Until We Crash - Michele G Miller Page 0,3
the ass jobs.” Owen shifts through the piles on his desk. Finding a notepad, he jots notes before ripping off the sheet and standing. “I’m gonna drive the Z over to Ace. You about done? We’re grabbing drinks and dinner at Bleachers.”
I consider the job. “Sure, I’ll meet you in an hour.”
Chase lingers in my workspace when I return to the garage. “What’s up?” I ask. She damn well has opinions to share or questions to ask if she’s hanging around.
Her gaze falls to the ground as she shrugs. Three years have passed, but she resembles the naive girl I left when I headed off to college at Oregon more than the college freshman she’ll be in the fall. My kid sister, who coaxed me into hiring her for a summer job at the garage over working at Mom’s boutique. Her reasoning for the request remains unclear, but I have a good idea why.
Snatching a screwdriver from the table, I speak over my shoulder. “You don’t need to keep me company, Chase, go hang out with your friends.”
She releases a little laugh. “Why would I want to hang out with my friends when you’re this pleasant?”
I ignore her jibe and go to work, adjusting the truck’s headlights, re-aiming them toward the ground to compensate for the new height. Without asking, Chase dims the garage lights while I verify I have the headlights right. I squat and nudge the housing one final time before replacing the covers.
“Did you take something for the pain?” My head snaps at Chase’s question. She cocks hers to the side. “You’re wincing.”
“I’m tired.”
“Bullshit.” She grabs the other headlight cover and screws it on for me. “Your surgery was only eight weeks ago, you’re pushing it.”
“C’mon, Chase.” I toss my screwdriver on the table. “If I wanted to hear nagging, I’d have stayed living at home.”
“Who’s nagging?”
“You are.” I turn and trip over the creeper I left hanging out beneath the truck, and my repaired knee protests at the odd movement as I stumble. “Dammit.” I hiss and catch my weight against the hood. Chase’s worried gasp burns my ears as curses fly from my mouth.
Dropping my head on the truck, I inhale. “I’m done.”
Chase touches my shoulder. “Carter?” Her concerned tone has my body folding in on itself.
“I’ll take something, okay?” I hate my weakness.
Her footsteps echo through the dim garage as she walks toward the office, where she stashed my painkillers in hopes I’ll pop them when needed. I push to my forearms and watch her through the glass door. She’s my self-appointed savior. That is why she’s working at the shop. Chase loved hanging out in the garage with Owen and me growing up. She loves the smell of rubber and grease, but she took a job with Mom at the boutique once she was fifteen. Chase hung around while I was home after my first injury last year, but her daily life remained unaltered. When I returned after the second surgery this past April, my sister dropped everything. The final weeks and weekends of Chase’s senior year, she kept me company by watching every action movie available. She drove me to therapy without asking about my feelings. She let me vent without casting judgment over my decisions. Chase was present. She is present. My pain in the ass baby sister, hell-bent on saving me from the depression my family, friends, and coaches fear will creep in.
She returns with a water bottle and a giant pill. “I’m roasting a chicken for dinner tonight. Come eat with us.”
She’s aware tonight is Bleachers’ night: Thursday night baseball, sports trivia, and beer.
“No drinking on pain meds,” Chase says after I swallow my pill. I curse under my breath. “C’mon, Mom and Dad will be happy to see your grumpy face. You need to stop by; they miss seeing you.”
During my first two years of college, they were lucky to see me a few hours a month. Since my injury, we have weekly visits. I stretch my neck and think.
I could hang out with the guys without drinking, but my knee aches and sitting on my ass and doing nothing sounds appealing.
“Fine, but you’re running interference. No talk about school, football, or my future.”
Judging by her eager agreement, I’ve ignored my family since moving out of the house last month.
Carter
"I'm telling you, she wants me."
"Sure, and I want herpes. Get over yourself."
I'm elbow deep in grease when the twins walk into the garage the next morning, their conversation