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“You are so much better than that. I don’t know a damn thing about cars or engines, but even a dumbass like me can see that when you go to the track, they’re all looking to you for guidance and to make their cars be the best they can be. You’re good, Erica.”
“Thank you.”
Later, looking back, I’ll hear the hesitancy, but right now, it blows right over me and all I hear is an answer on automatic when I want her to see herself the way I do. Magical, powerful, fierce.
“No, really. I know you’re protecting your dad by staying quiet on the whole racing thing, and believe me, I get that secrets are sometimes in everyone’s best interests. But you have a real gift. It’s a shame you can’t share it with him when he’s the one who inspires you. He’s probably the one person who could most understand the miracles of engineering you’re working.”
I smile, hoping she hears just how amazing I believe she is. I’ve never met anyone like her before, so skilled at something that seems pretty straightforward, but for her, it’s pure artistry.
I’ve watched her tinker with parts downstairs and in a corner of the apartment where there are chunks of metal I can’t even identify strewn about the floor. But not only can Erica ID them, she redesigns them, reworks them, creates something from nothing. It’s amazing to behold, and I know enough about parenting from raising my sister to know that Erica’s dad would be proud as fuck to see what his little girl can do with her hands and her mind. Only the sheer force of physics holds her back.
Erica drops her sandwich to her plate, wiping her hands on her coveralls. “I told you why I can’t tell him.”
“I know. But that doesn’t mean it’s not sad that you don’t get to share that together anymore.” I can tell something’s wrong, but I don’t know what. Even so, I’m backpedaling, realizing too late that I’ve stepped into something I didn’t intend to. “But at least you have the garage, right?”
“This garage is everything to my dad, to me. It’s supported us my whole life, brought us together as a family.” The temperature in the room has dropped by degrees. Erica’s stony expression and crisp biting tone hit me like blades. She’s acting like I dissed the garage or its importance to her, which I definitely didn’t do.
“As it should be. You’ve created something special here.” Generic platitudes and walking on eggshells are what I’m reduced to?
No, fuck that. I’m not that guy, not gonna simper around every time she gets her feathers ruffled.
“I don’t know what I said, but I’m sorry.” I don’t sound apologetic in the least. I sound as pissed as I am. “I didn’t mean to upset you, was actually trying to give you a compliment. But I guess I fucked that up.”
Erica blinks at me, silent for the first time ever. Not threatening me, not joking around, not . . . anything. She’s completely blank and I can’t get a read on her at all.
“Maybe I should just go.” I get up, leaving my lunch on the table. I’m halfway down the stairs when she pulls on my arm, short nails digging into my overheated skin.
“You don’t get it. He forbade me. Racing is the one thing” —she holds up one finger and then swipes at the air, correcting herself— “the only thing he ever asked me not to do. Dad didn’t even argue about my going into the military as hard as he did about racing. He made me promise.”
“But you do it anyway because it’s what you love. It’s who you are.”
Fire flashes in her eyes. She’s angry that I see her, know her truth. I thought that sharing that secret with me meant something, but right now, I can see that it’s the opposite. She shared it with me because I’m not important . . . not like her parents, her sister, not like Reed.
All those guys at the track know and she calls them friends or buddies or even dumb fucks. I guess that’s what we’ve been all along, friends who fuck. And I’m the idiot who managed to catch feelings for her and think something deeper was going on.
Right as always, Dad. Love just means it’ll hurt worse eventually.
I can’t love Erica, but I do feel something for her. Obviously, or it wouldn’t hurt to have her dismiss me this way.
I shove through the door, stomping through the breakroom, and then shove the door to the garage open too. Reed and Manuel jump as the door swings back and hits the wall behind it.
Manuel reaches for the music, turning it down even though it’s already quieter than when Erica and I went upstairs because she’s the one who likes the blaring tunes. “You okay, man?” Manuel asks.
