Page 27 of To Belong Together
“His right front brake caliper punched through the rim.” Sam’s voice edged even higher than usual.
Roy cut in. “Some idiot didn’t tighten the bolt. Almost killed him.”
Uncle Nick set aside the paperwork. “Rodney’s did the brake work?”
Of all the days to come in late. If she’d been here, she might’ve gotten the information when they did. How did they know? A tow driver who’d been at the scene might’ve delivered another car. Or a chatty police officer might have brought in a personal car for service.
“That’s what he said they were doing.” Why was it up to her to tell them this? Why wasn’t John pointing everyone in the right direction himself? How bad of shape was he in? Panic over what the answers might be kept her from asking. “He said he was picking it up yesterday.”
“That explains why they were so quiet.” Nick sat back in his chair and scratched his head.
“Who?” she asked.
Sam focused on her. “You’re sure you did nothing with the brakes?”
“They didn’t need any work.” She spoke with certainty, but causing something like this was one of her worst nightmares. Being questioned left her uneasy, on top of the worry-sick pit in her stomach. “Is John okay?”
“Don’t know much about him, but they towed the car to Hartley Auto Body on a flatbed.” Sam tugged the waistband of his pants.
That helped explain how they’d gotten their information. Uncle Nick and the owner of the body shop went way back.
“The airbag’s covered in blood, and they carried him out on a stretcher. Other than that …” Nick frowned at the paperwork again.
A nice guy like John didn’t deserve to be beaten up so badly. His smile when he’d managed to drift around the corner to avoid an accident haunted her. She longed to see that grin again, to know he was okay.
“The thing’s a mangled mess,” Roy said, “but those bolts weren’t connected, clear as day.”
“You saw it?”
“We went over first thing.” Uncle Nick eyed the paperwork one last time and then stood. “Rodney’s sent a few guys too.”
“Can I go look too?” She could verify the mistake wasn’t hers and that the car wasn’t in as bad of shape as Roy and Sam made it sound—meaning John was probably better than they implied too.
“They won’t let you touch it.” Roy’s condescending tone brimmed with accusation.
If she’d done something wrong, she’d expect him to throw her under the bus, but to do so when there was reason to believe it was someone else entirely? “I didn’t cause this.”
Roy looked ready to fire back, but Uncle Nick rose, hand raised to cut him off. “Be back in twenty.”
She headed down the block to Hartley Auto Body and soon stood in their shop, frozen in place at the sight of John’s mangled sedan. As Roy had predicted, she’d been warned not to touch it, and the body shop’s manager stood beside her, rather than letting her come back alone. He stared as if more struck by the car than concerned about her trying to tamper with evidence the way Roy had implied.
The entire driver’s side was a crinkled and shattered mess, and a brownish-red smear marked the windshield. All that remained of the front passenger door were the marks from it having been cut away. Blood stained the deflated airbag.
“The back door was wedged against a tree trunk. One branch speared the driver’s window, another landed across the windshield.” The body shop manager circled to the right front, near the missing door. “This appears to be the culprit.”
She squatted to see the wheel. As her cousin had described, the caliper had punctured the rim, tearing the alloy as easily as aluminum foil.
All this over one forgotten bolt.
“Is John okay?”
The manager shrugged. “Tow driver said he was in rough shape. Not coherent, bloody. Maybe a neck or back injury.”
He could be both stable and paralyzed. She gulped as she straightened. Why had she been so intent on distancing herself from him? She should’ve gone for coffee and fixed his car right the first time. After failing on both counts, she’d told him to take the car to someone else.
A moan caught in her throat. She’d sent him straight into this, and from the information she’d gathered here—the most she was likely to get—the reports of his injuries hadn’t been exaggerated.
God, please, let him be okay. Work miracles.
