“Yes,” I mutter. “It certainly was.”
“Tazen Watts…” he breathes. “Holy fuck. He is only the best custom car builder … ever.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“You should have gone over and just held him, at least for a few seconds. He’s a god. You love his show.”
“I loved his show. Now I want to stab him.”
Jace turns to me, biting his lip to stop the laughter. I point a finger at him. “Don’t. I have to call the bank. If he’s right, we’re in trouble.”
His face falls.
“Jesus, Quinn.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, staring out the door.
If we lose this garage, we lose everything.
CHAPTER TWO
“Yes, but,” I try but the lady on the phone cuts me off once again.
“Miss Peterson, you’re four months behind in payments and unless you can provide these funds in the next thirty days then we have no other option but to foreclose on the garage.”
God, I knew we were behind, but I must have miscalculated, because I didn’t realize we were this far behind.
“My father is sick,” I cry, frustrated.
“If you can provide documentation from a doctor, then we may be able to extend the time frame.”
That won’t happen, it won’t because he isn’t sick … he’s an alcoholic. Dammit. Damn him!
“Please,” I beg. “This is my life…”
“I’m sorry, Miss Peterson, but this is my job and I’m unable to bend the rules.”
“I understand,” I whisper, feeling my chest building with pressure. “H-how much is it that we need to get back up to date?”
“Twenty-two thousand.”
Twenty-two thousand dollars.
I’m going to vomit.
“Okay,” I say, my voice breaking.
“I wish you the best of luck.”
We hang up and I lean over, lifting my legs to my chest and wrapping my arms around them. I start panting, trying to breathe through the panic. A hard hand curls around my shoulder but I don’t look up.
“Sweetheart.”
It’s Lenny.
I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out except a broken sob.
“Quinn, tell me what’s going on.”
He spins my chair slowly around and kneels in front of me. He captures my face in his big hands and forces me to look up at him. Tears are running down my cheeks. He swipes one away with his thumb. “Tell me, sweetheart.”
“Twenty-two th-th-th-thousand, Lenny. I have to give them twenty-two thousand in thirty days or the garage is gone.”
Lenny closes his eyes and pain flashes across his face for a brief second before he pulls it together. “We can fix this.”
“We can’t fix it.” I laugh bitterly. “We’re behind, we’re never going to get that much money in such a short time.”
“Yes we are.”
I jerk my head and see Oscar, Jace and Matty standing at the door.
“Guys,” I whisper.
“We’ll do a car wash, say it’s to raise money. The locals will be all over that,” Matty says.
“We’ll do a deal. We have a heap of tires out the back that need to be used. Free tires with a full service,” Oscar puts in.
“We’ll talk to businesses, see if any of them are willing to make a donation,” Jace says.
My heart breaks, because these guys will go to the ends of the earth to save this garage. It’s just as much their home as it is mine. I know I need to dig deep and fight for this, but right now I feel so damned empty I can’t breathe. I open my mouth to answer when, of all people, my father stumbles in.
Yes, stumbles.
He falls through the door and his hand lashes out just in time to stop him from falling. When he’s managed to steady himself, he looks up and smiles a twisted, drunken smile. “Well howdy ta-eam.”
Jesus.
He’s smashed.
“What’re you doin’ here, Rob?” Lenny snaps, standing and storming towards my father.
“Just comin’ ta check out my garage.”
“Your garage?” Oscar snorts. “Don’t insult us, Rob.”
My dad’s eyes find mine and he gives me another wonky smile. “Hulllllo, love. Not goin’ to give your old dad a cuddle?”
I stare at him and something inside me snaps. It just snaps. I storm forward and my hands lash out in front of me and land on his chest. Then I shove him with all my might. He falls backwards in slow motion. Lenny’s arm shoots out to try and catch him but he doesn’t make it in time. My father lands with a thump, then a bounce.
He yells out in pain but I’m too far gone. I see red, my head is pounding, my body is prickling all over as I storm towards him. When I reach him, I lean over and scream in his face. “How dare you come in here! How dare you come in here, drunk! How dare you have the nerve to call this place yours! It isn’t yours, it’s mine. I am the one who has worked here trying to keep it afloat. Don’t you come in here, when everything is about to fall to pieces and have the nerve to do it drunk!”
I leap over him when I’ve finished screaming and run out. My heart is pounding and my head is spinning as I charge past the doors of the garage and onto the driveway. I stumble down the sidewalk, passing my Mustang. I rush down towards the rows of clubs, restaurants and bars that line the streets. I don’t know where I’m going, I just know I can’t breathe and it hurts. I trip a few times, shoving through people. I’m so confused, so torn, so broken down. I hate the mix of feelings fighting against each other in my chest.
One minute I feel guilty for being harsh to my father, the next I feel a wild anger that he’s so careless, and the next I want to hold him and make his pain go away. It’s emotional whiplash and every day I live with it, it gets a little bit harder. I want to understand, I want to run away, I want to help him, but I can’t be everything all at once. My mind is a mess when it comes to him, and I honestly don’t know how to change it.
My mental fog clears slightly when I hear a distant voice calling out for me.
I don’t stop. I’m having a panic attack. I’m familiar with panic attacks; I’ve experienced them all my life. I usually have them in private but this one is full force and there’s no stopping it, public or not. I push past a few more people, tears running down my cheeks, when a set of hard arms go around my body and haul me to a screeching halt.
My ears are ringing so loudly I can’t hear who it is that’s calling my name. I can only feel arms tight around my waist. Then I’m moving quickly, being shoved through the crowd until I’m set down at a quiet table outside a restaurant. There are hands in mine, someone is kneeling in front of me, talking to me but I can’t hear what they’re saying.
I just want it all to go away.
I close my eyes, panting, gasping for air and trying to bring my bound hands to my chest, which is so tight it feels like I’m having heart failure. Someone starts rubbing my back furiously and that feels … nice. The pressure eases my breathing and slowly, as reality comes back, I hear the voice talking to me.
“You’re all right, just keep breathing.”
I drop my hands to my sides and my eyes flutter open as my breathing goes from a deep pant to short but fairly deep breaths. My eyes focus on the man kneeling in front of me and I gasp, skittering backwards in my chair.