Page 133 of Revv

“That face. You just made a face.”

He glances at me like I might explain her.

I just shake my head. “You’re on your own, man.”

He laughs and starts asking her questions about the noise, when it started, whether the car has been acting weird recently. She answers all of them, then follows him halfway toward the garage until he gently tells her they’ll need some time to check it properly.

We end up in a tiny waiting area with plastic chairs, a vending machine, and a daytime baseball game playing on a TV in the corner.

Cece lasts about six minutes before she starts pacing again.

I watch her for a while, mostly because telling her to sit down will probably get me killed.

When the mechanic finally comes back out, she’s on her feet before he even opens his mouth.

He explains that the starter is shot. The gear inside it isn’t engaging the flywheel properly anymore, which is the grinding noise we heard every time Cece tried to start it. It’s not something he’s willing to keep cranking and risk chewing up the flywheel too. He can replace the starter, but he doesn’t have the right one in stock and has to order it in.

“How long?” Cece asks.

“Part should be here Tuesday. I’d say three days tops and you’ll be back on the road.”

I see her entire soul leave her body.

“Three days?”

“Most likely.”

She turns slowly toward me.

I already know better than to smile.

Mostly.

“No. This can’t be happening.”

I lean back in the chair. “Not really my call.”

“I can’t stay in Miami until Wednesday.”

The mechanic looks between us.

“She’s having a moment,” I tell him.

Cece shoots me a look that promises violence, then turns and walks toward the front of the shop, already pulling out her phone. Probably calling her mom before she starts stressing herself into an early fucking grave.

The mechanic watches her go, then looks back at me with an amused shake of his head. He finishes printing the paperwork, staples everything together, and reaches beneath the counter for a set of keys.

“Got a loaner you can use till the part comes in.”

My eyes follow his toward the little silver sedan parked outside.

I stare at it for a second. “Any chance you’ve got something less… depressing?”

That gets a laugh out of him.

“If it was anybody else asking? Not a fucking chance.” He leans back against the counter, looking me over like he’s finally decided where he knows me from. “But as a die-hard Diablos fan. I know who you are, Revel St. Clair,”

I grin. “Is that helping or hurting me?”