorboards and stairs were rotting. The twins got upstairs, but couldn’t get down again.”

  He shakes his head. “Yeah, that’s what I figured.”

  “There was the time her brother annoyed her so much, Laine tore his bike apart. Piece by fuckin’ piece. Laid them out like she was rebuilding it again, which, when her folks found out, she did. She knew how to break it down, and she laid each piece out in order, but she didn’t know how to put it back together again. That was the first time we rebuilt an engine together, and though Luc was being a dick and deserved a kick up the ass, he ended up with a bike that ran better than ever.”

  He studies the can of soda in his hands. “You’ve been watching this girl forever, huh?”

  I ignore his question, because I’m not ready to admit that maybe he’s right. Maybe I’ve been watching longer than I can even admit to myself. “Then there was that time the girls went cow tipping.”

  “They did not!”

  “They did!” Kicking my ankles up onto my already filthy desk, I picture it in my mind. “The four of ‘em got it in their heads to annoy old man Smythe, since he was a grumpy fuck and had a problem with female ankles showing. They’d wear perfectly modest skirts, like, an inch above the knee, and he’d call them whores. They were barely hitting puberty yet. They went down to his farm and tipped a cow. Britt ate the mud, they all ended up covered in cow shit, and Laine sprained her ankle.”

  He grins. “What about Jess?”

  “She smelled like the rest of them, so her claim of innocence wasn’t complete truth.” I shake my head. “It’s funny how life has worked out. Jessie was the serious one. She’d stand back and watch her sisters make fools of themselves. She was always there, but she was the dignified one. The girls wanna skinny dip? It was Laine that suggested it. They wanna climb trees? Laine. They wanna walk on the train tracks or steal rose bushes? Laine. Now our good girl is in love with a fuckin’ thug, and our wild girl is scared of her own shadow.”

  “She’s gonna be okay.” He stretches back and makes himself at home. “She went out to the garage last night all by herself. She was out there for ages, and before that, she caught me and Jess fooling around. It spooked her; Laine, that is. Jess and I were playing, a little rough, I guess.”

  The expression on my face is enough for him to stop.

  Laughing, he sips more Coke. “I won’t paint a picture, but either way, it spooked Laine. Hearing her sister say no, watching Jess push me away…”

  “Jess was saying no and pushing you away, and you didn’t stop?” I sit forward and point a finger. “Motherfucker, I’ll cut your nuts off.”

  He snorts. “You need context. She wasn’t actually saying no. She was saying ‘run my ass upstairs now, Bish, before we get caught fuckin’ in the kitchen.’”

  “Dude!”

  “I was giving you context, since you’re set on making me the villain. My point is, Laine was spooked a little. She went back there in her head, but then she pushed it away. She might’ve even been a little envious that her sister could enjoy that and she couldn’t.”

  “Dude! Fuck.” I drop my feet to the floor. “You do not get them both! I swear to Christ, you try it and I’ll make you eat your own dick.”

  “No.” Laughing, he shakes his head. “I didn’t mean it like that. She’s not jealous of my part in that transaction. She’s jealous that Jess can be there and smile about it. That she wasn’t scared. Laine doesn’t realize that there are men capable of not hurting and abusing.”

  I sigh. “I don’t hurt and abuse.”

  He nods. “I know. I saw you the other night with Graham, I know what you can do, and yet, I know you won’t hurt her. So next time you wanna paint me with the villain brush, think about that. I can, but I won’t. I won’t hurt Jess. Never.”

  * * *

  An hour after Kane leaves my office, I tell the guys we’re closing up the garage and going home early. It’s three in the afternoon, and we have no pressing deadlines coming up, so as soon as the floors are swept and the compressors switched off, I follow my youngest apprentice out and drag the chained doors down.

  “See ya, boss.”

  “Catch ya tomorrow, Chuck. We gotta finish that truck, so be here at seven.”

  The eighteen-year-old that chose trade school over college throws a leg over the dirt bike he pushed in here six months ago. He wanted a job. And he wanted a bike he could ride.

  I gave him access to my garage, and in lieu of a job interview, I watched him fix that bike. Not only did he nail it, but he impressed the fuck outta me so much that he got the job and possibly a place in my will, in case I never marry and have kids.

  He can have my garage if there are no baby Alesi’s to take over when I kick the bucket.

  I slide into my Charger and grin when Florida Georgia Line sing about love with the reverence only country music singers can manage. I move onto Main Street with the music on low enough I can still think, pull into a sub drive-thru on a whim, and grab a late lunch.

  I have a plan. And I have a rumbling stomach.

  Two birds, one plan.

  I head across town with heaped meatball subs and orange sodas laying out on my
passenger seat, and though the garage door is closed when I pull into Kane’s driveway, I don’t write it off yet. I have faith in my plan.

  And I’m hungry as fuck.

  “Hello?” I climb out of the car with my bag of food and make a bunch of noise. I won’t ever be accused of sneaking up on her. I won’t ever give her reason to turn around and scream bloody murder because she didn’t know I was there.

  I tap on the sliding garage door and smile at the loud echo. “Anyone here? Do I need to go into the house first?”

  I’ve worked with engines for longer than I’ve been wiping my own ass. When a kid has nothing but a yard full of junker cars to tinker with, he learns how to work them the way a regular toddler learns puzzles and TV remotes.

  Which means I also know the sound of a socket wrench being laid against the frame of a car.

  And I know the sound of a scared woman moving closer on shuffling feet. “Ang?”

  There she is. “Hey, it’s just me. Can you flip the lock?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  Don’t take it personally. This is about her, not me. “I’m here to work on my car.”

  I hold my breath at the seemingly endless pause that screams louder than any words, but when the locks click and the seal at the bottom of the door cracks, I glance down and grin at the sight of her feet.

  Her sweatpants.

  Her hips.

  Her trim waist and moving arms as they pull the chain and open the door.

  Any other girl, any other time, and I’d have ducked under the door to help with the chain. But not here, not today, and not Laine.

  Laine doesn’t need a hero. She needs to find that woman from before Graham walked in and broke her apart. She needs to find the cow tipping, two-hundred-and-fifty-pound fighter abusing, toe-to-toe going, skateboard-wielding spitfire she used to be.

  That girl doesn’t need a guy to hold a door for her.

  “Hey.” I duck my head a little lower to catch her eye. “How’s it going? What are you doing in here?”

  When I step further into the garage, she steps back with a shrug. “I’m checking out the Buick. Was curious.”

  I knew she would be.

  I knew she wouldn’t be able to help herself.

  Setting my bag of food on the leather backseat, I move toward the hood and peek at the missing battery and the disconnected fuel lines.

  She already started.

  “I hope you don’t mind; I was just messing around with it.” She steps to a tap over a stainless-steel wash basin and pumps soap into her hands. She’s pushed her sleeves up to her elbows, so the white bandage smudged with black oil acts like a beacon that breaks my heart. “I came down here after breakfast and saw the hood already open. I was just looking, then the lines started disconnecting themselves.”

  I would laugh at her lies, I would smile that she’s talking, but the violence with which she scrubs at her hands hurts me.

  Why does she scrub herself raw? Why does she shake, just because I walked into her space?

  “I’m done now,” she distractedly murmurs. Pumping more soap, she starts again, avoiding my gaze. “I didn’t mean to intrude. The hood was up and I was just curious, but it’s yours.” Finally, she stops scrubbing and turns back with her hands lifted and her arms bent, the residual water running down her arms and dripping off her elbows. “I won’t touch it again.”

  I can keep my distance, I can make this as easy on her as possible, but what I can’t ignore is the way my lungs collapse in my chest. I grew up with this girl, but for the first time ever, she speaks as though we’re strangers.

  “You don’t have to stay away.” I lean into the backseat and pull out a bottle of soda. Cracking it open and bringing it up to keep my hands busy, I nod toward the engine. “You know what you’re doing, so I’m not afraid you’ll mess it up.” I lean into the car a second time and pull out two footlong sandwiches wrapped in foil. “I’m starving. I didn’t get lunch yet, so I closed the garage early and got drive-thru. You want some?”

  Her eyes flicker between my hand and my face. “Your lunch? You just said you’re starving, but now you’re offering up your lunch?”

  “Well, I got double, because I figured someone would be here, and the meatballs smelled too good to only get one.”

  “Meatballs?”

  Checkmate.

  She takes a single step away from the sink. Then another. Like a scared little puppy, she edges closer to the other side of the Buick and watches my hand like it’s some sort of trap. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.” Scoffing like my whole world doesn’t balance on her accepting the damn sandwich, I toss it so she’s forced to catch or let it splat to the ground.

  The Laine that dismantled her brother’s bike would never let meatballs go to waste. The Laine that stepped up to a world champion fighter with fire in her eyes and none of the fear she wears today would never waste meatballs.

  Pulling out the second bottle of soda, I barely register the soft strains of music coming from an old boombox I swear we owned back in middle school. Whether Jess brought this here, or Laine, or perhaps Kane owned one of those suckers too, I don’t know, but the sweet ache of Alex & Sierra singing about love settles painfully right in the center of my chest.

  “Drink?”

  Busy studying the sandwich, Laine’s ocean blue eyes whip back to mine. “You got an extra soda, too?”

  “Uh-huh.” Be cool. Be gentle. Placing it on the leather seat near her and stepping back, I move toward the door that leads into the house and sit on the step. “I didn’t wanna share mine, so I got extras.”

  “What if no one was here?” She picks up the fizzy orange and hugs it to her chest. “Your food would’ve gone to waste.”

  “Not waste. I would’ve just put them in the fridge. Cold meatballs taste even better than warm meatballs.”

  “Like pizza.” Grinning foolishly, she hitches one leg into the car, then the second so she sits on the door frame with her bare feet on the leather. Sitting the soda back where it began, she slowly peels the foil back to expose piping hot red sauce and melting cheese. “Mmm. I didn’t eat lunch yet. This smells good.”

  I bet she didn’t eat anything yet today. She’s too skinny, too pale. “Tuck in.” I nod toward the hood. “Been out here long?”

  Blushing, she drops her eyes to her sandwich and begins picking. “Couple hours. I was just looking.”

  “Doesn’t bother me.” I unwrap my sandwich and take a large bite that melts the roof of my mouth off. “That’s fuckin’ hot.” I fan my mouth, but barely feel the sting when her melodic laughter floats across the car.

  She nods toward the boxes stacked against the wall. “How much are you spending on this?”

  “Couple grand. Not much. I got a good deal because I shop at the dealership a lot.”

  “How much do you expect to sell it for?” When I shrug, she adds, “Because I looked it up on the net. I had a rough idea on value, but I wanted to make sure.”

  “Okay…”

  “All done up, they can go for fifty thousand.”

  “Dollars?” I choke.

  She smirks. “No, rubies. And in some rare occurrences, magic carpets.”

  I never doubted she was in there. Not for one single second. “Okay, smart stuff. Dollars. What’s your point?”

  “So, you know what it’s worth. You sunk a few thousand in parts. Hell knows how many man hours you’ll put into it.”

  “Uh-huh…”

  “You gonna repaint it?”

  “Yeah. I know a guy. I’m not sure what colo–”

  “Red.”

  I bring my gaze up slowly and catch the reddening in her cheeks. “I mean, red is how it came off the showroom floor.” She nervously fusses with her meatballs, picks a little cheese off, and contemplatively chews on it. “I just thought cherry red would be nice.”

  “How do you know someone didn’t repaint it over the years? How do you know it started red?” />
  She refuses to meet my eyes. She can barely lift her head. “I scratched the paint back until I knew.”

  “You scratched my car? What the fuck, Lenaghan?”

  “I wanted to know the color!” When she begins rewrapping her sandwich, my heart races. She’s a wild horse. Ready to dash. Scared of human contact. “I only scratched under the hood, on the inside of the frame. Just enough to see. I didn’t hurt your car.” Her eyes finally lift and meet mine. Hers are redder than they were a minute ago. “I’m sorry, Ang. I was just looking. I won’t tou–”

  “Hey.” With a frown, I lock my shit down and refuse my body permission to get up and go to her. “I was just kidding. You’ve known me forever, I’m not mad. I never get mad, especially not about scraping back a car I already told you I was gonna repaint.”

  “I’ve seen you mad.” She looks at me through her lashes. Unintentionally alluring. Unintentionally torturous. “Remember that time we went to that party in senior year? Kari was already off at her first year of college, so it was just me, Jess, and Britt. You got hella mad that night.”

  “Because you were hella underage, acting like fools at that fuckwit’s party. You called me, slurring your words, giggling like a bunch of hyenas, but you didn’t say where you were. Remember what you said?”

  Her bottom lip trembles with the ghost of a smile. “I have not told half of what I saw.”

  “Fuckin’ riddles.” Sitting back, I run a hand over my face not unlike I did that night. “I sat in my car on the edge of town and thought about it. You and your sisters were off getting drunk somewhere you shouldn’t be, swimming, probably half drowned already, but you call me up, drop a cliffhanger riddle, then turn your phone off so I couldn’t call back.”

  “Actually, Britt tackled me into the pool. I was gonna text you the answer after ten minutes, but the phone sizzled out and zapped my ass when I put it in my back pocket.”

  The soft giggle that rolls up her chest, the fact she’s right here in front of me, not drowned in that pool and no longer partying with fuckwits, allows me to chuckle.