Page 39 of Beautiful Rush
And that was what we did. We tried to fill the emptiness inside each other. She fed me crumbs and I always left her before the sun rose.
13
Keira
“Pretty sure that spot doesn’t need any more buffing,” Tate said. “You’ll wear off the paint.”
The Plymouth Barracuda was now sporting an electric blue custom paint job and the new owner was picking it up at five o’clock this evening. I wanted it to be perfect. “Just making sure I’m doing a thorough job.”
“Uh huh.” With a shake of his head and something unintelligible muttered under his breath, he left me in peace.
Ten minutes later, not one but both of my brothers strode into the garage. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“Must be your lucky day,” Connor teased, handing me an iced coffee and a waxed paper bag. A peek inside revealed my favorite pastries.
“Thank you.” I smiled. He returned my smile, but it looked forced.
“Let’s take a walk,” Killian said, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes not meeting mine. “Get some fresh air.”
I eyed them suspiciously. They’d never stopped by on a workday to take a walk. I mean, sure, sometimes Connor swung by for a chat with Tate and brought me little treats. And Killian sometimes brought me a superfood salad for lunch, insisting that I didn’t eat enough vegetables. They spoiled me and had fallen into the roles of older brothers with surprising ease, considering that I’d crashed into their lives and wreaked havoc on them. But this was out of the ordinary.
I studied Connor’s face. Out of the two of them, his face was more honest and open, so maybe it would give me a clue. “What’s going on?”
“Let’s walk and talk,” Connor said, eyeing the door.Walk and talk. That was code for something is wrong.
My gaze swung to Killian who didn’t even bother forcing a smile. This didn’t feel like a social call.
Did they find out about my street racing? I dismissed that notion. They would have called me out on it by now. They didn’t look angry. Concerned, maybe.
“Is everything okay with you guys? Are Ava and Eden okay?”
“They’re fine.” Killian and Connor exchanged a look I couldn’t read. “Just came to talk to you.”
Whatever this was, it was delicate, and they felt the need to tread lightly.
Then it hit me. I knew why they had stopped by with pastries and iced coffee on a seemingly ordinary August morning. I handed the coffee and bag of pastries back to Connor. I wanted to delay the inevitable. As if prolonging it or ignoring it would make it go away.
“Just let me wash my hands and change.” I disappeared into the restroom and took deep breaths, gripping the edge of the sink, feeling suddenly lightheaded. I could check my phone for an update, but I didn’t. In my head, it still wasn’t definite. Or irreversible. I wanted to hang on to my ignorant bliss for just a little while longer. I changed out of my coveralls and splashed cold water on my face. For a full minute, I stared at my reflection in the cracked mirror above the sink. My father’s eyes stared back at me. Disappointment and disgust swirled in their amber depths. I tore my eyes away from my reflection. Maybe my beauty was only skin-deep.
Steeling myself for the truth, I returned to the bay and found Tate talking to Connor and Killian. They kept their voices low so as not to be overheard by the other mechanics or me. As I got closer, they abruptly stopped talking and three sets of worried eyes focused on me.
“Is it okay if I…” I gestured toward the door, asking Tate for permission to take a break without really asking anything at all. My words failed me.
“Take as much time as you need,” Tate said. “The work will still be here when you get back.”
Thank God for that. When I was working on cars, I could lose myself in work and the music blasting from my headphones.
We walked to McCarren Park in somber silence. It felt like a funeral procession. The air was hot and heavy, sticky with humidity and the sky was hazy, but the sun was bright. I should have worn my sunglasses. We crossed under the BQE, the cars trundling overhead. It smelled like urine and exhaust fumes. A man with long, greasy hair and a dirt-streaked face was sitting on a threadbare blanket, stroking a black and brown dog that had soulful eyes and no tail. Connor stopped and stuffed a twenty-dollar bill into the man’s cardboard cup.
“God bless you, man,” the man called after us.
“Take care, brother,” Connor said. Because he was kind and had a big heart. Connor had done this all over Miami while we were down there, dropping coins and bills into cups for the homeless and the hungry and the forsaken. Killian wasn’t like that. He was too cynical and suspicious of people’s motives. He believed in doing something constructive, not handing out money.
“How do you know they’ll buy food and not drugs?”
“I don’t. When you give money to the homeless, you’re not really doing it for them. You’re doing it for yourself. I feel better and my soul feels lighter.”
“Your wallet probably feels lighter too,” Killian muttered.
