Page 4 of Scrap Metal & Love Reforged

That sounded like, “No,” or even, “Hell no.”

Chapter Two

Troy

Arthur sat in the back, blond head bowed over his phone, feet propped on the battered desk in a position that didn’t look remotely comfortable. Still, Arthur was occupied and not bothering me, so I didn’t really care, unlike Janet, who looked like she was about to have an aneurysm right in the lobby. I’d just finished up an oil change, bidding the customer, a regular named Franklin Abernathy, farewell. And that's when trouble showed up.

As the sky-blue Nissan pulled into the drive, I prayed it wasn’t my sister. But when the door opened, it was. My sister Skye and I looked a lot alike. We’d both gotten my mom’s brown hair and our dad’s dark brown eyes. Back when we were in school, my sister and I used to compete a lot. Our dad was a professor of mathematics, and our mom was a data analyst for the CIA, a job that wasn’t nearly as exciting as it sounded. When I was a kid, everything had always come much harder to me than it had for Skye. She was book-smart. I was not.

Then, there was our brother Lance, who—

I felt a tightness in my chest. Thoughts of my brother were better forgotten.

Skye’s bright pink heels clicked on the tile as she walked in. She looked like a walking upset stomach ad (the kind with heartburn, indigestion, upset stomach, and diarrhea), although I’d never tell her that. Skye liked bright colors, and I wasn’t mean enough to kill her enthusiasm for them. But that pink was still the most flamboyant, awful thing I’d ever seen. No one would lose her in a crowd. She was bright enough to be spotted by satellite.

Her heels wentclick-click-clickbefore she stopped in front of me. “Sucks to be you,” Janet muttered, as she retrieved a sparkplug she’d been looking for and darted back to the shop floor.

“Troy,” Skye said, crossing her arms.

“Skye.”

I leaned against the counter, bracing for the inevitable.

“Mom wants to know what your plans are for the holidays, and you haven’t been answering her calls or texts.”

One thing to be said about Skye, she didn’t waste time with pleasantries. You always knew where you were with her, wishing to be someplace other than in her presence.

“So, you’re here to do Mom’s dirty work?” I asked. “You've always been good at that.”

Skye sighed and cast her eyes heavenward, as if she expected divine patience to rain down.

“You know,” I said, “If you make that same goofy face every time you see me, it’s going to stick.”

“What are you? Four?”

“Only when I’m around you.”

Skye smiled. “I hope you don’t talk that way to your customers.”

I glanced to the back to see if Arthur heard the rebuke. He still had his gaze stuck to his phone, so I assumed he hadn’t. Otherwise, he’d have been up and in my business in three seconds flat.

“No. Only you,” I replied, lowering my voice, “And I wish you’d stop. Arthur is going to be pissed if he figures out you came here just to chat me up. I’m supposed to be working.”

Skye’s face became the picture of innocence. “Why, I’m here getting my tires rotated! I am an official customer, just talking to the employee whohappensto be my brother.”

“I’ll send our mom a text,” I said, “When I get off.”

“If you don’t, I might have to swing by and remind you. Are you still doing that art thing?”

“It’s called junk assemblage,” I corrected.

“Right,” Skye said. “It wouldn’t bemychoice of medium, you know.”

“You’ve also hated art your entire life. You wouldn’t know a Da Vinci from a speed bump.”

Skye shrugged. “Someone had to work for the doctorate,” she said.

I winced,on the inside. Skye hadn’t meant for that to hurt, but it did. She’d always been the prodigy, the perfect golden girl who did the best in everything and never screwed up. Not like me. But I knew better than to point that out.