“He lost everything after that—his dad, his girlfriend, and almost the shop. I think that’s why he’s fighting so hard to keep it open—it’s like the only thing he has left…you know, from before?”

I smile and lean my head to the side before turning back to the magazines and posters, flipping through a few more before pulling them all together and putting them back in the box. I slide it back over to Gabe and suddenly find myself standing in front of him, reaching out for him to give him a hug. He chuckles once and stands up to embrace me, wrapping me in his giant arms, his body smelling of oil and gasoline—it makes me feel home, more at home than I’ve felt in years.

“He’s not totally broken, you know?” Gabe says as we back away from each other. “He’s not the punk he was when he was 17 and had the accident. He’s strong. Pulled me out of some dark times—drugs and shit. He’s a good friend. Best one I’ve got.”

I nod and smile softly, and then reach into my pocket to pull out the marker and the twenty, which feels entirely different than it did when I first stormed over here, ready to lay into Cody. “You mind if I leave him a note?” I ask, when I realize Gabe’s staring at me with his brow pinched and a crooked smile.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you gotta do,” he says, shaking his head and laughing. He picks up the box and lugs it back to a corner in the garage, and then reaches down for his dirty shirt to grab it from the pile on the floor. “I’m headin’ out. But, Charlie?”

I wince a little, but let it go, realizing Cody must call me Charlie. And somehow that seems okay. “Yeah?” I ask, looking up.

Gabe takes in another deep breath, and then kicks his feet before nodding and coming back to me, his lips a hard line working against him. “It’s nothing. Just…just keep an open mind, okay?”

I can tell he wanted to say more, but I let it go. I’m not so sure I’m ready to hear more. I smile and cross my heart. Gabe nods and heads down the driveway to a motorcycle parked at the end. When I hear him pull away, I lean over the hood of the car and pull the cap from my pen. I smile to myself when it comes to me.

“Good for one cup of freshly brewed coffee. Offer good for 8 a.m. sharp only.”

I write my note along the bottom trim of the bill. Tucking it under the windshield wiper of the Chevelle, I bite my lower lip, and squeeze my eyes shut, not sure if I’m ready for what I seem to be starting. I stare at it for a few minutes before I finally resolve to see this thing through. I leave the garage and make my way back into the giant house I live in with my boyfriend—the one I don’t want to sleep next to tonight.

Chapter 5: Playing Fair

Trevor left to meet a friend for breakfast at seven, and said he wouldn’t be home for a few hours. I knew about this—it’s why I wrote 8 a.m. on my stupid note to Cody. I have fought against racing outside to remove it for the last hour. My nerves are still a mess, and I know it’s because I’m afraid of being caught.

I sat by the window in my bedroom until my eyes finally forced themselves shut around four in the morning; I don’t know when Cody came home. I never heard the rumble of his truck, but when I came downstairs with Trevor this morning, it was there. I raced to the window to check, and my heart actually leapt at seeing it.

It’s a little after eight, and I’m manically stirring my coffee at the table, regretting the entire stupid idea, when I hear the back door slide open slowly behind me. I know it’s him before he says a word. I can smell him—a mixture of oil and metal and the faintest hint of last night’s whiskey.

“You’re late,” I tease. I hear him take in a deep breath, and the door shutting softly behind him. I don’t hear him move, so finally I turn on my stool to see him standing just inside the door, his head down, and the crumpled bill being stretched between his hands. He finally looks up to me slowly, his eyes full of fear, begging, and regret.

He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. “You’re lucky. It’s buy-one-get-one-free day, plus there’s a 15-minute grace period. First cup’s cold, though,” I say, sliding the mug of coffee I’ve had ready for him in his direction.

He smiles with half his mouth, like the effort to raise his lips is killing him. I can read the genuine remorse all over his face, and I instantly forgive him. I keep that to myself, though, just in case this turns out to be a bad idea.

“I believe you owe me $20?” I say, looking at the money in his hands. He laughs once, softly, and finally moves forward and takes the stool next to me, placing the bill flat against the counter and sliding it over. I notice there’s something written on the other side, and I turn it so I can read it.