ChapterTwenty-Six
KAYLA
In what universe did I think that anything would change? Nothing has. He still talks to her and still puts her first, even after everything he knows. His feelings for her must run deep for him to close his eyes to everything. I mean, they clearly hada talk,and yet she comes to him so casually. What did I expect after the revelation? That he’d leave her right away and come to me?R-r-r-right. They share years of history, whatever their relationship was, and that’s hard to erase. I should know. To be honest, it hurts. Seeing them together hurts. Even if he doesn’t exactly look happy right now. But I don’t exactly know what they were talking about.
I sigh and walk to his auto shop. I’ve never really been inside, only peeked in through the open doors. There are three guys inside. I’ve seen two of them around town, but I don’t know their names, and the third is Paul Rogers, the guy who’s been crushing on Marina for years now. Even though he’s a head shorter than her, he’s trying. As far as I’ve seen, he’s been successful. I shake my head, trying to forget the moment I saw him sucking her face off a few months ago.
“Hey, Kayla. I got your keys here.” He digs into his seemingly bottomless breast pocket as he trots to greet me. “Here you go. Good thing you replaced that alternator. If it died while you were driving, that’d suck.” He hands me my keys while I gape at him.
“I replaced what?” I almost keel over.
“The alternator,” he repeats. “The new battery and the brakes are good, too. Must be expensive to get the factory ones. Probably cost more than the car itself now.” His chuckle makes his mustache wiggle.
I stand with my arm outstretched, my mouth still agape. “I haven’t changed anything, Paul.”
"Oh." His mouth forms an 'O', and his gaze darts around. "Well, someone must have done it for you.” He awkwardly pats my shoulder and walks away, leaving me feeling extremely uncomfortable.
Looks like the mystery of my car’s miraculous recovery just got resolved—someoneupgraded the parts without my knowledge. And the only someone who could have done that…
I’m about to turn on my heel and leave when I decide to ask what time they close the shop. Paul says that he’s about to lock up. Conflicted, I get into my Jeep and patiently wait for my brain to make a decision.
I want to thank Justin—I know it’s him. But why would he do that for me when he still hated me? I don’t understand. I keep bringing my thumb to the call button next to his name on my phone screen but decide against it every time. He clearly didn’t want to see me a few moments ago.
Soon, the guys leave the garage. Justin still isn’t here. I start my car, reluctantly about to drive off, when there’s a loud knock on my window. I jump in my seat with a yelp.
“It’s just me.” Justin’s standing there with his hands raised in a gesture of surrender. “Don’t freak out.”
“Oh.” I let out a relieved breath and roll the window down.
“What are you doing here?” He lost a little of that anger, but it’s still there. His not-exactly-friendly question indicates that I’m not really welcomed here.
“I’m—” I clear my throat. “Actually, I was waiting for you.”
“Why?” He narrows his eyes.
“I wanted to thank you.”
“For what?” He leans his hands on the hood.
“For my car.”
He sighs. “Let’s go talk inside. I’m starving.”
I know it’s not a very good idea, and I can thank him right here and right now—it would take literally thirty seconds. But I like some emotional pain, apparently, so I roll the window shut, get out of the car, and follow him inside. To be honest, I'm curious to see how Justin lives. He saw my home; it's only fair I see his.
We go to the back of the building: there are stairs to the second level. We go up, and he unlocks the door, heading inside. I follow him.
Looking around, I see that my old crush is a slob. Different pieces of clothing are splayed everywhere, pizza boxes and soda cans are chilling on the table, and in the living room, dishes are piled up in the sink. Nice.
He walks to the fridge, pulls a beer out, and offers it to me. "Want one?"
“No, thank you.”
He opens a can for himself and asks. “What did you want to talk about?”
“I wanted to thank you for fixing my car.”
“No problem. It’s just an oil change.” He shrugs.
