Cracked by Sarah Hualde

Author:Sarah Hualde [Hualde, Sarah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 0000000000000
Published: 2021-10-23T13:10:15+00:00

17

PIERCE GLOWERED AT T.C. and Scrubb before flicking his visor in place. “Are you sure you can trust those guys?” he asked me.

I chuckled. “I bet they’re going to ask me the same thing about you.”

A muffled expletive followed by an exhale of frustration served as a goodbye. Pierce kicked the stand up and braced the bike with his locked legs. With a gloved hand, he reached out and gently pinched my cheek between the knuckles of his middle and index finger. I shivered at the interaction, though I was sure Pierce had meant nothing more than to irritate T.C. and Scrubb. It was silly.

“Once I’m done with Godzilla, I’ll head back to the cabin, and we’ll start through the list.”

Pierce nodded, revved the gas on his bike, and pulled out into the street. I stood there a moment, in the parking spot next to where his bike had rested. Scrubb fidgeted just out of my eye line. I could sense his agitation. T.C. was also watching me. Patient curiosity made his smile twitch at the edges.

Meeting T.C. again, in person, was supposed to be a happy occasion. One that I greatly feared for more reasons than I could estimate. Crashing into him at an impound lot was not the reunion I’d dreamt about.

I tugged my jacket around me. “You couldn’t have picked a worse time to visit,” I said on my way back to Scrubb and T.C. “Still, I’m happy you’re here.”

The worry melted from T.C.’s face but morphed onto the face of Scrubb. “What do you mean by worst?” he asked as he led the way to their small rental car.

At the click of the unlock button, Scrubb took his place in the driver seat. T.C. mentioned something about preferring not to drive because of an eye problem.

“You take the front seat,” T.C. said.

I argued with him. “Your legs are longer than mine. I’m sure you could use the space,” I countered. T.C. stood a good foot taller than I did. Picturing him curled into his knee caps in the back of the economy car made my joints hurt.

We bantered back and forth before Scrubb rolled the window down and made the final call. “She’s right,” he hollered. “T.C. rides shotgun. Penny gets in back.”

A rosy flush spread beneath T.C.’s eyes. He opened the passenger side back door and held it for me as I slid into place. Scrubb rolled his eyes. “Seriously,” he muttered. “This is going to get ridiculous if you two don’t cool it.”

“I’m being polite,” T.C. argued while securing his seatbelt.

“Sure,” Scrubb grumped. He shot me a look in the rearview as he pulled out of the impound parking lot. Following the directions that spouted from his phone, we journeyed through town.

Bond Garage and Paint stood between a teeny strip mall and a greasy spoon diner. The scent of grease and gasoline permeated the air outside the garage. Inside, the smell of new rubber tires and sweat overtook the other chemical odors.

Godzilla rested in one of the two workstations.

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