Page 21 of Until Ireland

When the coast was clear, we took off like a slingshot, maneuvering onto the open road. Jackson roared with pure glee, and I was right there with him, experiencing exactly what he was. I couldn’t wipe the smile of pure pleasure off my face even if I tried.

“Open her up,” he urged, and I did, pushing the four-point zero-liter, six-cylinder engine. She purred, and like always, I fell in love with this handcrafted work of art. “Heard top speed is 142 miles per hour.” Jackson gave me a knowing look.

“Not happening. We don’t own it. I’m not risking crashing it because we can’t afford to pay restitution to a prominent businessman who would sink both our business and each one of us into the ground,” I gently reminded him.

Jackson was still young. He had a ton to learn about owning a business and what it entailed.

“Could’ve been fun.” He sighed, disappointed with my decision. “Is the clutch slipping?”

I shook my head. Though, I had been testing the pedal when I shifted to check the pressure and synchro. “No. It’s tight, I believe. I’m wondering if whoever had it replaced the part but never adjusted the clutch properly. We can dig deeper when we get her back on the lift.”

I swung into a convenience store to turn around, finished with my assessment. “Want to drive it back?”

Excitement flared in his eyes. As much as Jackson loved cooking, he was like the rest of the Banks family and had oil pulsing through his veins. “Does a one-legged duck swim in circles?” He quirked a brow.

“Ahh…maybe?”

“The answer is yes, Ireland. Of course, I’d love to drive her sweet little ass back to the garage,” he said, exasperated with me.

“Ugh. Gross. Why do men insist on referencing a car like it’s a woman?” I’d never divulge I’d called the Aston her, or any of the others I’d coveted over the years, including my Custom.

Jackson snorted and got out of the car. I met him in front of the idling engine, which gave me a moment to listen to her. Dad taught us how to pay attention to a vehicle with all of our senses. Out of the four of us, I had the best ear. I could hear the tiniest tick and miss. I had a love-hate relationship with my ear, because a car, even in its prime, could never lope cleanly enough to be as smooth as silk for me.

“I’d answer that question if I knew you wouldn’t try to beat my ass after.” He grinned, tapping the roof of the car.

I bit back my chuckle and shook my head before getting in. There wasn’t a miss or a tick in her engine, which meant, again, someone had taken care of their vehicle. I suspected all she’d need was a tune up. Jackson sat behind the wheel, his hands gripping the steering as if he imagined himself driving the car.

“Keep it under fifty,” I warned. All three of my brothers were my heavy-footed drivers. They didn’t know the meaning of slow. “If we get pulled over, I’m gonna have to kick your ass.”

He rolled his eyes at me. “Yes, Mom.”

I snickered “I swear, we didn’t beat you up enough when you were younger.”

“Too late now, short-stuff,” he teased. “You couldn’t take me, even if you tried.”

“Is that a dare?”

Jackson swore under his breath, aware of how I handled dares. I went balls to the wall to prove I could hand each one of the boys their asses, several times over.

“No, it’s not. It’s a comment.”

“Good boy.” I grinned.

As Jackson drove back to the garage, I made sure to listen to the car and the engine as Jackson put her through the paces.

“Pull the car back into my bay,” I remarked when he pulled into the parking lot.

After he’d turned off the car and opened the door, I rolled my neck and shoulders while catching my younger brother’s gaze. “Thank you.”

He shrugged. “No biggie. I was glad to help. You going to look at the diagnostics report Landon ran?”

“How do you know I haven’t already?”

“Because you don’t. You do all this shit first.” Jackson swept his hand in front of him. “Then you check the report to see if you’re were right.” He got out, then poked his head back into the interior. “Where is it? It wasn’t on the clipboard.”

I gestured to my table. “Over there.”

He’d locate it easily. It was in my bin attached to the work order. My brothers knew I didn’t deal with mess at work. The same couldn’t be said for my shit at home or my personal life.

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