Page 22 of Faking It With the Small-Town Bad Boy

“It’s fine,” I murmur. “You can have the truck. Just… just give me

some time to get everything out of it, okay?”

She nods, smiling ear to ear and making it all worthwhile. “Thank

you. You’re the best sister in the whole wide world.”

“I know it,” I snicker. “Just nice to hear it every so often.”

“I’m going to go pack up some more. Thanks for everything. You sure

it’s not too much?”

“No, it’s okay,” I assure her.

She scampers off back to her room while I watch my life shatter into

a million pieces right into my lap. Everything I thought was safe and

secure isn’t anymore.

But hey, that’s just life, right?

* * *

Inching my way out from under the old Chevrolet Bel Air, I try to

steady my rambling thoughts. My stomach has hurt the last three

days since the house has been empty.

Two weeks ago, I went officially broke. Now my sister is settling into

her new dorm in New York, and I have this damn engine to fight with

for a few days before the customer wants it back. My father had the

horrible burden of not being able to say no. I can’t say I blame him.

The difficulties it takes to pay back all of his debtors are daunting as

hell.

I want to rest easy, sip some sweet tea on my front porch, and enjoy

the silence, but duty calls—and so do the bill collectors.

There’s a slight knock on the door, almost like a brush of a tree limb

against the metal exterior of the mechanic shop, and I inch my way

out onto the floor on the soft board with wheels. To my surprise, it’s

not a tree but a human, something I haven’t seen much of out here.

Then again, can the devil reincarnate really be considered a human?

“What are you doing here, Ryan?” I grumble, standing up and feeling

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