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“Pop.”
“What? You’re the one doing the baby-making,” he grumbled.
“When I know, you’ll know.”
“I guess that’s good enough.” He pulled the brim of his Yankees hat down. “I need a goddamn cookie.”
“I could use a cookie myself.”
“Cookies all around then. Can’t wait to tell your Ma about this.”
“Can I add a beer to that order?”
My dad snorted. “Maybe we should go right to the whiskey.”
“Might not be a bad idea.”
* * *
I shoved my earbud deeper into my ear to cut down on the grinding blade my boss had been using all morning. Jerome did some metal reconstruction work on the slow days in the shop, leaving me to do all the repairs.
Fourth fucking oil change in an hour. One mor
e alignment and my day would be complete for a fucking bingo card.
Normally, the monotony didn’t get to me all that much. Being a mechanic meant a lot of repetition. The days of putting together NASCAR motors—or taking apart—were past. I’d learned to live without that extra tang of sharper high velocity oil and gasoline mix that would never be a part of my life again. My little brother had taken over the reins there.
Hell, he’d passed me by about a hundred laps at this point. And most days I didn’t miss it. I’d made my choices to come home and be a part of my kid’s life. Being a driver or on a pit crew was an endless series of races and getting ready for them.
That wasn’t the life I wanted to give Wes.
Part of the reason me and Katherine had fallen apart had been the sense of home I’d wanted for my family. It wasn’t nearly exciting enough for her—especially a small town like Crescent Cove.
Unlike Kelsey.
I growled along with Godsmack’s singer as I tried to loosen the rusty fucking nut on this oil pan. “Fucker,” I seethed as it didn’t budge. Frustration mounted as I changed out my socket wrench for a smaller size. I was at a shitty angle. When the nut stripped, my hand slipped and my knuckles scraped across a rough patch of metal on the undercarriage.
“Fuck!”
Blood gushed over my fingers and I rolled out.
“Jesus, boy. You are coloring the air neon blue. Not like you.”
I blew out a breath and wrapped my rag over the cut. “Sorry, Jerome.”
He shook his head. “Go walk it off. And wash that out. I ain’t paying for you to go to the damn ER.”
I nodded. It wouldn’t be so bad except it was the third day in a row that I lost out to some car part. I already had a butterfly bandage on the same hand.
I dragged myself over to the sink and washed the blood away until it stung from soap and the pressure I put on the skin to get everything loose.
The pain felt good.
I was seriously getting fucked up about all this.
I hadn’t slept in three days—at least no more than a few hours snatched in my recliner with Wes in my lap. He was just as out of sorts as I was. Nothing would soothe him. Not even online shopping for a Halloween costume and that always evened him out.
Disgusted, I dunked my head under the steady stream of water and washed away the sweat and fatigue. I just had to get through a few more hours and then I could pick up Wes and grill a few burgers. It was certainly warm enough.
