Chapter Five
Icould have made the drive to James Auto Repair blindfolded. For as far back as I could remember, the small brick building on the south side of Elmwood, just a few blocks from downtown, had been my dad’s shop. He would take me to work with him on weekends. I went there after school when Angie was too busy doing her nails or dying her hair. And like the man who owned it, this building had been a constant in my life. Dependable. Consistent. Sturdy.
Angie fucking hated everything about the place. She hated how Easton came home with grease and grime under his nails. How his clothes were always stained with oil spots or some other kind of gunk. Hated the smell of sweat, metal, and old rubber that clung to his skin.
I loved it all.
And as I turned around the corner, spotting the old sign that hung just slightly crooked above the door, all the shit from school today just went away. This, like the house on Brightwater Lane, was home.
Having a kid fresh out of high school forced my dad to make quick decisions regarding his future. He no longer just had himself to think about, and Easton James was man enough to take on the responsibility of a baby and a wife. He didn’t run from his choices, and he made sure I knew every day that I was never a mistake.
Funny thing, turns out I was never his to begin with.
My dad knew he needed to figure out his shit quick if he was going to support a family. Angie’s favorite thing to bitch about was money. Or lack thereof.
Easton was good at fixing shit, so he got his mechanic certification straight out of high school and worked his ass off, and eventually opened his own shop. Pressure from his wife probably had a lot to do with those decisions and the timeline they were executed, putting my parents in deep debt before they were thirty.
He always tried so damn hard to please her. Look where the fuck that got him.
Debt. And divorce.
I never knew a harder working soul than my dad.
Guiding the Jeep in between two rusty old cars, I shifted the gear into park and killed the engine. The Jeep was just rough and mean enough to not look out of place in this part of town. Had I been in the Lamborghini or Bugatti, that would have been an invitation to get robbed or have the car stolen.
I grew up knowing we didn’t live in the best neighborhood, but my dad had a way of making me feel safe when he was around. And when he hadn’t been, he made me keep Mace in my bag and my car. The car that Angie sold.
Bitch.
The memory of my little Corolla sent my blood boiling.
As I stepped out of the car, those threads of uneasiness that had been tangled inside me all day knotted into a ball. The whole day at school, I had thought about what kind of relationship Easton and I would have after today, which only heightened the anxiety I already felt. Would he still want to see me? Would he look at me differently? Would he still consider me his daughter? I had about million more questions tumbling around in my head.
And I wouldn’t know any of the answers unless I took the first step.
On a deep inhale, my clammy hands wrapped around the door handle, and I drew it open, the little bell overhead chiming through the shop. The guys took turns manning the front desk, and today Tank got the short straw. Tank looked like he belonged in a biker gang. Rough and gruff depicted the longtime mechanic to a T. His dark grey bread was longer than his hair. Shit. It might have been longer than mine. He wasn’t the kind of guy people fucked with, but little did they know, the big bad wolf was actually a softie.
Tank looked up and gave me a lopsided grin, as he crossed arms that could have been mistaken for pythons across a muscular chest. Tattoos covered every inch of skin peeking out from his T-shirt. “If it isn’t Josie Posy.”
Tank knew I hated that nickname, which was exactly why he’s continued to use it for as long as I could remember. Tank was like a second dad to me, always lecturing about boys, not to walk at night, and how I should stay out of trouble.
I somehow managed to do all of the above. So much for listening to my elders.
My lips curled as I stopped in front of the desk and leaned my arms on the worn wood. “Hey, Tank. Is my dad around?”
Tank’s jolly blue eyes twinkled. “Where else would he be?” Behind Tank sat a glass door and a large window that looked into the shop’s garage. Two cars were parked inside, one of them up on the lift. A rather slow day for the shop, it seemed.
“Good point,” I replied.
“In his office,” he grunted with a nod of his head toward the back of the lobby. “You know, the guys miss seeing you around the shop. You used to drive Ed crazy, always getting underfoot.”
Ed Conner was another one of the mechanics that worked with my dad. I smiled at the memories of grumpy-ass Ed chasing me around the shop, spewing shit about this being no place for a kid.
“I might not be five anymore, but I bet I could still drive Ed crazy.”
Tank chuckled, a deep throaty laugh.
If I didn’t make a quick break for it, Tank would continue down memory lane for an hour. I didn’t have that kind of time. Not today.