Shift

My friend tilts his head up with a scowl. He hates when I take my anger out on him. It happens a lot, so I guess he has a right to be sick of it.

I walk a few long paces toward the street, bend forward with my hands still gripping the back of my neck and let out a deep growling scream. There’s a crack in the Judge driveway that zigzags right between my legs, so I stare at it while drawing in several deep breaths before righting myself and heading back to Tommy and my busted windshield.

“Sorry.” I apologize a lot.

“We’re go

“It might cost less to rig up her sedan than do everything I need to do to this thing,” I say, kicking the rubber of my back tire. My foot rebounds hard because the tires are new, something Tommy reminds me of as I do it, as if I’m actually considering taking Ha

“Looks like I’m selling the intake to pay for some glass. Unless . . . ya know . . .” I leave the hint out there, already knowing the answer.

“Are you serious? I’m not buying a windshield for a car I don’t even drive, Dust. I’m sorry, but I’m staring down at college.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I wave my hand and flash a short smile. “No, I get it.”

Tommy swears he’s sticking with me for the racing season. We’re a team. But the more he brings up school after this summer, the less I feel I’ll be able to count on him. My stomach tightens at the thought of Tommy bailing on me, but I try hard not to let it color how I see him. He’s not Colt. My dad left because he’s a ruthless asshole. Tommy’s smart and has goals. It’s just . . . our goals were always in sync until last year. He brought up business school out of nowhere. Makes sense, though. If we get big and incorporate in a couple of years, he can run the business end and I can focus on driving and hiring a crew.

I round my car and flip open the trunk, pulling out my bag and the intake manifold so I can clean it up nice and get it ready to sell. I catch the oil rag Tommy tosses my way just as the air fills with the sound of heavy bass. My mouth curls from the sound of Ha

I drop my bag to the ground and set the manifold on the towel so I can hold my hand over my chest and thump my palm against my body with the beat of her latest musical choice. She leaves the car ru

“Come on, Dustin. Show me your moves!” She tilts her head back in laughter, and her friend Bailey leans over her lap to shout at me through the window too.

“Dance! Dance! Dance!”

It’s impossible to ignore the request, and frankly, the attention is a nice distraction. I flip my Pro Racing Gears hat around backward and bust into the only moves I’ve got. I’ve always had a natural sense of rhythm, and girls seem to be into the way I dance. Tommy says I look like those asshats on Magic Mike. If I do, I’m fine with it because those dudes raked in the money.

Ha

“Ohhhh!” I say with a tilt of my head, backing away and fa

“We go

I lean forward and brush my fingertips on her elbow.

“Sorry,” I mouth when our gazes meet.

Her mouth falls shut and her eyes blink rapidly as she shakes her head.

“It’s fine,” she breathes out, shoving past me to join her friend, who is now getting out of the passenger seat.

“We going?” Tommy asks. He’s already got the part in his hands and has shined it up decently with the rag.

“Wow, got a hot date or something?” I’m deflecting because I know exactly what that’s about. Thing is, I’m not the guy he needs to protect Ha

“Something like that,” Tommy lies, getting into my passenger seat, leaving my duffel bag on the ground by the garage. I kick it into a corner so nobody runs over it and get into the driver’s side, thankful for the rumble of my engine and the blaring music I quickly crank up.

There’s only one decent place to sell parts in this town, and I’ll be lucky to get half of what I paid for it. Just as long as I can cover the windshield. My stripped-down bare bones insurance policy barely lets me take this thing on the road. I pull into the back lot for Earl’s Garage, a total racket that takes advantage of people who get stuck off the highway on their way heading north. I’m about to get out when Tommy reaches over and grabs my arm.

“What the fuck was that?” he demands.

I pause with one leg out of the car and my eyes squint at the busy oil bays overcharging people a dozen feet away from us. Sucking in my lips, I prepare myself for his lecture and roll my head to the side to meet his stare.

“You need to relax, you know that? I was just trying to chill out and have fun, dance a little and goof around. I don’t know, maybe get rid of this black pit burning a hole in my gut?” I rub my hand over my stomach while my face sours.

“Right. Right,” he says through an unamused chuckle. He glances down at my part held in his other hand, his jaw flexing.

“You don’t “goof around” with Ha

I pucker my lips to hold in my own unamused laugh.

“I know, Tommy. She’s family. That’s all,” I say.

He locks onto my eyes, studying them for a few breathless seconds.

“Is it?” he asks.

“Pffft,” I spit out, not interested in indulging him further. I get out of the car and slam the door on him and this conversation. Unfortunately, he’s persistent and has already gotten out of his side before I have a chance to put distance between us.

“What was that whole birthday gift thing about? You make that?” He’s pushing me, and my patience wears thi

“Yup,” I respond, lengthening my strides toward Earl and his crew of numb nuts.

“So, you took time to make, what, some piece of art or something? For my sister. For her birthday. Because . . . she’s like family, right?”