Page 24 of Until You're Breathless

“I’ve already got a plan. Not to worry.”

But my plan gets shot to hell tomorrow…

Jagger

You guessed it. I’m lying in bed and sleep won’t come. My mind is, once again, racing. This time, it’s racing so bad, the only solution is to go to work. When there’s nobody there in the middle of the night, I find it’s the perfect time to clear my mind and gain better focus. My prototype engine still sits on the stand, almost like it’s beckoning me. The new parts sit on the sideboard, waiting for one of my technicians to install them, but that won’t do. I’m in jeans and a t-shirt, knowing that I have a shower, and various suits in my office, so that I can feel free to play in my sandbox anytime I like.

And now’s the time...

The only thing missing is a couple of buddies and a brewsky. And that’s how this whole company started. My first engine block was made from a stupid idea that my brothers and my buddies helped me put together. Two of said friends now work for me. One of them is my head engineer. That’s what dreams are made of. As I fiddle with some of the pieces, greasing my gloves nicely, getting oil and grease all over my shirt, sort of like I was born to do this, I feel like myself again. Sometimes focusing on the wrong things leads me down dark paths and bringing me back to my roots is the perfect way to get it all back.

Oftentimes, that’s when better ideas come to life. This time is no exception. And it’s like the gods are watching me, or my brothers, same difference. My phone beeps with a text message. I try to ignore it, but the messages keep coming. It’s Rush. It’s four o’clock in the morning. He’s threatening to call me if I ignore him as he knows from me sharing my location with him on my phone, where I am. I pick up the phone on the first ring. “Yeah.”

“You’ve got a guest coming in five.”

“You? Since when do you call first.”

“It’s not me.”

“Do I get to guess?”

“No. Just open the gate and let her in.”

I exhale, exasperated. “Fuck.”

“Exactly.” He hangs up.

The door beeps a moment later. And when I expect to see Stevie on the other side of the door, I’m floored when I see Bowie instead. She’s also in jeans and a t-shirt, looking like she hasn’t slept a wink, either. “Insomnia. It’s a trait most successful people are graced with, huh.” She opens with.

I ignore her comment. “I’m working on an engine. Walk with me.”

She’s behind me, removing her purse from her shoulder, ready to dig in. I give her a quick rundown of what I'm doing, and she slides on a pair of gloves, joining me at the block. “I haven’t been this close to an engine in a while.” She comments.

“Yeah? How come?”

“Too much red tape to deal with.”

“I’m not much better. Sometimes I think that’s why I can’t sleep. Because I haven’t got my hands dirty enough that day.”

“Same.”

“You remember that Bel-Air my grandfather had?”

She nods. “Yeah. That thing was beautiful. Do you still have it?”

“Na. He sold it at an auction when he found out about the cancer. Not really sure why. I would have given my right arm to have that thing, but I think he was avoiding the family fights over it. Can’t say that I blame him. We all wanted that car.”

“Yeah. I’ve heard about family squabbles when the head of the family passes away. Sometimes the whole family is never the same.”

“He saved our family by doing that. Although I would have been the perfect fit for that car, but I think he knew that I thought that, and he didn’t want us to fight because of that.”

“Wise man.”

“That he was.”

She’s got grease all over her gloves, and a spot of it on her cheek, but I don’t dare wipe it for her. “So, how are you doing...you know...with all the bullshit going on?”

A shrug. “Surprisingly, I’m fine. I just...need to get back to work. Jinny’s telling me that I’ll drive myself nuts if I take any sort of sabbatical.”

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