Page 44 of No Saint
“Okay. Well, let me know if you can.” She looked as pissed off about it as I felt, but there was nothing to be done about it.
I’d dug the hole. Now I had to lay in it.
“Thanks.” I got out and approached the shop owned by Brent’s cousin, Joe.
As much as I hated taking any help from that asshole, I didn’t have much choice if I wanted my car fixed for anythingless than a small mortgage. And I wasn’t lowering myself to asking Wolf for help. Not like he offered any when I’d told him my car wouldn’t start. Too busy being an asshole about our stupid curfew. Whatever tentative olive branch of friendship I might have perceived after he’d saved me from the auction had been well and truly crushed. I wouldn’t ask and give him the satisfaction of telling me to fuck off.
The buzz of machinery and hum of the mechanic’s banter drifted out of the open garage bay, and I tried to push thoughts of Wolf from my mind, but the moment I stepped into the reception area, the scent of motor oil slapped me in the face. In high school, I’d spent plenty of weekends watching Wolf and the guys fiddle around beneath the hood of the cars they’d stolen. The memory of Wolf, shirtless and covered in grease, was still at the top of my spank bank. My own personal teenage poster, snapshotted in my mind. God, I needed to stop thinking about him.
I rang the service bell, then leaned against the wooden counter.
A few seconds later, Joe came through the side door wearing grease-stained coveralls. “Hey, Jade,” he said, stepping behind the register. “Car’s all done.”
“Thanks for getting it repaired so fast.”
“No problem. Can’t have you without a car.” As much of a dick as Brent was, his cousin was actually a nice guy. He’d always been kind to me at family dinners and had towed my car within an hour of Brent calling.
I pulled cash from my pocket. “What do I owe you?”
“Ah, call it one-twenty.” Ouch.
It was a lot less than it should have been. I knew he’d given me a huge discount, but it was nearly all our pick-pocketing money from the previous night. I handed him a wad of bills, wistfully watching them disappear inside a cash box before Itook my keys and left the shop. Cassie was right. I should have just been grateful I’d had the money.Setbacks are a test of my resilience.Although my resilience had been tested plenty. If I didn’t get money fast, I’d be back to square one. I’d have to sneak out of the frat house tonight, and as always, my stomach knotted at the thought of having to do something illegal. I wasn’t cut out for this life.
As soon as I pulled out of the mechanic’s shop, a wail of sirens sounded. I pulled over in front of a hole-in-the-wall bar, waiting for the string of police cars to speed past. That was when I noticed the silver Silverado, with a huge dent on the tailgate, parked in front of the bar. A truck I would know anywhere. That dent had been there since Wolf’s senior year, when some of the Barrington assholes tried to start shit with Hendrix and him.
What in the hell was he doing at a bar at two in the afternoon?
My first thought was dealing, but then, I knew Wolf, and if he’d been suspended from the team… My foot lingered over the accelerator, ready to drive away. Wolf was a big boy, and I was pretty sure the last person he’d want to see right now was me. Hell, after last night, I didn’t particularly want to see him, either. But I couldn’t bring myself to pull off.
My car idled as my gaze drifted from his truck to the door of the bar. If he was drowning his sorrows, he shouldn’t be driving home. Unable to squash the niggling worry, I turned into the parking lot. I’d just check on him.
I parked beside his truck and got out, glancing through the window as I passed. The little koala pencil grip I’d given to him my last year of high school was still clipped to his rearview mirror. The fact that he hadn’t removed it had that stupid sprig trying to plant roots.
Ignoring it, I stomped toward the run-down building.
The chorus of “Sweet Home Alabama” crept outside when I opened the door. A haze of smoke clung to the limited light cutting through the grimy windows, the scent of it mixing with stale beer, and at this time of day, a general waft of defeat. My eyes adjusted, taking in the dark wood walls covered with weathered football posters and jerseys of legends past.
I passed by a table of old men playing cards, then spotted Wolf sitting at the bar. Alone. A beer sat on the counter in front of him, along with two empty shot glasses. That was never a good sign.
He didn’t even glance at me when I took the stool beside him.
“What can I get you, sweetheart?” The gray-haired man behind the bar shuffled over, gripping a cigarette between his lips.
“Just water, please.” That I would not be touching. Cholera was not on my bingo card for today.
“And another Bud Light,” Wolf said, still ignoring my presence.
“Is this a private pity party?” I asked when the old guy moved away.
“Yep.” Wolf then proceeded to down the beer in front of him. He was drunk. It might not have been obvious to anyone else. Wolf rarely got sloppy, but the slight sway in his seat, the abrupt, clipped tone in his voice…
This was his solution to getting suspended?
Annoyance crept through me, right before a tiny bit of guilt set in. I couldn’t shift the feeling that I’d had something to do with him hitting Brent, even though I hadn’t. Not like I’d forced his fist into Brent’s jaw. Still, the thought had me softening my approach slightly. “Are you okay?” I asked.
“What do you think?”
“Yeah, I heard…” I did feel bad for him, but he wasn’t exactly the victim. “You shouldn’t have punched Brent.”
