Crash into You (Pushing the Limits, #3)(35)

“Sorry.” Repentant, West heads to the other side of the garage Mom and Dad built to house my brothers’ and my cars. Our parents are the only ones allowed to use the garage actually connected to the house. “I thought you said I just need oil.”

“Yes, you need oil, but you could have seriously damaged other things because the car needed oil a long time ago.”

West slumps against the wall, and I throw him a bone. “Don’t worry. It’ll be okay.”

Hope creeps along his face. “You can fix it?”

“Yeah, I can fix it.” With new filter in hand, I repop the hood and begin the task of salvaging West’s SUV. “But the scanner would be nice for when it’s something more than a missed oil change.”

West’s cell phone chimes, and he pulls it out to read a text message. “You should have asked for it for your birthday or Christmas.”

“I did,” I mutter, but West is too caught up in whatever he’s texting to hear. I asked for the scanner along with a few “girly” things, hoping my parents wouldn’t notice and would just check the item off the list as they went on their shopping spree, but that didn’t happen. They bought me a new ebook reader and jewelry. No scanner.

The tick, tick, tick of West tapping on his cell continues to my right. “Heard Dad asked you to work with Mom and the Leukemia Foundation.”

Is anything in my life not a topic for discussion in this family? “Yep.”

“You know she’ll only accept the position if you agree to speak.”

“Yes,” I say more softly. I hate the guilt festering on my insides.

“And you also know,” he says in a way-too-happy voice, “if she takes on the position, she’ll have that I’m-planning-something manic high all the time.”

And I’ll constantly be on the verge of a panic attack and I’ll have to constantly hide it. With those types of attacks, I vomit. Vomiting is what once led me to the hospital.

When I say nothing, West continues, “She’ll be happy.” He pauses. “Just saying.”

I inhale deeply. Why does my mother’s happiness always depend on me?

“Have you given Dad an answer yet?”

“No, I haven’t.” I wanted to say no, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I couldn’t say yes, either. Like a coward, I escaped when Dad’s phone unexpectedly rang. Dad mentioned later that he was okay with giving me until Friday to think it over. It’s Wednesday night, so I have one more day before the answer is due. Both Gavin and Jack hunted me down to tell me their opinion on the subject, which is to get over my fear of public speaking and work with Mom.

“You should do it, Rach,” West says with his fingers still moving on his phone.

I lift my head and toss my hair to clear my ear. “What? What was that? Did I hear Dad calling for you?”

“Fine. Consider me backed off.” West shoves his cell into his jeans pocket. “Will my car be ready by Saturday? I have a date.”

When doesn’t West have a date? “With who?”

My brother picks up one of my ratchets and spins it so that it makes the winding noise. “Some girl I met in French.”

Surely he knows her name. I mean, he did ask her out, and I assume that was her he was just texting. I place the strap wrench on the filter and hesitate. “Do the girls you date ever mean something?”

“Mean something?” He stares into space for a moment. “I don’t know. I guess. Some I like more than others.”

My cheeks burn and I need to rub my eyes, but if I do I’ll smear grease on my face, and then Mom will know I’ve been out “tinkering with those cars again.” She tries to understand my fascination, but I always see the disappointment in her eyes. So I hide my passion from her and discuss whatever I had read in one of her fashion magazines. Mom loves fashion.

I ask so softly that if West doesn’t hear my question, I’ll know it means he wasn’t meant to answer, “Did you ever tell a girl that you’d call, and you never did?”

The winding sound of the ratchet stops, and the heaviness of the silence cause me to look up. Uncharacteristically solemn, he stares straight at me. “What’s this about?”

I refocus on the filter. “Nothing.”

“No.” West’s sneakers squeak against the concrete floor as he walks over to me. “This is something. You’ve been carrying your phone around like...like a normal teenage girl would, instead of leaving it in your room like you usually do. And you’ve been acting off since the charity ball. Did you meet some guy? Did he not call?”

I yank hard on the wrench, but the oil on the filter created a slick surface. “Make yourself useful and grab that oil pan. Oil’s going to drip when I get this loosened.”

With a huff, West does what I ask and hovers over the engine next to me. “Who is it, Rach? Who’s the * who didn’t call?”

“No one.” Just some really hot guy who I shared my first kiss with. I grit my teeth and put all of my strength into the wrench.

“Tell me who it is. His ass is mine.” The pure malice in his tone gives me chills. West has a flash-fire temper when pushed too far, and he can kick ass when the line is crossed. But I’ve never believed he’d hurt a guy in my honor...until now.