Actually, I hadn’t. He sent me home early, but I don’t bother to mention that either.
“We’ll get through this,” Max calls as I walk away.
Yeah, sure.
* * *
The next day, Wednesday, is actually somewhat boring, and then Thursday seems okay until lunch. Shane doesn’t have the same lunch period as I do, but he’s here, and I just know that is going to spell bad news for me.
The three Mutineers ignore me easily enough. They’re in the back corner of the cafeteria, and no one goes near them. They look like they’re on the warpath, and no one wants to get caught in the crosshairs.
Rumors swirl around in advanced physics. Students are whispering that Shane’s mother is in jail for a second time. His tattoos, the prison ones, are they because of her and not him?
In geography class, Shane’s missing, and I’m so stupid, but I can’t concentrate worth a damn because of it. He’s not going to do anything reckless, is he? Tyler seems like he’s the violent one, but it’s not as if I know him all that well. Yet. Yet? I don’t know. Flirting is one thing. Putting up with him is one thing. Getting to truly know him on a real, serious level is not necessarily on the to-do list.
Shit. I’m already waffling from my hard-core rule that I won’t be having a boyfriend or any of that nonsense. Good grades. No, great grades. That’s the name of the game. I can’t lose sight of that.
Once the class is finished, I high tail it out of there. I refuse to dwell on Shane and his issues. I refuse to.
I can't fucking stop thinking about him, worrying about him. Had his mom been in jail before and he reacted badly and ended up inside himself? If he's over eighteen, then he would be tried as an adult and not as a juvenile. He's going to fuck up his entire life, and for what? His mom must not be any better than my father. Is his mom in that club? The Savage Reapers?
By the time I reach Maxima’s Auto Repairs, my head is spinning. As soon as I take off my backpack, Max rushes up to me.
“Thank you for showing up late,” he says.
My jaw drops. “I got here as fast as I could!”
“Listen. I need you to handle the load tonight.”
“The entire load? All by myself?”
“You got on your big girl panties, right?”
"There are so many things wrong with you saying that statement to me," I grumble, crossing my arms. "What's up? You're acting like you got a hot date."
“Something came up, and I have to go. You’ll do fine. I owe you!”
“I don’t want an ‘I owe you,’” I grumble as he rushes off. “Just more greenbacks.”
With a sigh, I head to the back to find the paperwork concerning the two cars sitting out front. Nothing too complicated, thankfully, and I settle into work when I hear a clunky metallic sound.
I’m working beneath one of the cars and wheel myself out to see a redhead wheeling up a damaged bike.
Shane. Shane Dalton of all people.
“I need my bike repaired,” he says, sounding bored, not looking at me but at his motorcycle. “How soon will it be?”
“Well, I can get started on it now, but…” I take one look at his bike and wince. “That’s not going to be the easiest of fixes.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sure it’s above your capabilities. Where’s your boss?”
“Max isn’t in. I’m afraid it’s just me tonight.” I bite my lower lip. “You know I have a bike. I’ll treat yours like mine. I will fix it, or at the very least, I won’t make anything worse if I can’t.”
“I don’t want you to fucking touch my bike.”
“Shane, you can’t drive with it like that.”
“No fucking shit. Why do you think I wheeled it here?”