Page 26 of Ride or Die

“We’ll be fine, I promise,” I continue with a low chuckle before she can say anything, reaching around her and opening the door. “Go. ’Cause if Bruce fires you again, I doubt even I’ll be able to save your ass.”

Merle Haggard crackles through the old radio hanging from the popped hood of the truck while I’m bent over, tinkering with the engine like I know what I’m doing. For the record, I don’t, but the damn thing don’t go anyway, so I might as well try.

“Cole?”

At the unexpected sound of my name coming from behind me, I jump, snapping up so fast, the back of my head collides with the sturdy Ford steel, nearly knocking me out cold.

“Ah, fuuu…” I trail off, not finishing that profanity when I see Tommy standing in the open door, cowering a little.

Rubbing the back of my head and wincing at the feel of the instant lump, I try to contain my own tears, managing a smile through my grimace. “What’s up, bud?”

Tommy’s hands nervously twist together as he looks up at me warily, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

I pause, my eyebrows tugging together when I realize exactly what’s happening. He thinks I’m mad at him, thinks I blame him for making me hit my head on the damn truck. I drop my hand and deal with the pain, folding my arms across my chest.

“It’s okay, buddy. Not your fault. I’m totally fine.” I cock my head to the side, looking him up and down. “You okay?”

“Uh, yeah.” He takes a tentative step inside, big eyes scanning the barn. “I can’t sleep.”

I watch him as he takes everything in, from the old tractor covered in cobwebs that sits in the far corner, and the way he runs his finger through the dust that’s settled on the rusted old tool chest by the wall, silently curious, almost meticulous in his assessment. I bite back a smile.

Over the last couple of hours spent with Clara’s kids, I think I have them figured out. Billie is the cutie-pie who, at five, has successfully figured out how to wrap a full-size adult around her little finger. Tom, on the other hand, is the quiet, reserved type, the one who watches from the outside, figuring out all he can before deciding whether or not to make his move. At ten, I can tell Tom has scars that he’s learned to hide from outside eyes, and that thought makes my blood fuckin’ boil.

“Wanna help?”

Tom turns, gaze flitting from me to my truck and back again, shrugging a shoulder. “I-I don’t know how.”

I look around, pulling an old milk crate over from the junk piled off to the side. “Stand on this,” I say. “You can hold the light for me.”

Shrugging again, Tom walks over, ever cautious as he steps up onto the crate.

I pluck the torch from where it’s been magnetized to the hood and effectively useless considering my head keeps blocking out the damn light, and I hand it to him instead. “Hold that up for me.”

“Like this?” Tom holds the torch over the engine, and I lean over, checking I don’t cast a shadow.

“Perfect.” I nod, grabbing the wrench and wedging my hand under the timing chain to adjust the bolts.

An easy silence falls between us as I continue to act like I know what I’m doing, Tom holding the torch, craning his neck a little to get a glimpse into the motor, while the music continues playing through the radio as background noise filling the void.

“Whose truck is this?” Tom asks after a few beats.

“Well, it was here when I bought this place,” I say, not looking up. “All this stuff was.”

“The last person just left it here?”

I nod. “The last person… died,” I explain gently, glancing at him to see his eyes flash. I can’t help but chuckle. “Oh… not here in the house.”

The tension in Tom’s shoulders appears to ease a touch.

“She died a long time ago, so this place sat empty for a while,” I continue, concentrating while I try to loosen a rusted nut. “When I bought it, I bought it as is, and that included everythin’ in it. When I saw this ol’ girl sitting in here in the dark, in need of some lovin’, I knew I made the right decision. She’s a classic.”

“I like your other truck better,” Tom says.

“Well, that ain’t mine.” I laugh. “It belongs to the ranch where I work.”

“They let you drive it?”

“Yep.” I nod. “It’s free advertising. Plus, I need it to cart my trailer to rodeos.”