Huge Working Hero (Hard Working Hero 3)

My suitcase is open on the floor. I dig through, eventually settling on a blue sundress with a sunflower pattern, and a pair of sandals. After a quick brush of my hair, I braid it, and consider myself done.

In the hallway, I find my father impatiently looking at his phone, while my mother puts lipstick on with a small powder mirror, and my brother is half sleeping with his head back against the wall.

“Finally,” my father says. He tucks his phone in his back pocket and starts walking. “Let's go.”

We all follow him like army ants, doing what they've been programmed to do. My father's feet pound against the carpeted hall as he walks ten feet ahead of us. All of us are quiet. Not that we usually have a lot to say to each other.

It's a comfortable silence. One that I welcome with the headache sitting behind my eyes and the haze I still can't shake off my brain.

When we do talk, my mother likes to talk about all her fancy friends and what their children are doing. My father is usually focused on himself. His cars. His business. Or his super rich clients.

And then there's my brother. Your typical seventeen-year-old, whose head is always focused on vaginas and the cars my father will never let him touch, let alone drive. I'm curious how he's going to get the keys for the car to take it for a joy ride.

Not my problem. Whatever he does, I'm just looking the other way.

I think this is the first time we've ever teamed up. Even if it's bribery, it's something, I suppose.

Brand is already in the parking lot. He's smiling, with his arms across his chest as he leans against the car.

“Be careful, don't scratch it,” my father barks.

Brand steps away and rubs the trim of the door. “She's good as gold, Mr. Klein.”

“Keys,” he demands, holding out his hand.

Brand tosses them and my father catches them. “You don't want me to drive?” he asks. “I thought—”

“Whatever you thought can stay right there in your head. I didn't ask you what you were thinking. Claudette will drive the other car. You can climb in the passenger seat with me. We're running late already, so let’s go.”

Brand walks around the car, his eyes falling over me like a blanket. I can feel them. They're heavy, magnetic, and I have to force my eyes away. My brother elbows me on purpose as he walks by to get in the back of the SUV.

Brand smiles at me, and winks. But I don't smile back, I turn quickly and climb into the car with my mother. I don't look over, I don't look up, I don't dare move my eyes in his direction. I can't.

My mother follows my father to the car show. We park in the lot for spectators, and my father drives to where all the competition cars are.

As we approach my dad, the hood is open on his car, and Brand is leaning in, shining the engine with a soft rag. There are always so many classic cars at this show. Everyone is preparing for the judges. Cleaning and waxing, doing minor fixes to make the exhaust sound cleaner and louder, or trying to get the whir of a belt out of the engine.

“How's she look?” Brand asks me.

I shrug my shoulder, walking right past him and going to the back side of the car. I'm so afraid that my parents are going to suspect something. Not that my brother is helping at all. He keeps giving me looks, like little stupid smiles, and bouncing his brows. He's just doing things that are going to draw attention.

“Hey, here you guys are.”

I look up to see a very pregnant Millie wobbling through the field with Harden. His hand is on her lower back as if he's ready to catch her if she loses her footing.

“Hey, guys!”

My mother smiles and nods, turning her attention to my brother. “Seth, can you get the chairs from the car and set them up?” My brother groans, sluggishly walking back to the car to get them.

“I'll come help you,” Brand says, and starts to jog to Seth's side.

“Oh Brand, here,” my mother says before he darts past her.

She tosses him the keys and he catches them. “Be right back,” he says.

I almost can't breathe as I watch my brother walk off with Brand. I have no idea what he's going to say. What if he hints that he knows? The thought makes my stomach tight with knots.

“You all right?” Millie asks. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”

“Yeah, yeah, I'm fine.” Turning my attention to her, I push the feeling away. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I'm ready to pop,” she says with a giggle and rubs her belly.

“Just wait,” my mother says, her hand hanging in the air as if it's attached to an invisible string. “Your body won't look normal again for months—maybe even years. I know it took me a long time to get back to my prebaby body. I can thank Dr. Gibbons for the extra help.”