Patrick eyed me, sabotaging the reprieve her fingers gave me.
“Oh,” he responded, as if she meant anything other than its true meaning.
“Finley’s not that kind of girl,” I defended, narrowing my eyes at him. My chest began to burn in anger for her.
Patrick leaned against the side of his truck, looking out into the field behind the restaurant. A small smile laid across his face. I could already tell Patrick was the kind of guy who needed a good ass-kicking to wipe out that annoying cockiness most guys his age developed. Now, I know I wasn’t much older than him but, to be honest with you, I’d lived a pretty rough life. Maturity came at thirteen and slammed into me with such ferocity it threw me across the field called experience at astonishing speed. I came up on the other side never really having had the opportunity to revel in anything young. At times, I felt like I was born old.
Patrick stared at me hard. “I see.”
I was so close to ripping off the cables and telling him he was no longer needed but Finley looked so tired, I couldn’t do that to her. Instead, I gritted my teeth and sidled closer to her.
I tried the engine again but to no avail then again with Patrick revving his engine, but nothing.
“I think I just need a new battery altogether,” I said with a sigh, running my hands through my hair. “I’m so sorry, Fin.”
She yawned then laughed. “It’s okay. What do we need to do?” she asked, standing between the driver’s side door and me, her arm resting on the window.
“I think we’ll need to hitch a ride with dumbass over there.”
Finley laughed under her breath then sighed. “All right.”
“I’ll have him drop you off at your car first, okay?”
“No,” she corrected quickly. “No, I think it’ll be better if I go with you.”
“Finley, you don’t have to come with me. I promise not to drink anything tonight.”
She smiled crookedly. “It’s not that. It’s—”
“What?” I asked, furrowing my brows.
“I-I just don’t want to go home to an empty apartment.”
I studied her, finally deciding she was being serious. “Okay.”
Patrick dropped us off at O’Shaughnessy’s, our local auto parts store. It was closed but Harv, who owned the store, lived above the shop and wouldn’t mind opening up to sell us a battery. It was also nice because it was only seven blocks away from Sykes where Finley was parked.
“Thanks for the ride, Patrick!” Finley shouted as I lifted her from the bed of his truck.
Patrick leaned over his friend to talk to her out the passenger side window. “Uh, I can take you back if you want.”
“No, thank you so much, though. I don’t want to inconvenience you any more than we already have. My car’s just down the road a spell. We’ll walk there and I’ll take him back to Buffalo’s myself.”
“Oh, okay,” he said, looking defeated.
“Thanks again. Thanks, guys!” she shouted to the others.
We turned around and she waved one last time as we walked up the side stairs to Harv’s apartment.
I opened the screen door and it creaked loudly, then I knocked twice. Finley stood one step below me, one booted foot resting on the deck where I stood. Harv didn’t come to the door, though. He wasn’t there. Or he was asleep and couldn’t hear us.
“Are you kidding me?” I asked, my eyes raised toward the night sky.
Finley laughed and started heading down the stairs.
“Oh, well, let’s go get the love bug. We can come back and try again.”
“Okay,” I answered, trudging down the steps she’d just hopped down.
We’d just started out toward Sykes when her cell rang.
“Hey, buttercup,” she answered with a smile. It’s Holly, she mouthed and I nodded. “I’m not at home yet. Ethan’s truck battery died and I’m helping out.” She listened then sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, I will.” She hung up.
“She doesn’t like you hanging with me,” I said.
“Nah, she just checks up on me whenever I have to leave work late,” she evaded.
I smiled at her to which she smiled as well but turned her head toward the sidewalk.
“She hates me,” I insisted.
“No!” she denied. “She … Well, she just doesn’t trust you.”
“Ah, I see. Well, even if I think she’s wrong,” I said, elbowing her playfully. “I like that she cares enough about you to worry.”
“She’s lovely, my Holly. I humor her because she is a bit of a worrywart, though. I make it a point to call her when I come home late from work. It scares her otherwise.”
“You’re a good girl, Finley,” I told her, meaning it.
Hearing the words “good girl” tumble from my own lips triggered a memory of my mom, making my chest ache so deep I could decipher each individual cell that made up my broken heart. Each one throbbed painfully. My hand went to my chest and my steps faltered enough that Finley felt the need to reach for my arm.
“You okay?” she asked, concern in her eyes.
My mind went spinning back in time.
“Do you have your backpack, Ethan?” my mom asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” a small voice answered back.
We walked down the steps of our front porch hand in hand. My dad was standing by his truck loading some sort of tool into the bed.