Page 2 of Grease Monkey
He might be the boss, but he’s not one of thoseone-on-onebosses. Sure, he keeps an eye on us, but there are enough older guys who work for him to ensure we’re doing what we are meant to. Dad lets us work on our shit without micromanaging.
He shrugs. “Yeah, you’re right, but your mom wanted me to check in.” He drops his chin slightly. “You weren’t exactly thrilled to be moving to Connecticut.”
Three months ago, my parents said three words, that when on their own are pretty meaningless, but when put at the start of a sentence can end up leading to the worst possible thing… “Don’t panic, but.”
Okay, so in the grand scheme of worst-case scenarios, “don’t panic, butwe’re moving from Phoenix to Connecticut” isn’t exactly like “don’t panic, but your brother’s plane hit a flock of birds and came crashing down into the Hudson, but he wasn’t as fortunate as Chesley “Sully” Sullenberger.”Or“don’t panic, butyour other brother’s been bitten by a radioactive spider while taking pictures in the Amazon, but he wasn’t as lucky as Peter Parker.”
My lips dip down at the sides, and I shake my head. “I was fine about moving.”
Dad barks out a laugh. “Okay, so the whole, ‘You’re ruining my life. I can’t believe you’re making me move across the country to some rich-ass state, you selfish motherfuckers,’was ‘fine.’”
He air-quotes the wordfine,the dramatic asshole.
“I didn’t sound like that.” Slouching down, I cross my arms. “And I didn’t call you selfish motherfuckers.”
“Might have made that bit up.” He grins wide, his teeth peeking through his beard, before sobering and leaning forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Your mom worries.”
I itch the back of my head, avoiding his knowing stare. “I know. But she doesn’t need to. This place has grown on me.”
“Really?” he asks, his eyebrows flying upward.
“Yup,” I say, with an obnoxious pop of theP.
He inspects my face and just sort of… looks at me. I roll my eyes. Goddamn him.
“Fine, I don’tloveit,” I admit, my arms falling to either side of the chair. “But you and Mom do. And I’d be an idiot not to have come with you guys.”
“I told her you’re a big boy and could have stayed behind. But every time I remind her that the last of her three boys is no longer a kid, those big brown eyes fill with tears, and…” He trails off with a shake of his head. Inhaling, he raps his knuckles on his desk. “So, I agreed I’d check how you were doing.”
Now it’s my turn to lean forward, but instead of a desk, my elbows plant firmly on my thighs as I narrow my eyes. Out of the three of us, I’m the one who resembles our dad the least. I got his height and messy dark hair, and from the side, you can tell we are father and son, but the rest of me is all Mom. Brown eyes, an angular jaw, that thankfully doesn’t look as feminine on me as it does her, and I inherited her ability to see through dad’s bullshit.
“You want me to say it again, don’t you?”
His eyes sparkle as they grow wide, trying to look all innocent. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Is your ego not big enough without me having to stroke it, old man?”
His lips twitch, fighting a grin, and he rubs his jaw. “Indulge me once more, Son. My memory isn’t what it once was.”
“You’re relentless.” He cups a hand behind an ear and waits. I wait, too, in a sort of stalemate until he wiggles his fingers behind his ear. Snorting, I concede to his demand. “You’re the best mechanic Phoenix has ever seen. It would have been stupid not to have moved with you and learned from the best.”
“You…” he prompts.
“You are the mechanic G.O.A.T, and soon Stamford will know it too,” I finish, and Dad clears his throat. I drop my head with a groan.Jesus.Taking a deep breath, I amend, “And Stamfordalreadyknows it too.”
He claps in delight like the man-child he is. “The mechanicGreatest of All Time.Man, oh man, do I love that title.”
I push up from my chair, “Great chat, Dad.” Thumbing toward the door, I step backward. “Now you’ve had your god complex restored, can I…?”
Dad stops gloating and waves for me to sit back down. “Nah, there is something I need you to do this afternoon.” He digs around his desk, looking under mountains of paperwork until he finds a set of keys with a fluffy pink pompom keychain. He doesn’t need to tell me who the keys belong to. There’s a matching air freshener version dangling from the internal mirror, one I’ve stared at too many times to count from the back seat. He sets them on his desk and stares up at me. “I need you to take Brittany O’Malley’s car to her.”
“Take it?”
“Yeah,” he says, drumming his fingers next to the keys, each thud against the wood, making the keys jingle. “As in, drop off. As in, the service we have never done, nor do we intend on starting.”
I snort, removing my baseball hat to push back my overgrown hair, before setting the cap backward on my head. Reaching to take the keys, Dad’s hand covers them, little strands of pink fuzz poking out between his fingers. He pulls on his desk drawer with his other hand and digs inside before putting something next to the keys.
My eyebrows dip, meeting in the middle, as I glance down at the long metallic object on his desk.
