Page 20 of Until Ireland

I was never drinking like that again.

“Better?” Landon popped his head into the office as I stood from my desk.

“Much, thanks,” I replied.

“Good. Be careful next time, okay?” The concern in his voice had me pausing. “You’re—” He shook his head. “You’re our sister.”

I nodded. I understood what he was trying to say. After Mom and Dad died, they worried about me more, since I was the only girl in the family. Although, if I thought back, I believe it was harder taking care of Jackson. He was still in high school, still in his awkward stage, and so fucking quiet. The last few years were more about learning how to be a new type of family than anything. Having my brothers with me, even if they were pains in my ass, made everything easier in the long run. “I love you too, Land.”

“Better, or else,” he joked. “Anyway, ready to get to work?”

“You bet your ass I am.”

When Jackson arrived, happy as a clam because he’d gotten himself a job at Flame on the weekends, it took everything in me not to ask him about Mack. Doing so would give Manny, Moe, and Jack, aka my brothers, more ammo to use against me. I wasn’t about to help them at all.

I was proud of Jackson. We all told him as much before we went back to work. Since Jackson had spent a few hours learning the ropes at Flame, Hunter sent Jackson out doing runs for parts, leaving only the three of us in the garage. Hunter also, at some point, raised the volume on the music. The heavy beat of his favorite band pounded through the bays. I’d never admit to it, but theFoo Fighterswere the shit when I wasn’t suffering from headache, especially their lead singer Dave Grohl.

It was a little after three when I looked up to find Jackson leaning against my workbench. He must’ve finished his runs for the day. I blew the annoying strand of hair that escaped my high ponytail out of my face before giving Jackson my attention. “What’s up?”

He gave a head nod to the Aston, still waiting for me on the lift. Yup, I had effectively ignored the damn thing almost all day. The irrational part of my brain reminded me the quicker I started tearing into the vehicle, the sooner Mack would be able to pick it up and deliver the car to the new owner. Rationally, I knew what Mack and I had going on wouldn’t be over, but I still caught myself worrying. Twice already I’d experienced a sinking sensation. I didn’t like it, and there wasn’t any reason for it either.

You’re being pessimistic because of how shit ended with Edgar.I knew not all guys were like Edgar, but sometimes, like today, I couldn’t help but put myself back in the angst-ridden situation. I’d try to talk myself out of being happy and being more cautious about Mack. What did it say about me if I didn’t want to worry?

“When you planning on starting that?” Jackson asked, startling me out of my circling thoughts.

I glanced at the classic car and shrugged. “When my other work gets done.”

Jackson pushed off from the desk, holding out a clipboard while giving me a knowing look. “Tell ya what. How ‘bout you inspect while I’ll take the notes? If there isn’t anything major, we can get her on the road for a test drive.”

I narrowed my eyes, watching him. He cocked a brow at me expectantly. He just called my bluff, forcing me to deal with something I’d been putting off all day.Manipulative little bastard.

“Fine.” The snap of my voice brought a smile to his face. Yanking the latex gloves off my hands and throwing them in the trash, I went for my mechanics gloves, the ones I used for special occasions. This, to me, was a very special occasion. I made my way over to the Aston.

The sound of Jackson clicking his pen made me want to rip it out of his hands and break it in half. I didn’t though—no point in giving my brothers any more info to use against me later. He was too excited for this. His body vibrated with unspent energy, but I had a feeling it had more to do with what happened at Flame than the car sitting before us. When I asked for the recipe for the risotto, I hadn’t expected Mack to give Jackson a job. Seeing how happy my brother was though, I couldn’t be mad at Mack for the offer. I rolled my eyes at Jackson and got to work, pushing everything else aside.

Really what I needed to do was remove Mack from the equation for now. The vehicle in front of me presented a rare opportunity to touch, let alone work on, something very few people got to see. I couldn’t waste what any other gearhead would consider the experience of a lifetime.

My fingertips ran along the cool sliver aluminum skin stretched out over a steel skeleton. Any bubbles found on the paint could mean the two metals had reacted to one another. It would also mean an extensive and expensive repair. I checked every inch of her skin and was pleased to tell Jackson I hadn’t found a single bubble. I did have him note, though, the earlier wear and tear we saw on the paint the day it came in.

I checked the sills, a common place for rot. I only found a little on the passenger side door window, which was pretty good for a fifty-five year old car. I also checked the bulkhead, the jacking points, the trailing arm mounts, bumper supports, and the floor of the boot—trunk for us Americans. After a look at the engine, I noticed it was missing an oil cooler and one of the VIN plates was absent. Nothing major of course. The car was old. So, I had Jackson add a place for fabricating parts on the list. The oil cooler would be the first part we’d need made in a very long time. The Aston also required a new timing chain installed. The one on it had a lot of wear and tear. If it broke, the engine would be ruined.

“Going in,” I stated while Jackson was busy writing down everything I’d called off to him. The driver’s door creaked as I opened it. We could oil the hinge, but to be honest, the sound would return. In my mind, it was part of the charm of owning a classic car.

The interior was perfection and not what one would expect to find from an antique car. The bucket seats had at one point been reupholstered to a bright red. Since they weren’t the original design of the car, I told Jackson to make a note of the interior and recommend to Mack to have the seats and dash restored to their original state.

Situating myself behind the large, wood-rimmed steering wheel, I looked at Jackson over the hood, which seemed to stretch on for miles. The dainty wooden shift knob would have to be replaced. The gear pattern on this model was a five speed, and the etched markings on the shifter were almost worn off. Not that it mattered to anyone who drove a manual vehicle. We could change gears with our eyes closed.

I glanced down at the speedometer and odometer to check that both didn’t have any damage then read off the mileage to Jackson for him to write down as well. When I was satisfied I’d covered everything, right down to the mini cigarette ashtrays in the center console, I spied a look at the keys patiently waiting in the ignition. My fingers itched to depart. It had been Landon who’d driven the car into the bay once it had been removed from the rollback.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Jackson said, his tone heavy with frustration before getting in on the passenger side.

The knowing glint in his green eyes had me quickly depressing the clutch so I could start the car. Since it was already in reverse, I put it back into first. The heaviness of the tight clutch didn’t bother me, but the tautness in the shifter moving did. I had Jackson make a small note to check the synchro in the gear shift as well. I couldn’t stop the sigh of pure pleasure as the engine turned over immediately. She purred like a wet dream. The intensity of the sound just couldn’t be matched with today’s automobiles. Nothing beat old school engineering.

“Fuck yeah,” Jackson whispered, his tone filled with the absolute awe I was also feeling. “Sounds better than the ‘Cuda.”

It so did.

“Let’s take her for a ride.” I eased off the clutch gently, waiting for a jump or a rumble from under the hood. Instead, we rolled right out of the bay, the engine doing all the work. Depressing the gas, we zipped toward the exit, snatching second gear as we went. Though still a bit stiff, she shifted like a dream, and the power of the motor could be felt from the tips of my fingers to the bottoms of my toes.

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