Spitfire in Love (Chasing Red 3)

When my brother got teased at school for wearing the same clothes over and over again or for wearing the hand-me-downs of the brothers and cousins of his classmates that the ladies at church had donated to us, I’d persuaded my grandma to ask her dressmaker friend to teach me how to cut and sew, so that I could redesign the hand-me-downs. I wasn’t going to win an award for best dressmaker of the year, and it didn’t stop the teasing completely, but it lessened.

I raised Dylan as much as my dad did. I never had a mother, but I learned how to be one out of necessity.

“After I tried to collect the money from Big Tony—”

“That giganotosaurus said you owe him money,” I said.

“It was a stupid bet. We were joking around. I had no idea he was serious about it.”

The headache had spread to my temples. Dylan was naive, especially about his “friends.” I tried to protect him, but I could only do so much. Maybe I was the root cause of it. I had sheltered him so much that he didn’t know how to spot users and had no street smarts. “Tell me about the motorcycle.”

“Big Tony threatened to beat me up if I didn’t pay him,” he said carefully.

I knew this already. It was why I drove to the customer’s place to collect his bill this morning.

“I was freaking out when I reversed the truck from his driveway. I didn’t know I reversed that far and veered off. I never even saw the motorcycle. It was an accident,” he whined.

“You idiot!” I pressed my finger to my eyes, sighed. Opening the medicine cabinet, I grabbed the bottle of aspirin, shook two into my mouth, and drank from the tap. “Did you damage it?”

“It was only a couple of scratches, I think…”

“You think? I need you to gather all your working brain cells right now—those that aren’t infected by your stupidity.”

“I was in a hurry! I didn’t get the time to inspect it. I got out of the car and lifted it back up. Maybe I didn’t damage it after all. I mean, it stood well enough. What do you think?”

“What do I think? You little shit. Dad told you not to drive Bertha!”

“I know. I’m sorry!” he wailed.

“You’re a spoiled kid, is what you are. Don’t you dare tell Dad about this. He’s already got so much on his plate without you adding to it.”

“What if someone saw me? My life is over. What if someone took a video on their phone and uploaded it online? What if I’m in the news tomorrow? Should I just come clean to the owner?”

“Calm your tits. Let me think.” I placed my hand on my neck, mulling it over. “So you’re saying there might be a chance you didn’t damage it at all.”

“I… Maybe.”

I heard the hope in his voice. Maybe in mine too. Maybe he didn’t damage it and he could get away with it. Maybe we were both just freaking out. If the owner saw him, he would have reported Dylan by now. The police would have been here by now.

“You think someone saw you?”

“I don’t know, Kar…”

“Listen. I’m going to drive by that house. You better start praying on your knees right now that motorcycle isn’t a wreck and is sitting in the driveway or I will sell your organs to pay for it.”

He sighed. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No. Besides, I’m going to stop by your friend’s house and try to collect his bill. If he doesn’t pay this time, I’m calling the cops.”

“Aw, Kar. Don’t be like that.”

“Don’t you ‘Aw, Kar’ me. You’re lower than a worm right now.”

“What if his motorcycle is not in the driveway? What if I damaged it? What if he has a camera on his front porch and recorded everything? He’d see my license plate. My face. My gawsh.”

Judging from the tone of his voice, he’d be crying in a minute. I sighed. “What if you started sprouting wings out of your ass and flew to outer space? Man up.” And because I knew he was seriously freaking out and could have a panic attack, I softened my voice. “Look, Dyl, I’ll take care of it, and if there’s more to it, I’ll let you know. For now, I need you to come home and just…don’t touch anything. You got that?”

“I got it. Thanks, Kar.” His voice broke. “Thanks.”