Page 38 of Downpour

“Oil changes are expensive!”

“So is buying a new car!” I shouted. I pinched the bridge of my nose. “That fucking bull didn’t kill me, but you and this car will.”

Brooke laughed. “Look at you making jokes this morning. Someone’s in a good mood.” She twisted the key in the ignition, but nothing happened. She tried again. The engine sputtered, then went silent. “Sometimes this happens when I haven’t driven her for a few days.”

“I’m sorry. Her?”

“Yeah. Her name is Winnie. You’re supposed to name cars.”

“You’re supposed to namenicecars.”

“Winnie’s a nice car!”

I shot her a sharp look.

“You and your grumpy, judgmental ass can keep your thoughts to yourself.” The mirrors groaned as she adjusted them. “And if you behave at physical therapy, I’ll bring you a coffee.”

“If we even make it out of the driveway.”

“Ye of little faith,” she said as she twisted the key again and the engine heaved to life. “There we go!”

The car died before she could put it into drive.

As much as I didn’t want to go to physical therapy this morning, I needed to. I huffed and unbuckled. “Get my chair out of the back and bring it around.”

Brooke raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Hop to it, Sunnyside. We’re burning daylight and I want to get an early start on my afternoon of doing nothing.”

Reluctantly, she got out and pulled my wheelchair out of the backseat, setting it up beside my open door.

“Pull the tarp off,” I said, pointing to the other vehicle in the driveway. “The keys are tucked up in the visor.”

Brooke’s curiosity got the best of her. She pulled the tarp off my truck and balled it up. “Um. What the hell?”

“I didn’t ask for commentary,” I grunted as I shifted into the wheelchair, got settled, and slammed the door to her pile of scrap metal.

I knew what surprised her. The truck I hadn’t driven since my accident was wrapped in brand logos from companies that used to sponsor me.

“Holy crap!” She propped her hands on her hips and walked slowly around the truck. “This was all you?”

I shoved on my wheelchair, glided over to the passenger’s side of the truck, and reached up to yank open the door. “Just get over here.”

Brooke’s flip-flops snapped against the pavement as she scurried over.

“Hold the door steady. Don’t let it push open,” I said as I put one hand on the seat and one hand on the interior door handle.

Brooke braced her body against the door. “Are you sure you don’t want me to help?”

“I’m fine,” I grunted as I heaved myself up with my arms and paused with my ass on the floorboard. I could barely reach the “oh shit” handle at the top of the interior, but I managed to get my fingers around it. I took a breath and muscled myself up to the seat. “Just put the chair in the bed,” I said as I slammed the door.

Brooke hopped behind the wheel and found the keys right where my brother, CJ, left them almost two years ago.

Honestly, I didn’t know if the truck would crank up. It was basically new, but it hadn’t been driven since it was brought back to the ranch after my accident.

Brooke didn’t hesitate. She stuck the keys in, and the engine purred.

“It’s so high up,” she said as she adjusted the mirrors.

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