“You will,” my father insists. “Even if the memories of that weekend don’t come back.”
“What if I never know who ran me over?”
“We’re working on it. Trust me when I say we have our people looking into it. You won’t have to know, and they will pay.” His teeth clench so tightly with those words said with such finality that I’m certain it will end in death or maybe maiming for that person.
We chow down while my dad quizzes me between bites. I must have been starving because I practically lick my plate clean. Standing up, I place it in the sink. “I’m ready, Pops.”
He does the same with his plate and then comes back and leans down to kiss my mother. “Take it easy, beautiful.”
He drives me to the shop, even though it’s within walking distance, because I need to reserve my strength. “Now let’s see the setup.”
My normal workstation has three different cameras—one above and behind my station, and two that are moveable based on the location of the vehicle I’m working on. The excitement builds in me instantly.
“So what do we have on the block for today?”
“We have to work on three bikes, four oil changes, six tire rotations. Mrs. Colson’s car isn’t starting, so we have to bring it in and run a diagnostic and see what’s going on. Do you want to pick your project?”
“How about I start with the diagnostic and get my feet wet again?”
“Sounds good.” He nods. Throughout the day, everyone stops by my station to say hello and check on me. They all offer to help, but I send them on their way. It takes a while, but I figure out what’s causing Mrs. Colson’s vehicle to stop running. She was out of gas was step damn one. She has a hole in her tank by the fuel filter. She reported that she had gotten gas two days go, and it was empty. Although, according to my tools, her entire panel was lit up like a damn Christmas tree. There are several things wrong with her vehicle. Who knows when she’s had an oil change, all her tires are threadbare, and her engine is missing coolant. In this temperature, it’s no wonder her vehicle hasn’t exploded already.
“Pops, where the hell is her son?” I ask.
“He disappeared with the last of the inheritance she received from her husband’s will.”
“That bastard.”
“Tell me about it. We’re doing this on the house.”
I nod. Mrs. Colson used to be a schoolteacher before retiring a few years ago when her husband died. Now, she’s left with nothing because of her asshole son.
Chapter Seven
Vivian
“Vivian, dear. It’s a surprise to see you here,” Mrs. West says, catching me in the middle of the cereal aisle. Damn it. I don’t have anywhere to run, because of course it happens to be the exact moment that two workers are restocking the shelves and we’re caught perfectly in between them. I intentionally left my house in the middle of the night, way too late for me to run into anyone I know, or at least I thought so.
“Oh, hello, Mrs. West. It has been a long time. I hope you’re well,” I say, doing my best to show no signs of the pure discomfort I’m feeling.
“It has been a long time. You disappeared after the accident, but I can understand why. I’m sorry that you feel like you can’t trust Simon, although we’re positive he had nothing to do with that young woman.”
I choke, in shock by her bluntness—something I should have come to expect. “It’s not that,” I admit.
“Then why?”
“It’s complicated. We had a big argument, and we said things, did things. Then…I told him I didn’t want to see him again.”
“We all say things we don’t mean sometimes.”
“Yes, but then he left angry and nearly died. I’m sorry. It’s my fault that he was out there.”
“Vivian, no. Don’t do that to yourself. Don’t.”
“I’m sorry. I have to go. Excuse me.” I leave my cart and rush out of the store. My heart just aches. I’m nearly out of the store when I slam into Simon’s chest.
“Whoa, whoa, Trouble. Who are you running from?” He looks over my head and around me with a snarl.
“No one. Um…”
