Page 44 of The Opposite of Romance
Maybe Sandy was right?
“An employee?” I ask him, trying to break the tension.
“You could say so.” He heads to the massive black pick up and starts climbing in.
“Wait! If I’m going to ride with you, I think I should at least know your name. I’m Sadie, by the way.”
“Jaxon,” he grumbles, already starting the car.
I quickly climb in. Other than telling him my address, the ride is silent. His tattooed knuckles grip the steering wheel, and it’s hard to look away. He shoots me a knowing look, so I quickly look away and notice we’re out front of my house.
“This is the car,” I say. Logan’s van is also here.Huh. I guess he’s already back.
“What’s the issue?” Jaxon asks, stepping out.
“Well, I can’t start it.”
“Keys.” I give him the keys, and he gets to work.
Fighting my need to fill the silence, I let him work. He tries starting the car again but doesn’t succeed. He pops open the hood and stares at the insides of my car for a second before ducking down and starting his thing.
I wish to come closer and check out what he does, but his entire demeanor doesn’t really scream ‘I like to be supervised.’
Noticing Logan staring at us from the side of the house, his arms crossed over his chest, I make my way to him.
“Back already?” I ask him.
“Yup, there wasn’t much to do. Something wrong with your car?” He lifts an eyebrow, throwing a distrustful look toward Jaxon.
“Couldn’t start. I was lucky enough to find a mechanic so soon.”
“I could have checked it out,” he bites out, clenching his jaw.
“Sorry,” I say, almost questioning. “I wasn’t aware you’d know that. Nor were you here.”
“Sure,” he responds, but his jaw doesn’t relax, his eyes stuck on Jaxon.
Hoping to avoid whatever this is, I get back to the car. Finally, Jaxon releases a grunt and peeks his head out. “When was the last time this car was serviced?”
I count the months from the last time I remember David taking it for a service. “Seven or eight months ago.” He lifts his brow in suspicion. “My ex-husband serviced it once a year.”
“Hmmpft.”Again.Luckily, he follows in English. “This car hasn’t been serviced inat leastthree years. My guess would be four.”
“What do you mean? I remember last fall; he took it for a service.” I blink, shaking my head in disbelief.
“Do you have a service book?”
“Yeah, it’s supposed to be here.” I open the passenger door and search the glove box. “Here.” Victoriously, I lift the service book and open it.No, no, no. This can’t be it. “You’re right,” I whisper.
“What?”
“You’re right. This car was last serviced over three and a half years ago.”
“Told you.” He shrugs, but I barely notice him. I drop to the small piece of lawn next to my driveway, burying my head in my hands.
“You ok?” he asks, his voice laced with discomfort.
“Yup, just peachy. It’s great to know that you were lied to for three and a half years, while risking your kid’s lives, driving them around in a car that wasn’t safe.”
