I’m not surprised. I put it up for less than it’s worth—but enough for a few months of mortgage payments on the house.
He slides his hands over the steering wheel, letting out a breath. “You sure you want to let this one go? It’s a beauty.”
“Don’t tempt me to keep it,” I say, forcing a smile.
He lets out a low whistle as we accelerate down the street, looking in the rearview at his friend.
“Nice.”
I keep a smile plastered on my face, all the while saying a silent goodbye to my first-ever car. I slide my hands over the edge of the passenger seat, touching the stitching and remembering all the good times I had in it. This car was my first taste of freedom.
Is it over the top for a sixteen-year-old to have a luxury car like this? Of course. Was I sometimes embarrassed to be driving it? Yes. Definitely.
But selling this car is the first time I’ve felt like I’m leaving my old life behind. I’m getting rid of my safety net and breaking away from the life my parents value.
It’s for the best. I know it is. But it’s not easy.
When we get back to my place, the buyer looks at me. “I’ll take it.”
My false smile widens. “Good choice.”
When we step out of the car, I slide my hand over the hood and say a silent goodbye. There’s some paperwork to fill out, and I’ll wait until his money hits my account to hand over the keys, but the car’s as good as sold.
As the two men drive off in their own car, big smiles painted on their faces, my shoulders drop.
“What was that about?” a deep, rumbly voice says from next door’s driveway. I look up to see Benji standing there, frowning.
I jerk my thumb at the Aston Martin. “Selling this thing.”
Benji’s frown deepens. He takes a step toward me, crossing the small strip of grass that separates my property from his sister’s.
“Why?”
“Cash flow issues,” I say, not wanting to lie. “Have to get the garage’s books in order before I can pay myself.” I give him a tight smile. “Rich people problems.”
He grunts, his eyes still on the vehicle behind me. “So you sold your car?” His eyes slide back to me, and he shakes his head. “How much?”
“Enough,” I say. “It’s just a car.”
“Don’t listen to her!” Lucy calls out from the front door. “Rae’s dying inside.”
Benji looks at my sister then slides his gaze back to me. “Are you?”
“I’ll live.” I jerk my head to the house next door, wanting to change the subject. “How’s Sarah?”
“She’s fine.” Benji hesitates, then glances at the car behind me. “You mind if I take it for a spin before you get rid of it?”
“Only if I can ride along,” I answer, finally cracking a smile.
“Deal.”
I toss him the keys, glancing over to meet Lucy’s eye. Her eyes are full of concern, but there’s a spark of something else in there. She tells us to drive safe, waves, and walks back inside the house.
Then, once again, I slide into the passenger seat and let out a sigh. Running my hands over the dash, my heart tugs.
“Doesn’t look like you’re ready to let it go,” Benji says as he puts the key in the ignition.
“I’m not,” I admit. “But it’ll be okay. It’s just a car.”
He stares at me for a moment, then grunts, nodding. He groans in satisfaction as the car purrs to life, and I let out a sigh.
“Sounds good, doesn’t it?”
“If I had the money, I’d buy it myself,” he says.
“Then I’d have to see you driving it around everywhere and be reminded of how much I miss owning this thing.” I laugh. “I think selling it to a stranger is better.”
Benji chuckles, the sound warming the coldness in my chest. He nods to the road. “Come on. I’ll show you my favorite place in town.”
13
Benji
As Rae and I wind through the darkening streets of Woodvale toward the coastline, my body starts to tense. I don’t know if it’s the raw power of the luxury vehicle I’m driving, or the fact that there’s a beautiful woman sitting next to me.
One I’m not supposed to talk to.
One I’m not supposed to like.
One I promised Sawyer I’d drive out of town—but the thought of doing that now seems so, so wrong.
“This was my first car,” Rae says. “I picked out the color, the interiors, everything. I was totally in love with it.”
“My first car was an old Ford pickup truck,” I say, grinning. “But I mean, I loved that truck, too. I get it.”
Rae laughs, the sound drawing a smile from me. I love hearing her laugh. It makes all the lines in her face disappear and all the hostility melt away. When she laughs, I feel like I’m seeing the real her.
Should I be here with Rae?
Probably not.
Sawyer would think I was a terrible friend. He’d say something about loyalty and never talk to me again.
But there are so many things that make me think he’s wrong in this situation. Lucy and her son, Roman, for example. Rae told me Sawyer doesn’t even know Roman exists. He never mentioned a nephew, so I’m inclined to believe her.
The purchase of an old house. Selling a car she loves. The stress I see in Rae’s face.
Those aren’t signs of a rich, spoiled girl trying to come here to fuck up Sawyer’s life. I see hints of the girl behind the hard exterior, and she’s got a soft, gooey middle. I know where the fierceness of her spirit comes from, because I have it too.
She puts her family first, even when it means she has to sell the clothes off her back. Or in this case—her car.
Rae lets out a sigh, then turns to stare at me. I steal a glance, but quickly turn back to look at the road. I can feel her eyes on me, sending heat curling through my
