Nobody Knows (SWAT Generation 2.0 11)

Damn, I was such a deep sleeper.

“The insurance adjuster was supposed to call me today about my car,” I admitted as I wiped my face and looked at the clock. It was after nine in the morning. Wow. “Though, she was supposed to call at eight.”

“She did call,” he said. “I answered it. Talked to her. They’re totaling out your car after a little heart-to-heart on my part. They were going to try to repair the airbag instead of just giving you a new car. I told them that wasn’t going to work for me. They’re cutting you a check for the car today and will have it to you by noon tomorrow.” He paused. “And I also talked to them about a few things that I learned from my reconnaissance yesterday when it comes to that kid. One, starting out with the kid not having a license. I even had a buddy of mine fax them a few things. Two, was the fact that they were jerking around a pregnant lady that needed that money that they tried to rip out from under her. With the insurance agency that the Mastings were using being so small, I was able to wait while they verified everything right then and there. Looks more like they’re going to drop that kid and his family from the insurance than they’re going to defend them at this point.”

My mouth fell open.

“Really?” I asked in surprise. “But what if they don’t give me enough to get a new car?”

“You let me handle that.” He said as he dropped his feet onto the ground and leaned forward, making my heart skip a beat. I knew, logically, that he wasn’t trying to come on to me and make me feel as excited as I was feeling, but still, it was hard to convince my body to act logically at this point. “But I’ll go with you to the dealership today. We can go look at new cars. Actually, if my opinion matters here, I’m suggesting you get a truck.”

I sat up and walked to the bathroom, and like always, he followed me.

Only after I’d finished doing my business, though.

“Why?” I asked. “I need the check to get the car. I can’t get the car without the check. Seems counterproductive to go look right now.”

“I have a buddy there,” he said. “They will work with you.”

I shrugged. “Okay.”

He left me then to let Axe out and feed him, allowing me to get dressed today without him hovering somewhere in the periphery of my vision.

He never actually ‘watched’ me, but I could always feel his awareness of me like a fine touch to every part of my skin.

Our drive to the car lot was uneventful. However, upon arriving, it was to find that his buddy was actually busy. With the family of the little asshole kid that hit me and then blocked me as if I was the one causing the problems and not their son.

Malachi saw this and grinned.

“You stay here and look at this truck.” He gestured at the one that was closest to us. “Rams are my favorite, obviously. But you can look at them all and decide what you like and don’t like.”

I did just that, fiddling with the ‘Ram’s’ touch screen and deciding that the backup sensor in it was amazing.

I’d just started to play with the seat warmers—it was exceptionally cold today at a whopping thirty degrees—when raised voices had me turning to survey the area.

I found Malachi standing there with his arms crossed as he glowered at the family.

The parents looked startled. The kid, however? He was the one doing the yelling.

He was waving his arms around and stomping his feet, throwing quite a large tantrum as the car salesman, Malachi, and the kid’s parents looked on.

I watched with fascination as the kid crowded close to Malachi, as if he was going to fight him.

Worried not for Malachi, but for the kid if he pissed Malachi off, I got out of the truck and quietly called Malachi’s name.

Malachi didn’t turn to look at me, but the kid, did.

“You.” He pointed at me. “You’re the reason that I’m having to look at a piece of shit bottom of the line truck.”

I blinked. “What?”

“I need a new vehicle since I wrecked the other one. Now my father won’t let me look at anything but the bottom of the line truck. It doesn’t even have Bluetooth!” he snarled.

I looked over at the father who looked like he wasn’t going to cave to his kid’s tantrum.

Good for that dad.

Though, he was still a piece of shit for blocking me.

“Sounds like a spoiled little kid problem,” I admitted. “When I got a vehicle at fifteen,” I emphasized that word. “It was a little piece of shit Rabbit. It’d been through five other people before it got to me. It didn’t even have working heat in it. And if the windows happened to need defrosting, I had to get up early and put a fucking space heater in there to get it done.”