“We will get in. Think positive.”
Nodding, she peers up at me with her big brown eyes out in full force. “If Browns is our only option, can you wait that long?”
Happiness beams out of her when I sign, “I would wait an eternity for you.”
Sentiment is thick between us, but Melody acts as if she can’t feel it. “You are only saying that because you had your hand in my panties.”
I prepare my stomach for her hit when I jest, “I had more than my hand in your panties.”
I’m about to kiss her cocky smile right off her face, but before I can, we’re interrupted for the second time today. Thankfully, this time around, the interrupter is from the female half of Melody’s parents. Wren waits for Melody to acknowledge her at the side before signing, “Melody, it is time to go, honey. You have finals to study for.”
After gesturing to her mom she’ll be a minute, Melody drifts her eyes back to me. They’re not as panicked as they were only seconds ago. Our time together was short but very satisfying. “Do you think my dad will let you over for a study session this afternoon?”
Her lower lip drops into a pout when I mumble, “I wish.” I twang on it before adding, “But I will come over and talk to him after Joey is given the all-clear.”
Panic replaces some of the glee in her eyes. “Do you think that is a good idea?”
I shrug. “It couldn’t hurt, could it?”
Hot air blows out of her nose as she signs, “I guess not.” She returns her eyes to me. “I will text you later?”
When I jerk up my chin, she squeezes my hand before pivoting on her heels and stalking away. Once she’s safely in the nook of her mother’s arm, Wren farewells me with a friendly wave. Mr. Gregg’s goodbye is nowhere near as pleasant. He narrows his eyes at me before shadowing his wife’s exit.
I stand frozen in the middle of the café watching their exit, not moving until they’re followed out of the hospital parking lot by a rusty F150 truck. Then I head back to Joey’s room where I spend a majority of the next four hours working out what I plan to say to Mr. Gregg the instant Joey is out of recovery.
It’s a conversation I was hoping never to have but will do anything to win.
12
BRANDON
A s gravel crunches under my feet, I raise my eyes to Melody’s bedroom window. Her curtains are closed, but I know she’s watching me. I can feel it in my bones. I yank one of my hands out of the pocket of my shorts, wave hello, then continue for the shed I hear classic Aerosmith music booming out of. Mr. Gregg is as straight as an arrow in all aspects of his life, except for his choice in music.
When he spots me rounding the corner, he peers up from the motor of his family station wagon for all of two seconds, grunts, then returns to tinkering with the motor. I was hoping to find him working on the Hellcat because that would’ve been an indication he’s ready to forgive me. Regrettably, nothing is ever easy for me.
“What’s the issue?” I ask, attempting to start our conversation we’re both knowledgeable on. He didn’t just teach me how to protect his daughter, he taught me many other things as well—motor rebuilding included.
I’m anticipating for him to continue giving me the cold shoulder, so you can imagine my surprise when he says, “Wren said it’s making a shuddering noise.”
I twist my lips. “Are you thinking it’s the timing belt?”
“I checked that. It’s good.”
“Dirty fuel?”
He shakes his head. “I only ran a fuel cleaning agent through it last month. It coughed up the gunk within the first week.”
Air blasts from my nose as I consider other possibilities. Although getting Wren’s old station wagon back on the road isn’t the reason for my visit, it made a perfect entrance for a long-overdue conversation.
When the spotlight hanging from the engine mount blows in a breeze, a possible reason for the shuddering noise is exposed. “She has a nail in her back tire.”
“Huh?” Mr. Gregg pops his head up from the motor, only just clearing the hood to peer at the direction I’m pointing in.
Since his big frame is no longer shadowing the light, I spot three additional silver specks. “Actually, it looks like more than one.”
He yanks down the spotlight like it’s perfectly normal for a man to reach that high before shining it at the tire. “You’re right. There are four in that section alone.”
While he rotates the tire seeking additional nails, I say, “If they didn’t puncture the valve, she wouldn’t have noticed any difference in pressure. It would’ve just created a thud noise with the road surface.”
