Page 1 of Prince of Storms
Chapter One
Mia
“Next up, Lot 571.”
I looked down at the list in my hand, where there was one entry circled. 571.
“Is this it?” I asked, turning to stare at my dad. “Is this the one?”
“That’s her,” he said, his craggy face splitting open in an enthusiastic smile. “Look, here she comes. Oh, gosh. Just beautiful.”
His mostly salt eyebrows rose higher and higher as the car was slowly and carefully driven onto the stage, which was set up in front of the bleachers. We sat midway up the stands, where, according to Dad, the “best view of the beauties” could be had.
“Lot 571,”the announcer said. “A 1971—”
“‘71 Chevrolet Chevelle SS,” my father whispered. “Four-barrel big block V8 engine, Muncie M20 4-speed manual transmission. Finished in beautiful Tuxedo Black SS with SS body stripes and a factory cowl-induction big-block hood.”
I listened to a mixture of him and the auctioneer as they whispered the same thing. More specs were listed, but my mind had turned to mush. I knew the important thing, 1971 Chevelle SS —which meant Super Sport, I now knew— in black with racing stripes.
“Just beautiful,” I admired, grabbing my father’s wrist and squeezing it. “I can see why you loved it so much.”
“I did,” he admitted. “I did.”
Do, I wanted to correct. It was there in the reverence in his tone and his starry-eyed gaze.
“Today might be the day,” I excitedly said as the bidding started, gripping our paddle tighter. “You never know.”
He laughed. “We both know it’s out of my price range.”
“Ourprice range, Daddy,” I said, leaning against him. “I told you, I want to contribute to this. I know how much the car meant to you, and I can only imagine how tough it must have been to get rid of it.”
He snorted. “Easiest decision of my life, darling.”
I struggled against sudden tears. My dad had sold his ‘71 Chevelle SS thirty-two and a half years ago. Five months before I was born. He had to because he and my mother needed the money for baby supplies. For me.
“Wasn’t even a decision,” he amended. “Nothing would ever come close to being as important as you are.”
“Thanks, Dad. Now you’re making me cry at a public car auction,” I said, sniffling.
“So?”
“So?”I said. “So people are going to think I’m crying overcars!”
My father coughed into his fist before he began to laugh. “Now thatwould bea travesty, wouldn’t it? Can’t have all these strangers thinking you get all emotional over a hunk of metal.”
I elbowed him.
“Oof.” He chuckled.
“I just know how much the car meant to you,” I said. “I’ve seen the pictures of you and Mom in it.”
He nodded as the bidding went past twenty thousand. “It’s true. Took her on our first date in it. God, I felt like such a king that night. I saved up for years to buy it. For the speed and for the girls. But until your mother … Well, no one ever felt right in that seat next to me until her.”
I smiled, enjoying it when he reminisced about her like that. The nostalgia, but more importantly, the love they had shared, filled me with warmth. It set the standard for what anyone should hope for.
“You know you don’t have to do this, right?” he said. In the background, I could hear the auctioneer announcing the bidding at more than thirty thousand.
“I know,” I said, holding our bidding paddle tight. We wouldn’t get involved until the upper limit of our budget. No point in helping drive the price up faster. “But this car helped you win Mom. And now …”
