I step up to the stair she’s on, caging her in. “He will. In the meantime, he doesn’t matter. Let’s eat some lunch, Lil Bit.”

  She nods and lets me lead her the rest of the way upstairs to her apartment. I wish we had time for that nooner I was teasing Reed with, but really, we need to eat so she can get back to work. It matters that she sets a good example and doesn’t take two-hour lunches she would never allow her employees to take.

  We make sandwiches, dancing around each other in the tiny kitchen space like pros. They’re nothing fancy but good and filling, and we sit down at the two-seater table to eat.

  “Did you get that part for Todd’s Challenger?” I ask her around a mouthful of food. Most girls would probably be disgusted. But Erica’s doing the same thing.

  She shakes her head. “No, he texted me and said never mind. I don’t know what he’s doing instead—probably saw something on a forum of armchair mechanics.” Her eyes roll, and she huffs around the sandwich she’s chewing.

  “Is that like an armchair quarterback? Guys who think they know their stuff but are just yelling from their recliners with their sixth beer in their Cheeto-crusted fingers?”

  Erica points at me. “Just like that.”

  “You are so much better than that. I don’t know a damn thing about cars or engines, but even a dumbass like me can see that when you go to the track, they’re all looking to you for guidance and to make their cars be the best they can be. You’re good, Erica.”

  “Thank you.”

  Later, looking back, I’ll hear the hesitancy, but right now, it blows right over me and all I hear is an answer on automatic when I want her to see herself the way I do. Magical, powerful, fierce.

  “No, really. I know you’re protecting your dad by staying quiet on the whole racing thing, and believe me, I get that secrets are sometimes in everyone’s best interests. But you have a real gift. It’s a shame you can’t share it with him when he’s the one who inspires you. He’s probably the one person who could most understand the miracles of engineering you’re working.”

  I smile, hoping she hears just how amazing I believe she is. I’ve never met anyone like her before, so skilled at something that seems pretty straightforward, but for her, it’s pure artistry.

  I’ve watched her tinker with parts downstairs and in a corner of the apartment where there are chunks of metal I can’t even identify strewn about the floor. But not only can Erica ID them, she redesigns them, reworks them, creates something from nothing. It’s amazing to behold, and I know enough about parenting from raising my sister to know that Erica’s dad would be proud as fuck to see what his little girl can do with her hands and her mind. Only the sheer force of physics holds her back.

  Erica drops her sandwich to her plate, wiping her hands on her coveralls. “I told you why I can’t tell him.”

  “I know. But that doesn’t mean it’s not sad that you don’t get to share that together anymore.” I can tell something’s wrong, but I don’t know what. Even so, I’m backpedaling, realizing too late that I’ve stepped into something I didn’t intend to. “But at least you have the garage, right?”

  “This garage is everything to my dad, to me. It’s supported us my whole life, brought us together as a family.” The temperature in the room has dropped by degrees. Erica’s stony expression and crisp biting tone hit me like blades. She’s acting like I dissed the garage or its importance to her, which I definitely didn’t do.

  “As it should be. You’ve created something special here.” Generic platitudes and walking on eggshells are what I’m reduced to?

  No, fuck that. I’m not that guy, not gonna simper around every time she gets her feathers ruffled.

  “I don’t know what I said, but I’m sorry.” I don’t sound apologetic in the least. I sound as pissed as I am. “I didn’t mean to upset you, was actually trying to give you a compliment. But I guess I fucked that up.”

  Erica blinks at me, silent for the first time ever. Not threatening me, not joking around, not . . . anything. She’s completely blank and I can’t get a read on her at all.

  “Maybe I should just go.” I get up, leaving my lunch on the table. I’m halfway down the stairs when she pulls on my arm, short nails digging into my overheated skin.

  “You don’t get it. He forbade me. Racing is the one thing” —she holds up one finger and then swipes at the air, correcting herself— “the only thing he ever asked me not to do. Dad didn’t even argue about my going into the military as hard as he did about racing. He made me promise.”

  “But you do it anyway because it’s what you love. It’s who you are.”

  Fire flashes in her eyes. She’s angry that I see her, know her truth. I thought that sharing that secret with me meant something, but right now, I can see that it’s the opposite. She shared it with me because I’m not important . . . not like her parents, her sister, not like Reed.

  All those guys at the track know and she calls them friends or buddies or even dumb fucks. I guess that’s what we’ve been all along, friends who fuck. And I’m the idiot who managed to catch feelings for her and think something deeper was going on.

  Right as always, Dad. Love just means it’ll hurt worse eventually.

  I can’t love Erica, but I do feel something for her. Obviously, or it wouldn’t hurt to have her dismiss me this way.

  I shove through the door, stomping through the breakroom, and then shove the door to the garage open too. Reed and Manuel jump as the door swings back and hits the wall behind it.

  Manuel reaches for the music, turning it down even though it’s already quieter than when Erica and I went upstairs because she’s the one who likes the blaring tunes. “You okay, man?” Manuel asks.

  Before I can answer, Erica catches up to me.

  “You don’t understand. This is enough. It has to be.” The doubt in her heart paints her cheeks pink, her eyes gold.

  Gobsmacked, I look around the garage. “Understand this? Understand why the shop is so important to you?” I laugh, incredulous. “Fuck, I’m probably the only person who does, Erica.”

  She scoffs, her eyes rolling as she waves her grease-covered hand. Guess she didn’t wash up for lunch as well as she thought, and something about that is adorable, which only makes me madder. The mannerism is dismissive, almost that of a bratty spoiled princess, something she’s damn well not. She’s also not correct in the least.

  “Go ahead. Play the martyr no one is asking you to be. You gave up on me for Emily. You’ll give up on . . .” I have the foresight to stop myself before I say racing, though it pisses me off that even as she’s killing me, I’m still protecting her. “Give up on everything else even when it’s all you want. Wanna know where that gets you?”

  I hold my hands out wide, letting her look her fill at me. Broken, angry, distrustful, with nothing but should-have-beens to my name.

  Fire flashes in her eyes as they narrow down to slits. “What am I looking at? A grown man with nothing to show for it? You don’t know what it means to give everything to your family’s legacy. You work someone else’s land, no skin in the game, with pie-in-the-sky dreams of something bigger one day. Tell me, what’re you doing to make that happen? Because I am making shit happen.” She points at herself, her fingertip denting the delicate skin of her chest, which is rising and falling rapidly with anger as she fights dirtier than she realizes.

  Sonofabitch, that hurts.

  Mostly, because she’s right. I talk about owning my farm again, dream of the land being Tannens’ again, but I haven’t done a damn thing toward making that happen other than wish for it and want it. It’s been a relief to be free of that responsibility, but it’s like a vacation, nice while you’re gone, but you know you’ll have to get back to work eventually. I’ve been putting that part off, though, pretending that it’ll happen on its own somehow. It won’t.

  Erica senses that she gained a foothold, digging deeper into that wound that I thought had scarred over. Her barbs are sharp as nails, though, freshly opening up my battered heart.

  “My family depends on this garage, on me, to survive. I need to make sure that’s my focus.”

  I think she’s telling me to leave the racing stuff alone, though I’m still not sure how this fight even really started. But now that we’re in it, I can feel the accelerant catching fire at every corner.

  And that’s when I realize, she’s not telling me it’s the garage over racing. She’s saying it’s the garage over me. She told me she didn’t have time for anything serious, and I guess she’s making good on that right now.

  All the fight goes out of my blood as it runs cold. I’m losing something I didn’t even realize I had. It snuck up on me, drip by drip like honey, and filled that gaping void in my center with warmth. But the warmth dissipates too fast, unexpectedly leveling me. I curl my hat in my hands and shove it back on my head.

  I sigh, blinking hard as I try to focus. Feet wide, hands on my hips, and voice steady, I tell her the truth she hasn’t quite caught up to yet. I learned the hard way, and she will too, but there’s nothing to be done for it now. “One day, when you’re all alone and wishing for someone to take care of you the way you take care of everyone else, I want you to remember this second. The moment you shit on the one person who truly sees all of you and wants you for you, Erica Cole. No restrictions, no expectations, no cages. You are amazing, brilliant, beautiful . . . but none of that matters if you stay in other peoples’ bubbles. The worst part is that you . . . you let them keep you there. And that is a damn tragedy. Goodbye, Erica.”

  I turn on my heel, eating the ground between her and my truck with fast strides. I slam the door shut with finality and pull out of the parking lot. I tell myself not to look back, but I do.

  Erica is standing in the shop, right where I left her, arms crossed over her chest and jaw dropped in shock.

  I feel the same way, Lil Bit.

  I don’t know how we went from having lunch to a devastating blow-up fight, but some things are inevitable. I’ve always known that.

  I guess I just hoped I was wrong.

  19

  ERICA

  “Wow, you’re a real bitch, you know that? I never would’ve thought that, but damn, Rix . . . way to kick a man when he’s down.”

  I whirl on Reed, who looks as shocked as I feel. “Excuse the fuck out of me, but what did you just say?” I’m hurt and confused, which translates to full-blown armor mode with spikes and verbal bombs at the ready.

  Reed shakes his head disbelievingly. “I said, you’re a real bitch. I can’t believe you’re making me feel sorry for that asshole, but fuck, Rix.”

  I blink, surprised at the venom in Reed’s voice. He never talks to me like this. “Stay out of it, Reed. Figured you’d be happy to see him go.” Shit, that sounds like there’s an opening for him now, and there most definitely is not.

  “I asked around about him, you know. Figured if he was going to be hanging out with you, I wanted to check up on him, see if he’s the asshole I thought.” He laughs mirthlessly. “He works on the Bennett Ranch, right? That’s the job you’re giving him shit for? Ever heard of the Tannen Farm next door? Or maybe you didn’t talk about that before you fucked? Well, before you go climbing higher on that pedestal, Princess, you should know he’s right. If anyone would understand your obsession with this place, it’d be him.”

  I have no idea what Reed is talking about. Brody said his Mom died, which is why he helped take care of Shayanne, and he’s talked about growing up around animals and ranching. But I’ve never heard him say one word about a Tannen Farm.

  Reed flashes his teeth, victory in his feral grin. “Seems I know more about your boyfriend than you do. Of course, I was actually looking into his story, not just fucking him. Guess that’s the difference.”

  Reed turns and stomps out, his car pulling out of the lot a hell of a lot faster than Brody’s truck did.

  Has everyone lost their minds? What the hell just happened?

  Manuel looks at me patiently and kindly asks, “What do you need me to do, Boss?” At least he’s rock steady. One of us has to be, and it’s certainly not me.

  “I think I might’ve fucked up, Em.” I hold up a big bag from the grocery store, hearing the bottle of wine clank against the six-pack of beer. “Bad.”

  “Oh, shit, get in here.” She heads straight for the kitchen to pull glasses down. I offer her the wine bottle before twisting off the cap on my first beer. I have a feeling I’m going to need all of them tonight.

  I chug it down, starting the process of numbing myself from the pain. Because fuck, this hurts. A lot.

  And it’s my own doing.

  Emily shoves me toward the couch, and I flop to it in a heap, my legs crossing in front of me and my back curved inward around a pillow I hug tightly. But I can’t protect myself from this because it’s inside me.

  “What the fuck did Brody do? Or should I just go kick his ass now?” Emily sounds like she might be willing to try it on my behalf.

  “Nothing . . . well, something . . . but it was mostly me.” I grab for another beer but she holds it a few inches further than I can reach, and I’m too frustrated to lean forward and get it.

  “Rix, I need something to go on here. Speak and then you’ll get the yummy treat.” She waves the bottle around by its stubby neck, taunting me with it.

  I growl and lurch forward, snatching it from her. But I don’t open it, I just hold it. The label seems inordinately interesting all of a sudden, and I pick at the corner, wondering how I can put all of this.

  “The long and short of it? I’m a bitch, apparently.” Beer number two opens and I toss the cap to the coffee table.

  “Agreed. What else you got, because everyone knows that.” Emily sounds like that’s no big deal whatsoever, agreeing readily and easily.

  I shove at her shoulder, careful not to spill on her couch. I might not deserve it, but I’m sure gonna drink this thing, not waste it by sacrificing it to her fluffy cushions. “Fuck you, you’re supposed to be on my side.”

  “Does it help if I say that your bitchiness is one of the things we love most about you?” Her smile is placating, and I’m ashamed to say it works a little bit. “Get on with it. You came here for a reason, not just for me to stroke your ego, so tell me what happened.”

  I sigh and swallow half of the second beer. “You asked for it, Em.” I look her in the eye, the anger still right beneath my surface. “He told me I’m a great mechanic, talented and brilliant.”

  “That asshole! How dare he!” She couldn’t be more sarcastic if she tried, and she clearly thinks I’ve lost it. She’s basically right. I have.

  I realize that I can’t tell her this story, not the truth of it, without telling her about racing. And I can’t do that. That’s the foundation of the whole problem to begin with. I thought Brody understood that, really got why I had to keep that secret.

  You should tell your dad.

  In the end, he thought he knew better than I did. Just like everyone else.

  I’ve gone quiet, and Emily is searching my face for some kind of clue. She must find it because she quietly whispers, like someone other than the two of us might hear, “Does he not want you to race anymore?”

  The room spins, and it has absolutely nothing to do with the beer and a half I’ve had. “What did you say?”

  Emily shrugs. “I know you race, Rix. I figure Brody knows too. Did he ask you to stop? Or God forbid, tell you to stop?”

  Laughter bursts past my lips, and I hope it sounds real, covering the horror bubbling up inside. “I don’t race anymore, you know that. Dad told us we couldn’t even go to the track anymore. I haven’t been there in years.”

  Lies, lies, lies. I hate lying to her, but it’s for her own good. Okay, if I’m being completely honest, it’s selfish too. I do want to keep doing whatever the fuck I want to, but I don’t want to put that on Emily’s shoulders. She shouldn’t have to lie for me, especially not to Dad, and I don’t know if she would, anyway.

  One of Emily’s brows quirks, and she sets her wine glass down on the coffee table. She takes my beer from my hand despite my protests and sets it down too. Then she grabs my shoulders and shakes me . . . hard.

  “Talk to me, dammit. I know you race, have known you raced through high school and picked it back up the same week you came back home from the Army. So quit lying and talk to me.” She’s loud, and now her whole building is more than aware that I’m racing. I’ll probably have to swear them all to secrecy with promises of free oil changes.

  Something about my brain bouncing around in the beer bath in my head makes her words click together like a puzzle. “You know. You know?” My eyes and mouth pop open wide at the same time. “Why didn’t you ever say anything? Oh, my God, Emily!”

  So many things take shape . . . her occasionally stopping by to bring me dinner on random afternoons that always made me nervous because I had to leave to make the first race, her talking about the horsepower of every new model on the sales floor at the dealership, her never inviting me to Wine Wednesdays with her girlfriends, and when she told me about the new salvage yard a few towns over that was a treasure trove of goodies for my automotive heart.

  Emily has the good graces to look sheepish, but she’s cut from the same cloth I am and that doesn’t last long before she bows back up. Finger in my face, she bites out, “You should’ve told me. I’ve given you every chance in the world to tell me, but you never did. And I’m mad about it, have been for a while, in fact, and finally, I get to tell you . . . I’m mad at you.”