Page 21 of Not My Mate

He snorted but didn't say more. "I'm leaving as soon as I fix Aaron's truck."

"It probably needs more work than you can—"

"What's that?" He straightened up and walked towards me, still holding the wrench in an ominous way. His eyes blazed like blue fire. "Are you saying I can't fix it?"

"It's dying. We all know that. Aaron's too stubborn to admit it, but we all know."

"It's not dying. It'll be fine. I just need some parts." He turned back to his self-appointed job.

"Okay, well, I'll drive to the parts store for whatever you need."

"You wouldn't know."

"You could make a list," I said, growing irritated with him. "Just because you know more about vehicles doesn't mean I'm an idiot."

"No, but you are," he muttered under his breath, and cursed softly. He stuck his thumb in his mouth, wincing at whatever he'd done to it. "Would you just go? You're distracting me."

Once, I'd have thought that was a good thing. Oh, how wrong I was.

#

It took him almost twenty-four hours to fix the truck. He didn't want to talk to anyone. He wanted to be left alone. I had to practically force him to eat, and he slept outside in a sleeping bag my brother had loaned him. Right next to that stupid truck.

He really did have a one-track mind about vehicles. Aaron took him to the parts store in the vehicle Dad had rented.

After hours of free labor, lots of grease and effort and parts, he'd fixed the stupid thing. It ran more smoothly than it had in ages. Aaron whooped and drove it slowly up and down the street in front of our house to test it out, then gunned the engines and took off.

I stood nearby, arms crossed, less than impressed with my baby brother. (Okay, so he was only two minutes younger than me, but I'd always been much more mature.)

Charlie smelled of grease and sweat, and he looked satisfied as he stood there, staring after the vehicle. Finally, he seemed to come back to himself, and he looked around. He blinked when he saw me, as if he'd forgotten about me. The scowl returned to his handsome face.

He started to say something, then collected himself. His mouth was tight. At last, he nodded. "I suppose we should get ready to go."

"To see your parents," I said to make sure he hadn't changed his mind.

"Yes," he said through gritted teeth. "Maybe that'll fucking satisfy you. And when we're done with that, we part ways. I'm not working with you anymore. Either you leave the team, or I will. I'm done."

He walked away from me, wiping his hands on a grease rag. I stared after him, mouth gone dry. Then I hurried to catch up. "You don't mean that. You can't. The team needs us both."

"It doesn't."

"Well, I'm not leaving, so what are you going to do? Just go away from your precious Commissioner Singh?"

He spat on the ground. "I'll move and set up my own mechanic shop."

"Well. That — that sounds like something you'd enjoy."

"I would. I will. You won't be welcome there, by the way. Get your repairs elsewhere."

"So, what, you'll only visit Sahil when Grant isn't around, and I'm not either?" My words dripped with disbelief.

"Guess what? That's none of your business."

"Why are you even letting me tag along if you hate me so much?"

"Because you're going to keep your hands to yourself — along with the rest of you — and you're going to see once and for all why we could never be right for each other. So you can just forget your stupid ideas of mates and all that bullshit."

"It's not bullshit. A lot of people believe—"