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“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “You need to go.”
“Wait a minute…” Eric said, squinting at Jacob. “Weren’t you the guy who cuts our lawn?”
“ERIC!”
I remembered this part about our relationship — having to yell just to get his attention. Finally I had it.
“I still don’t understand why you’d come here,” I said, “or why you’d ever think to let yourself in. But you have to go now. There are plenty of hotels you can stay at, and if David shows up—”
“Holy shit!”
He yelled the words so loudly it sent us all flinching backwards. He was staring out the kitchen window. Looking into the driveway…
“HOLY SHIT, MY CAR!”
Forty-Five
SERENA
We followed my ex-husband into the driveway, after bolting straight out the front door. The GTO was where Tate had parked it, right in front of the garage.
“You fixed my CAR?!”
Eric was swooning over the Pontiac, running his hands along the sleek, gorgeous lines. For a good half minute he forgot all about us. Instead, he focused on absorbing the fruits of Tate’s long, painstaking labor.
“I can’t believe it,” he swore. “You put her back together after all this time! And she’s beautiful, too. She’s fantastic! She’s—”
“She’s also not yours,” I stepped in, shattering the little bubble around his fantasy.
Eric scowled. He stormed over, moving so quickly in my direction that both Cole and Jacob stepped in front of me.
“Of course she’s mine,” he demanded, putting his hand out for the keys. “I bought her.”
“And you took her apart too,” said Tate. “After upgrading the engine you were going to… what? Paint her?”
“Yes,” Eric answered excitedly. “Electric blue with silver flake.”
Tate’s response would’ve been comical, if I hadn’t seen the look in his eyes.
“Were you gonna hang a disco ball from the rear-view mirror too?”
“Maybe.”
The mechanic’s hands were fists. He looked ready to murder my ex. “I’d take you apart if you tried painting her that color,” he spat acidly.
Frowning, Eric decided to ignore him. He looked at me instead.
“How’d you get her registered?” he demanded. “The title was in my name. You couldn’t just—”
“A motor vehicle that has been left unattended on the property of another person for more than 96 hours is considered abandoned and unclaimed,” I cut him off. “State law.”
As Eric stood there gaping, I took a deep breath and smiled. “You left that thing here for fifteen thousand hours. So I got a new title. A clean title, in my name.”
“But—”
“You never called,” I pointed at him. “You never asked for it. In all this time, you never sent a tow truck to get it out of my garage. Like everything else in your life, you just walked away from it. Everything except your work.”
Eric’s face contorted bitterly. He turned even more red.
