Page 91 of Five Brothers

“May I try?” I ask. “To learn? In case I break down on the road by myself sometime?”

He opens his mouth, inhaling something that looks like it’s going to be a sigh, and rises without sparing me a glance.

I lean down, grabbing the wrench in both fists, and pull, the bolt spinning easily. I twist and twist until it pops off, and then I fasten the tool to another bolt. Gripping it with both hands, I pull again, but this time it doesn’t budge. I yank, putting everything I have into it. He must’ve loosened the last one. I jerk it again and again, grunting, but then I stop and look up. “Oh, you know what? We should make a TikTok.”

But he blurts out, “Get up.”

I do and watch as he puts one of his suede work boots on the long bar of the wrench and stands up on it, showing me how to use my weight to loosen it.

The bar budges, and he steps off.

“Cool.” I beam up at him. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t smile back. He walks off, and I crouch down again, twisting the wrench until the nut falls off.

I look over my shoulder. “And thanks for the tires.”

He opens the bag of food I left hours ago, sniffs it, and winces, dropping it back down on the tool bench.

I don’t know why he doesn’t just tell her to make him a steak, or some stew, or even an omelet. Something light if he’s tired of burgers. All it takes is a text.

Moving in front of the tire, I kneel down and reach behind it, securing it in both hands. Shifting back and forth, I wiggle it off the axle, but Macon is there before it drops onto my feet.

He tries to take it, but I stop him.

“Just take the other side.”

He tightens his lips and grabs the other end, walking backward quickly, and I hurry to keep hold.

“Why didn’t you go to the club like everyone else?” I ask as we set the tire on top of the other three. “Do you wanna go?”

He’s going to kick me out of here any second if I don’t shut up.

I dust off my hands, my eyes on his back as he hits the button next to the garage door, closing it, and switches off the overhead light. The work lamp under my hood still glows. I guess we’re done for the day.

I walk over to the sink and squeeze soap into my hands. “I’ll go with you if you don’t want to walk in alone,” I tell him.

But he flips on the water, barking, “I told you to wear the gloves.”

He eyes the grease all over my hands and grabs some kind of brush, the bristles grayed and worn. He pours soap all over it.

Taking one of my hands, he scrubs, struggling hard to be gentle, judging from his white knuckles and pursed lips.

“Have you ever been to a strip club?” I ask, looking up at him.

The heat from his body warms me.

I smile. “I can’t imagine you at one.”

“I was in the fucking military, Krisjen.”

My heart thuds hard. He knows my name. That’s twice now he’s said it.

I don’t know why it surprises me, but it does.I was in the fucking military, Krisjen.

Krisjen.

He knows me.