Page 53 of Defensive Indifference

“I am not.” I put my hands on my hips. “You can’t force me to take your car.”

“I can,” he claims and steps closer. “Want me to prove it?”

“I don’t think you can.” Teasing him is a lot more fun when I’m not stressed to the max, but I have a bad feeling it’s about to blow up on me.

“Hold that thought.” Koa jogs inside, disappears from sight for a few minutes, then returns with a set of keys. He dangles them in front of me. “Come, see what this unlocks.”

With an eye roll, I follow him out to the multi-car garage around the side of his home. Inside the monstrosity are several high-end cars parked in a neat row. There are a handful of motorcycles and two moderately-priced SUVs. Thank goodness he has something worth less than a hundred thousand dollars.

Koa stops beside a gorgeous late model Mustang. It’s blue. It’s gorgeous. And I want it more than I have ever wanted a material object in my life. Still, it’s worth way more than I can manage if I damage it.

“Now, I know blue is your favorite color, and personally, I think this is the most gorgeous shade of blue ever sprayed on a car. She’s well insured, comfier than she looks, and has a real bad attitude, so be careful with the clutch. Other than that, she’s all yours for as long as you need her.”

“Koa, I can’t—”

“You can, Lina.” He takes my hand, squeezes it tight before kissing the back of it. “You can, and I want you to. I need to know you’re able to get Dustin and yourself around town without depending on a taxi or other paid driver.”

“You literally sent a driver to pick me up today.”

“Yes, one I’ve known since I was a kid, but he can’t work for me full time. I want you to take the car, Lina. At least until you can get one for yourself.”

I glance back at the beautiful car, unable to deny that I really, really want to drive it. “Oh, all right. You’ve convinced me, but only because it’s blue.”

Koa hands me the keys with a Cheshire grin. “Told you I could make you.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Koa

Dustin has somehow convinced me to take him to a pet store while his mother and Annie pack up the rest of Sparkly’s. The official closing day was a few days ago, leaving Evalina deep in her emotions. I don’t blame her. There are a lot of memories in that building, many of which Dustin has told me about today. I realize he’s so mature for a boy his age in many ways, but in others he still has that childlike curiosity, confusion, and innocence.

He is not, however, above conning me.

“I’m not sure. Are you positive your mother said you could get one?”

Telling this kid he could pick out anything he wanted as a fun end-of-the-school-year surprise is spectacularly backfiring on me. I’d anticipated something baseball related, maybe even a bike, but a hamster was not on my bingo card, especially not one so big.

“Mom said when we could afford one, we could get one.” He shrugs as if this somehow solidifies his argument. When I raise my eyebrows and look down at him, he adds, “I mean, I can pay for the food with my allowance. We just couldn’t afford the cage thingy.”

Ah yes, the cage thingy. And the bowls and water bottle, the exercise wheel, and other related toys to keep a rodent happy. It’s not about the money, but a gut-deep feeling I’m being conned. Dustin smiles—the big, toothy kind that is absolute confirmation that I am, in fact, about to do something he’s tricked me into doing. I’m gonna do it anyway.

“All right. Pick out the cage thingy and I’ll have the employee package this little guy up.”

“Mom says I can’t go in a different aisle from her.”

Right. I should know that.

“Okay then, let me get this thing reserved, then I’ll walk over with you.”

It takes ten minutes for Dustin to explain which of the hamsters he wants, for the employee to successfully extricate it from its friend group without getting bitten, and plop it in a box. If this thing chews through the box and runs amuck in my car, I’m going to have a heart attack. Dustin accepts his new friend with a smile and a sparkle in his eyes.

Down the accessory aisle we go, where I am convinced that the hamster was so cheap because all of the habitats and toys are ridiculously overpriced. Too late now, since Dustin holds the hamster box as if it’s a trophy. When I have been separated from more money than I anticipated for a pet rodent, the real struggle begins. Fitting the box with the habitat and several bags into the back of my car wasn’t much trouble, but the hamster who chewed through his box certainly is.

“Koa, I think he escaped,” Dustin says calmly as you please.

“What?” I pause, staring out the windshield while we head down the main road toward Sparkly’s.

“The box has a hole in it.” Dustin holds it up and peers inside. “He’s not in here.”