Page 5 of The Love You Hate
Presley doesn’t dignify me with a response as she pushes past me and opens the door to what must be an office of sorts. It’s just as hot inside here as it was outside. There is a huge Coca-Cola sign hung crookedly on one wall and an old Playboy poster that looks to be tinged yellow by time above the desk. A man with a missing front tooth smiles. “Well I’ll be, you are the prettiest thing I ever did see.”
She hits me with a raised brow and I literally hear the words,I told you sofrom the small gesture. “I need a car. A vehicle of any sort really,” she says, ignoring his misguided compliment. “Is Jake around?”
“I am Jake, honey,” he replies in a drawn-out tone. “How can I help you?”
“The young Jake, please stop with this nonsense,” she slings back.
Then a younger guy blows in, literally, because the back door doesn’t have any springs and the mountain winds are insane here.
“Pretty little thing is looking for you, son.”
Presley’s eyes light up as he straightens his hair, their gazes locked.Oh, for fuck’s sake. This soon?
“I didn’t know you were coming in today.” He looks down at the grease stains streaking his olive-green mechanic’s suit. “Who is your friend?” Jake’s gaze changes as he looks at me.
Presley scoffs. “My new coworker. He’s no one.” She has brushed me off with three quite cutting words. It’s shocking just because I’m never sure what to expect in these situations. “You said yesterday you might have something for me. Just wanted to stop by on my way home and see ya.”
Ya? Nice, small-town touch, Presley.It works. Jake’s completely enamored with her, and why wouldn’t he be? The new girl in town, who is way out of his league, seems to be interested in him. “If you don’t have time right now, I can come back another time.” She looks at Jake’s dad who is leering, his dirty boots slicked with mud perched on a beat-up desk. “I could make an appointment for another day.” Her gaze flits back to Jake. He leans against a glass counter that looks like it should house jewelry, but now houses a carburetor, some used spark plugs, and an empty cigarette carton. His fingernails are rimmed in black, and his hands are calloused from hard work.
“You never have to make an appointment here,” Jake drawls. “Let’s go out back. Does your friend want to come too, or would he rather hang with Pop?”
I put a finger in the air. “Yes please, I’ll come. Need to make sure she’s getting a good deal.”
“I’d never give her a bad deal,” Jake counters, brows knit together.
Oh, he may be a good man, after all. I never considered the spawn of the leering father to be anything except a product of the environment he was raised in. But then again, my childhood doesn’t reflect on the man I’ve become, so that’s an unfair assessment. I’ll do more research.
“I’m as fair as air to everyone in Gold Hawke.”
I don’t retort that he has to be because he is the only person selling vehicles in Gold Hawke, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind. The door slams as I follow them out. Presley is doing her best to ignore me completely, gaze scanning the junkyard, but Jake glances over his shoulder. “Where are you from?”
Sighing, I give him the same story as Presley. Unlike her, he seems to buy it. “And then you decided you wanted to work with Presley here at the bakery?”
“No, not with Presley,” I explain. She turns to glare at me. “I like to bake so I wanted to work at a bakery, and seeing as there aren’t many options around here, it looks like I’m stuck working with Presley.” If she wants to sling mud, I’ll mix it with acid. “Just tagging along today to see if you have anything that catches my eye. A fixer-upper, something four-wheel drive, a truck maybe.”
Jake’s eyes light up, and Presley’s turn to slits. “You need a vehicle, too?” she hisses, shaking her head. “That’s rich.”
You’re not anymore, I think. A joke she wouldn’t find funny anyway.
“Oh yeah, sure. Let me show Presley the Jeep I was thinking of for her first. The trucks are over to the left. Something will fit what you’re looking for, I’m sure of it.”
For all of the shit and scrap he has in heaping piles, there are also decent looking cars. Decent might be a strong word for the kind of luxury Presley is used to, but this is not her old life. Her posture changes as Jake shows her the faded green Jeep, and I hide a laugh by heading to the corner with the trucks. There’s an old beater with a rusted side panel and a missing tire. I stoop down to check out the wheel well when I hear a dog growl. Standing slowly, I put my hands out to the sides, palms facing up.
In my former life as a Navy SEAL, I worked with trained dogs all the time. I recognize the subtleties of growls and barks. Turning, I see a Rottweiler. A big fucking mad Rottweiler with a spiked pink collar and foam dangling from a corner of her mouth. Why wouldn’t Jake tell us there were dogs in here? This isn’t safe. I let my gaze skirt over to where Presley just was and can’t see her next to the Jeep. The dog in front of me snarls. “Your dog over here. A little help?” I call out, loudly.
Seconds pass with no response. Then a scream, loud, shrill, and unfortunately recognizable as belonging tomyPrincipal, echoes off the high metal walls surrounding us. There’s really only one rule that matters in the array of laws I follow, and that’s to keep our Principal’s safe at all costs. The scream got the dogs’ attention too, unfortunately, and it runs in the direction of Presley, who is crouched down, cowering, another fucking dog in front of her. Junkyard Jake is nowhere to be found.
“Don’t make any sudden movements,” I tell Presley. I think this might be the only time she’s thankful I’m around. The dogs turn to look at me, but then refocus on Presley because she makes a tiny, weak noise of protest. I’m the threat, but she’s the easy target. “Down. Off. Back. Leave it!” I try all of the normal commands, in multiple languages, and they don’t stop stalking toward her. Approaching from the side, I angrily call out for Jake once more in a Hail Mary. If anything happens to my last chance redemption Principal, I will tear the piece of shit limb from limb.
“Oh my gosh, are you going to tell me that you’re a dog trainer, too?” Presley hisses under her breath while standing from a crouch.
I shake my head. “I grew up with dogs like this,” I say, taking a step forward. “Where the fuck is Junkyard Jake?”
“He was going to get the info on the Jeep for me. He should be back by now.” Presley gulps. “I hate dogs,” she whispers, eyeing the snarling guard dogs.
“Don’t make eye contact,” I snap, her head whips in my direction. “It’s threatening. They’ll think you’re challenging them. I’m surprised the damn things haven’t attacked yet. It’s their only job in life. This trash pile is their kingdom.”
“You really are getting on my nerves,” she says.
