Page 5 of Until Ireland

“Yes, Mom,” Hunter teased. Ever since we’d been kids, he’d called me mom. Our mom thought it was hilarious because I acted like her but roughhoused like the boys.

When Hunter then Landon started taking auto repair classes in high school, our father went out to the old junkyard and bought them some clunkers. In a span of two years, Hunter, hell, all three of us, had become proficient in fixing cars. We’d sell the ones worth the work so we could buy more to rebuild them. Once Hunter graduated high school, he went straight to the trade school not far from where we lived and took auto shop-painting because, according to him, ‘people were more likely to buy a car with a fresh paint job.’

He hadn’t been wrong either.

“Asshole.” I bit my lip to hold back the smile trying to form on my mouth.

“I calls them as I sees them.” He walked backward with a shrug before disappearing to the storage area of the shop where the portable diagnostic machine was kept. Of the three of us, Hunter had the most tattoos. He was covered from the head down, and he wore clothes that showed them off, unless it was winter. He’d pulled his hair back, exposing the small intricate designs on the sides of his head that he’d done as a drunken dare by some of his friends, including Landon. About the only thing that even remotely connected us as siblings were our eyes. His were light green while mine were emerald.

With a shake of my head, I went in search of Landon. I knew, like Hunter, he’d give me shit for the little display with Mack. When I stepped into his bay, he’d been under the Olds. Some cars were easy to tear down and put back together, Olds, on the other hand, not so much. A muffled thunk followed his curse of pain before he slid out from underneath the car, and I quickened my pace.

“Son of bitch, that hurt.” He had a grease rag over his knuckles. His wavy ash-blond hair obscured his features as he glanced at his hand. We’d all split ours more times than we wanted to count, yet he grimaced like it was more than some scraped skin or a bruise.

“Don’t be a pussy,” I chided.

His blue-green gaze collided with mine as he flipped me off, and I noticed the amount of blood on his rag. “I think I need a stitch and found the issue.”

“Fuck. Can this day get any worse?” I grumbled. “Let me see it.”

He removed the rag. I hissed. There right between the index and middle finger was the perfect punchout from a piece of metal. Landon was right—he’d need a stitch. “When it rains, it pours.”

“I’ll tell Hunter. You can come with me. I have to hit up the parts store anyway.” I started back to my bay. “Put a clean towel on that. Don’t need you dying from some weird infection.”

“Yes, Mom.” Landon stood and went over to his workstation. “Gonna charge them double for this bullshit. Knock in the engine my ass. More like throwing a rod through the block and fucked the whole transmission. How the fuck do you even put a hole through the catalytic converter?”

I frowned. “Write up the bill. Add in the clinic fee. You ready?”

He nodded. “We’ll take the truck.”

After letting Hunter know we were leaving, I grabbed the keys to Landon’s pickup off the peg in the office and hurried to the truck. Landon was already inside, waiting for me. By the time we pulled away, the rag covering his hand had begun staunching the blood. The hazards of being a mechanic with stupid clients. Since it would take longer for Landon to get patched up, I dropped him at the small clinic then headed for the parts store.

The drive gave me time to process what Mack had said. Join him for dinner tomorrow night at Flame? Bet he made that offer to everyone he tried to woo. He was hot—I’d give him that. The Tom Ford suit fit him perfectly. His trousers cupped his bite-worthy ass while the white button-down shirt strained against his muscular chest and tapered stomach. He was built like a swimmer. I’d be remiss if I didn’t want to see him without the shirt. His features were sharp and intimidating, especially when he stepped into my personal space. He also smelled of sandalwood and leather, two of my favorite scents. His eyes, fuck me running, his eyes. The cool steely hue bored into me, seizing my soul. I’d been lost in him.

Then he opened his mouth.

I shook my head.Pure, unadulterated dick.I ate men like him for breakfast. They were the type who thought their shit didn’t stink and made my job ten times harder. He was smooth too. He chased his harsh statements with soft words, tempting me with good food and what? I never crossed the line between professional and personal. It got sticky. I’d been a witness to Hunter and Landon’s mishaps. They weren’t fun to clean up after. If anyone looked at the rolldown doors on the garage, they’d see the red paint under three coats of gray to cover it. Hunter’s ex had written ‘small dick,’ along with a drawing of a little penis after being dumped, or whatever the fuck my brothers did with their fuck buddies when they were done with them.

Landon once had sugar poured into his gas tank by one of Hunter’s women because she assumed the ’55 Ford truck was his. Thankfully, after the incident with Hunter’s ex, we installed a better security system at the shop, including cameras. We caught the incident before the owner of the truck came in to pick up his vehicle, saving us thousands of dollars in repairs.

Even I learned the hard way.

Last year, I thought we’d been in the perfect position to set down roots. I was in love with my ex, Edgar. I had the perfect job, and my brothers were doing well too. Until it all fell apart. I shivered at the memory. My mom used to say sudden shudders were from people walking over your grave. It was morbid to think about. Little did I know at the time, death had been closer to my doorstep than I’d been expecting. As it was, for the first couple of months since the move and after we opened the shop, I constantly looked over my shoulder, worried that Edgar would show up.

I pushed the thought aside as I paid for the items I needed then filled out the forms to start an account with the auto parts store. Since they specialized in the cars we worked on, it would make it easier if we could have a distributor close to us. Twenty minutes sometimes made all the difference in the world. On my way out, I texted Landon and Hunter to check on both. Then I headed to Starbucks to grab a frozen coffee, my second trip of the day. When Landon let me know he was ready, I picked him up and drove back to the shop. His hand was wrapped in a weird mesh glove covering the injury.

“Looks painful. Guess you’ll have to change hands to jack off with for a while.”

Landon snorted. “It’ll feel like someone else is doing it. Win-win for me.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. As the second eldest, he carried so much responsibility on his shoulders when it came to our family. Whatever Hunter didn’t cover, he did. “I can’t do anything for a week. I’m screwed.”

“Or you’re in luck,” I said, pulling into the shop parking lot. “I can put the rear end back together for the ‘Cuda this afternoon then start on the Olds in the morning. Besides, you need to call the owner, chew their ass out, and find out what they want done with the piece of shit.”

He peered at me with his left eye. “What about the Aston Martin?”

I shrugged, shutting off the truck. “I have a week to give Mack an answer.”

“You think he’s going to wait a week?” Landon popped his brow. “The man was practically drooling all over you.”

“That’s what happens with ill-mannered puppies. They tend to lift their legs peeing wherever they want and drool too much.” After parking in his spot, I opened the door and got out. “He’s not my type, anyway. He’s too pretty and entitled.”

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