“Yep,” I say. “Just like me and security.”
Banks nods, then tells her, “Hang on to the moments you did enjoy. Fuck the rest.”
Her lips begin to lift a little. “I like that slogan. Fuck the fucking rest.” She leans back, crossing her legs on the seat. “The climb isn’t the only reason I’m bummed.”
I adjust my grip on the steering wheel. Tension stretching in the knowingness of the silence.
Red flush ascends her neck. “It’s over once we’re home, right? I have to choose.”
I nod slowly, my muscles stiff. “We can’t really keep up this bachelorette thing in the city, Sulli. People will figure it out.”
Banks adds, “I can’t keep a secret from my brother for that long.”
“Alright.” Her voice is small. “I’ll figure this out, I fucking promise. I’m not trying to string you guys along.”
We both assure her that we understand.
My muscles are tensed, palms sweating. How do I relax when I could be going home and losing her?
Bank runs a hand across his jaw, then his leg, looking back to Sulli. “Are you leaning one way or the other?”
“I mean, honestly, I go back and fucking forth all the time.” She covers her eyes. “And I just think, W.W.F.M.J.”
I make a face in the rearview. “What?”
Banks pops Skittles in his mouth. “What Would Farrow Moffy and Jane Do?”
“It’s missing a D,” I tell him.
She peeks out a smile. “No, it’s Wise Words from Moffy and Jane.” She leans forward as Banks offers his pack of Skittles. She takes a handful of candy. “I think about what advice they’d give me if they knew what situation I’m in. I think Moffy would just ask me how I feel a lot, and Jane would tell me to make a Pros and Cons list.” She tosses Skittles back in her mouth.
“That’s a good idea.” I nod to my backpack at Banks’ feet. “A notebook and pen are in there.”
Banks looks at me like I’ve lost it. “Really?’
“Yeah, she should make this decision with a clear head.”
“This isn’t a spelling test, Akara,” Banks snaps, but he’s already unzipping the backpack. “There should be some emotion behind it.”
“I didn’t say there wasn’t. And it’s a spelling bee.”
He flicks me off.
“Hey,” Sulli puts a hand on our shoulders. “Remember, you two could just choose each other. That’s another option.”
Banks and I exchange a tense look. Yeah, that is an option, but in that scenario, Sulli loses the most. That hurts to think about, so I push the thought back.
Banks passes Sulli the notebook and pen. “Only if you want to.”
She flips open a page and slides back in the seat. Clicking the pen over and over.
“You can take your time, Sul,” I say. “Don’t stress about it.”
“No, I’ve got this.” She scrawls down on the notebook for three minutes, and I try to concentrate on the road.
What is she writing?
I have no idea how the matchup between me and Banks is faring. So I pry. “How’s it going?”
“Lots of pros on both columns. Zero cons.”
I smile.
Banks is smiling too.
I tell her, “Come on, Banks has a ton of cons. He definitely farts in his sleep.”
Banks tells her, “And Akara’s feet smell like spoiled sour cream and chives.”
She laughs, “Fine, alright. I’ll put the sleep-farter and feet-smeller in your cons, but they’re just going to equal each other out.” She scribbles, then pauses, sniffing loudly. “Do you smell that?”
“My feet have no scent,” I defend.
“No, Kits…”
I already see it. Severity crashes against me as the front hood of the Jeep engulfs with a thick layer of smoke.
Shit.
44
BANKS MORETTI
The Jeep smokes and backfires. A rhythmic, repetitive popping sound that I recognize. And I’m thinking, too easy. I packed some tools and cleaner in case of any mechanical issues on the road trip. I’ll give the carburetor a clean and we’ll be good to go.
So we pull over on the side of the road in the dead of night. I pop the hood, and I’m inside her for fifteen minutes, finding problem after problem after fucking problem.
“Is it bad?” Sulli asks, shining a flashlight for me while I check the camshaft and remove the valve covers. Akara is further away, trying to locate a fucking morsel of cell service in a dead-zone.
“She’s running lean,” I explain to Sulli as I work, “which means too much air is flowing in the engine. The air intake boot has ripped, and it’s causing unmetered air in the engine. Plus, the main vacuum hose broke.” I remove another valve. “It’s the power brake booster feed line. And the spark plugs are worn out.” I did a routine check before we got on the road, and none of this shit looked this fucked.
“Can it be fixed?” Sulli asks.
I wipe sweat off my brow with my bicep. It’s cold outside, but I’m running hot. “Anything can be fixed. It just depends on the parts I need to fix it.” I crank the engine and then motion her closer to me. “Shine the light over here.” The valve spring windings are harder to see.
She presses up to my side and angles the light downward. I observe the intake and exhaust valve operation opening and closing, and I check the spring windings.
Fuck.
“It’s bad,” she realizes off my scowl.
“We can add broken springs to the list.” I glower at the pushrods. Fuck. “And a bent pushrod.” I expel a coarse breath. “It’s restricting the movement of the valve.” If I had a towel, I’d throw it right now. I reach into her and do a final carburetor assessment.
I back up, my chest collapsing in realization. “I think she needs a new carburetor.”
“So you can’t just clean it?”
I shake my head. “There’s no point wasting time trying. She already needs a new air intake boot. It can’t be fixed out here, but if we get her to a shop, they might have the parts we need.”
Akara comes back, hearing that last bit. “No service. I can’t say how far away the nearest town is.”
“Where are we?” I ask him while I lean back into the car and return the valves to their original spots.
“Minnesota.”
“Fuck,” Sulli mutters, smacking her flashlight that flickers out.
Akara points his cellphone flashlight at Booger, helping me see. My oil-stained hands move around her innerworkings. I pry off the tracker her parents placed on her car—and it’s dead. Battery must’ve died, who knows when.
“I can run down the road,” Sulli offers. “Maybe I’ll find a town or gas station, or even cell service. Then we can call a tow truck and get Booger to the nearest shop.”
My muscles are flexed, seeing holes in her plan before Akara points them out.
“We’d have to run with you, Sulli,” Akara reminds her that we’re not just two guys she’s dating—we’re her bodyguards.