Birthday Girl

I reach out before she gets to the door and open it, holding it wide for her to enter first.

But she turns around, looking up at me before she goes in. “Maybe you can take both of us next time you go,” she suggests. “As long as I can drive. You’re not super possessive of your truck, are you?”

“No. A truck is made to be abused. Go for it. I’ll just wear my seatbelt.”

She smiles softly and stares at me for a moment, something I can’t decipher crossing her face. Did I say something?

I stare back for a moment, noticing how her eyes look almost like a watercolor. Midnight blue but growing lighter the closer they get to the pupil. I look away, clearing my throat.

“Jordan!” Cole suddenly bellows from upstairs. “Baby, you home? Come here!”

I meet her gaze again, and she pulls away, flashing me an apologetic smile. “Gotta go get ready for work. Thanks for letting me help today.”

I nod but stay in the doorway, watching her cross the living room and disappear up the stairs. A strange feeling comes over me as I stare after her. What is she like with Cole? What is he like with her? Is he good to her?

I stand by the front door, hearing the bedroom door close upstairs and knowing she’s in the bedroom with him. The house suddenly feels heavy. Stuffy and thick, and I can’t breathe. I don’t want to go in, no matter if I need dry clothes or not.

I dump my keys on the table to my left and see her VW key laying there. I grab it and step back outside, closing the door before I head back down the porch steps and to the garage on the right of the house.

“Got some house guests, huh?” I hear someone call.

I look over and see Kyle Cramer standing on his front porch with a coffee cup in his hand, covered from the rain which is now a light sprinkle.

I jerk my chin, acknowledging him, but I don’t reply. I never liked the guy and never cared to be friendly. Which he must realize by now.

I don’t care, though. Just looking at him irritates me. And it’s nothing specific that I hate. Just little things that added up over the years. How he treated his wife. How he cheated and was never home. How he kept the house for himself after the divorce and sent her and their kids off to an apartment to live. How he constantly hires babysitters when his kids are supposed to be spending time with him for the weekend.

Eh, who knows? Maybe he tried to get custody and maybe she cheated on him first. You never really know what goes on in someone’s house. Look at me and how my kid was raised, after all. Who am I to judge?

I just still don’t like the guy. He thinks his white-collar career and triathlons make him a hero.

And now I sound fucking jealous. Great.

Punching the code into the panel on the side of the garage door, I step back and let it open. I don’t keep any cars in here, so there’s room for it to serve as more of a shop and workroom.

There are tools, an air compressor, an extra refrigerator, a couple work benches, and an entire table filled with car parts that just kind of got dumped here over the years. Jordan’s car is in the driveway, but I know I’ll need to get in here for a few things after I pop that hood. Cole isn’t bad with cars, but I know it’s going to take money to get that thing running again, and money they don’t have. I’ll at least take a look, so I can see how bad it is.

“Hey, man.”

I look over my shoulder and see Dutch walking up the driveway. He has dry clothes on and a beer in his hand. Not unusual. He keeps a cooler in the back of his truck.

“Hey.” I pull my still-damp T-shirt over my head and toss it on a work bench. Pulling a jack out from under a table, I walk back out of the garage and toward the faded green VW. Dutch pulls a lawn chair out and carries it to the grass next to Jordan’s car.

“Five tomorrow?” he asks.

“Yep.”

Since we lost time today, he knows I’ll want to start early tomorrow.

“So the guys were thinking of hitting Grounders in a bit here. Grab some beers, listen to some music…” he tells me. “There’s nothing else to do in this weather.”

I twist the wrench but glance over at him. “Grounders? Since when do you go there? Did Poor Red’s close down?”

“No,” he answers, shrugging. “They just realized there was some fetching eye candy at Grounders now.”

I look over at him, and he’s smiling and jerking his head toward the house and who’s inside it.

“Yeah, shut up.” I squeeze the wrench. “That’s my kid’s girl. You guys leave her alone.”