The Thin Redline between Love & Hate

Chapter 6

Calla:

The best part about working underneath a car was that nobody expected you to make eye contact, or talk, or even f*****g smile. All anyone could see were my legs sticking out from beneath the lifted F-150 and the occasional wrench sliding across the concrete. Exactly how I liked it. The creeper rolled a few inches as I reached farther toward the transfer case. "Damn it..." The bolt refused to move. I adjusted my grip, pulled harder, and still nothing.

"You're gonna strip it." Julio's voice drifted over from the next bay.

"I know."

"You don't sound like you know."

"I meant I know now."

A beat passed. "You eating lunch?"

"No."

"You skipped breakfast too."

"I had coffee."

"Coffee isn't food."

"It identifies as breakfast."

Julio sighed. "You sound like Reid."

"I'll try to be more depressing."

Silence. Then— "I can go get us tacos."

"I'm under a truck."

"I noticed."

"I physically can't eat tacos under here."

"You could."

"I don't trust gravity that much."

Another sigh. "You've been meaner today, Calla."

I slid farther under the truck. "I'm always mean."

"Today you're... mean mean."

I snorted despite myself. "I'm putting that on my business card." The impact gun barked to life somewhere behind me. The radio switched from Fleetwood Mac to Tom Petty. The garage settled into its usual rhythm of air tools, metal clanking and classic rock. Customers wandering in with impossible expectations. It was home. Usually. Today though… Every time I closed my eyes, I saw a faded gray hoodie, hazel eyes, that stupid silver chain. I jerked the breaker bar harder than necessary. The bolt finally gave with a loud crack. "f*****g finally."

Julio peeked around the truck. "Congratulations."

"I won."

"You beat... physics."

"I'll take the victory." He disappeared again. I let my head rest against the creeper for a second. The underside of the truck blurred as my thoughts wandered. I hated that he was back. I hated that he looked… Different, older, like grief had finally caught him too. It would've been easier if he'd looked happy,or guilty,or angry. Anything but… Sad. No. Stop Calla. I rolled myself out from under the truck before my own thoughts irritated me any further. Grease streaked across both forearms. My hair falling out of the braid I'd thrown together this morning. My oversized Riverside Raceway shirt was officially ruined. Again.

McKenna looked up from the front desk. "You know..." She eyed me over her sunglasses. "You could let Julio crawl under the truck for a while."

"I like it."

"You need therapy, babe."

"I have socket wrenches instead."

"Those aren't the same thing, like at all."

"Debatable." She laughed.

Finally, someone came through the front door. Middle-aged. Sunburned. Holding a truck key. "You the mechanic?"

"No."

He blinked.

"I own the bakery next door."

His eyebrows pulled together. "...Really?"

"No."

I held out my grease-covered hand. "I'm the mechanic."

"Oh." He looked almost embarrassed.

"I just figured—"

"That I'd answer phones?"

"No."

"Wear less grease?"

"I didn't say that."

"You thought it." McKenna coughed into her coffee to hide a laugh.

The man awkwardly handed me his keys. "I think my transmission's slipping."

"I'll take a look."

As he walked away, McKenna smirked. "You enjoy that way too much."

"I do."

"You could've been nice."

"I was."

"No..." She pointed toward the customer. "That was sarcasm."

"It was educational."

She shook her head. "You've got issues."

"So I've been told."

The bell jingled again. Reid wandered in carrying a paper bag. "Nobody panic."

"We're panicking." Mckenna grinned.

"I brought Cuban sandwiches."

Julio immediately appeared. "You're my favorite."

"I know."

Reid looked around. "Where's Tiny Terror?"

McKenna pointed at me. "Being stubborn."

"I heard that."

"You were supposed to."

He walked over and held out a sandwich. "Lunch."

"I'm busy."

"You've been busy since seven."

"I know."

"You need food."

"I need customers."

"You need both." I waved him away.

He didn't move. "You know what Camden used to say."

I closed my eyes. "Don't."

"Can't tune an engine on an empty tank." The words landed like a wrench to the ribs. Damn him. Even dead, Camden still won arguments. I snatched the sandwich.

"There. You happy?"

"Ecstatic."

I peeled back the wrapper. The smell of roasted pork, ham, melted Swiss, mustard, and toasted Cuban bread hit me immediately. My stomach betrayed me with an audible growl.

Reid grinned. "Knew it."

"I hate you."

"No you don't."

"No..." I took a bite. "...I really do."

For a few minutes… Nobody talked. Just chewing. Music drifting through the shop. The kind of ordinary afternoon Camden had loved. Then my eyes wandered across the garage to the corner. Covered beneath a gray canvas tarp. My Mustang. Still sitting exactly where I'd parked it two years ago. Nobody touched it. Nobody asked to. Even Julio knew. That car belonged to Camden as much as it belonged to me. I swallowed another bite.

"You should drive it." Reid followed my gaze.

"No."

"It's been two years."

"I know how calendars work."

"Calla."

"I said no."

Silence. The tarp fluttered slightly from the shop fan overhead. Pink paint peeked out near one wheel. Bubblegum. The nickname hit me before I could stop it.

"Absolutely not." Dad stood in the driveway with his arms crossed.

"It's pink."

"It's salmon."

"It's pink."

Camden walked slow circles around the Mustang with exaggerated seriousness. "You know..." He rubbed his chin. "I think it needs flames."

I gasped. "Don't you dare."

"Purple flames."

"Cam!"

He laughed so hard he had to lean against the car. "You're gonna race in a pink Mustang?"

I crossed my arms. "Watch me."

Jace walked around the front of the car, pretending to inspect it. "Honestly..." He nodded thoughtfully. "It's kinda cool."

Camden pointed at him. "Don't encourage her."

"I'm serious, man." Jace shrugged. "Nobody's gonna forget getting beat by the pink car."

I grinned. "Exactly!"

Camden groaned dramatically. "Great." He tossed me the keys.

"Guess we're all getting our asses kicked by Bubblegum now."

"Bubblegum?"

"Pink car." He smirked. "Bubblegum."

I threw the keys at him. He ducked. Jace laughed. Camden laughed harder. Three days later… I entered my first street race. Every guy lined up beside me laughed.

"Cute Barbie car."

"Hope you brought nail polish."

"You get lost on the way to cheerleading?"

Then the flag dropped. By the finish line… Nobody was laughing. Camden climbed onto the roof of my Mustang before I'd even climbed out. "Everybody say hello to Bubblegum!" The whole crowd started chanting.

"Bubblegum!"

"Bubblegum!"

"Bubblegum!"

I rolled my eyes so hard they almost got stuck. "I hate all of you."

Camden slung an arm around my shoulders. "Yeah..." He grinned. "But you won."

The memory faded. I stared at the tarp. At the tiny patch of faded pink peeking through. Back then… Bubblegum had meant something. It wasn't about the color. It meant I belonged, not because I was Camden's little sister, not because I was the only girl, but because I'd earned my place. I could still hear them chanting. Camden. Jace. The whole Riverside crew. For one perfect summer… The loudest thing in my life had been engines and laughter. Now… The loudest thing was silence. I folded the rest of my sandwich back into the wrapper.

Reid noticed immediately. "You're thinking again."

"Worst hobby I ever picked up."

"You know..." He glanced toward the covered Mustang. "Cam would've hated seeing that thing collect dust."

I looked at him, then at the tarp, then back to the truck waiting for repairs. "No." My voice was quiet. But firm.

"He'd hate seeing me lose someone else even more."

Without another word, I slid back beneath the F-150, reached for my ratchet, and disappeared into the only place where grief couldn't follow me for a little while—the space between steel, grease, and the steady rhythm of fixing things that could still be repaired.