Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
When they both came, Caleb changed and gave Shane a towel to clean himself off. Luckily, it didn’t show through his pants. They played a game on Caleb’s system and then Shane went home and went to bed.
It was late when he heard the noise outside. The clatter from the side of the house by his window.
What the fuck?
His mom would lose her mind if she heard it.
Shane got out of bed and snuck through the living room. He opened the door quietly and heard, “What the fuck, man. Be careful before you get us caught,” in a hushed voice.
Jonathan. He had no doubt in his mind who was with him.
Shane took off toward them. As he rounded the corner, three figures stopped and looked at him from under black ski masks.
“I called the cops!” Shane declared, even though he hadn’t.
“Fuck you, you little pussy,” Jonathan said before he took off running. The second kid was right behind him. It was as though the third was frozen, unable to move. The moon was bright enough that Shane could see a can of spray paint by his feet.
Shane stepped closer and the kid took a step back and then another one. The kid’s foot hit something and he tripped before falling on his ass. It was the perfect moment. Shane went after him; what he was going to do, he didn’t know.
“The cops are on their way and you’re fucked,” he said.
When the person didn’t move, Shane cocked his head slightly…what the hell? He walked over, grabbed the mask and pulled it off his head.
Maxwell. His green eyes were wide and he was shaking. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t me. I didn’t paint it. I’m…please don’t tell on me. He’ll kill me for getting caught.”
Shane’s heart raced. He froze, stared. “Who?” Who would kill him? Jonathan? Whoever the hell had been with them? Shane hardly believed the idiot would cross Maxwell. In a lot of ways, he wouldn’t be who he was without Maxwell by his side.
“I’m sorry,” Maxwell said again, then shoved to his feet and ran.
Shane turned and looked at the house, three black letters stared back at him: FAG.
He picked up the can and blacked it out as best he could. First thing the next morning, he walked to the hardware store and bought some white paint, and covered it.
His mom never knew. And that wasn’t the first—or the last—run-in he had with Jonathan and Maxwell.
CHAPTER ONE
“Hey! How’s it going today, Mr. Miller?” Shane tossed the greasy towel over his shoulder as he walked toward his customer.
“I’ve been bringing my cars to you for five years, Shane, and every time I ask you not to call me Mr. Miller. You make me feel old.” He crossed his arms with a small smirk on his lips.
“You are old.” Shane winked at him, and earned himself a full-fledged laugh.
“I guess you’d think so. Oh, to be thirty again. But just so you know, sixty isn’t too bad either, and it was one thing to call me Mr. Miller when you were a kid, but now you’re my favorite mechanic so Bill will do just fine.”
Shane nodded at him. “Bill,” he said, though he was sure next time he saw the man he’d probably call him Mr. Miller again. It was just the way he’d always been. He might have changed a whole hell of a lot, but some old habits died hard. “What can I do for you today?” Shane leaned against a Mustang in the stall.
“I drove to Albany this weekend. Picked myself up a Camaro. She’s a beauty, but she needs some work and there’s not a mechanic in the state I trust more than you.”
Shane couldn’t help but smile at the compliment. He loved what he did.
It hadn’t been easy, working to get his certificate when he was eighteen. He’d driven back and forth from Last Chance to Portland. Every once in a while, he would stay overnight—still did from time to time when he wanted to fuck, but never for more than a night. He always worried about leaving his mom alone too long. “She here with you?” Shane asked, getting back to the topic of the Camaro. Who the fuck wouldn’t want to talk about a car like that? It was a whole lot better than dwelling on shit that would never change.
“Of course, she is.” Bill walked out of the stall and Shane followed behind him. He made his way around the side of Last Chance Automotive, Shane’s baby, to see an older yellow Camaro, with just a little bit of body damage, but nothing he couldn’t fix. He did both—worked under the hood and worked on the body of cars.
Shane whistled. “She’s a beauty.”
Bill tossed him the keys. “Start her up and listen to her.”