Broken

• Chapter 3 •

"Mikey popped another tyre."

I slide out from underneath the Maruti Suzuki S-Cross and glance up at an annoyed Tony glaring at Mikey. Mikey shrugs aloofly beside him. I shake my head and sit up, wiping the back of my neck with a rag.

"What happened this time?" I ask as I go to examine his car.

His entire tyre is no longer existent, all that's left of it are scrap rubber parts all shriveled and ripped around the silver wheel. I sigh in disappointment and shift my gaze to Mikey, folding my arms across my chest and raising my eyebrows expectedly.

"What? My burrito fell! And when I bent down to get it, some asshole honked at me so I freaked and swerved onto the curb. The tyre popped I guess," he shrugs and takes a bite into his precious burrito that was too sacred not to save.

"Mikey, how did you even get your license?" I scold as I bend down to examine the damage.

"Bifrbn nfe twcdansk," he says through a full mouth, which I translate to bribed the tester.

I roll my eyes at him, "Well I'm working on Mr. Callahanger's car, he needs it done in an hour. Tony, you wanna take over?"

"I've got three cars I'm working on at the moment. You just finish up what you were doing, then get on Mikey's car," he instructs.

Tony's a good friend, I've been working alongside him for over five years. He's like my big brother and mentor here. His father is the one who sold my dad Shelby (his magnificent beast of a car) and owns this car-repair shop. Before I came to work here, I used to help dad work on Shelby. I suppose I got my fascination for cars from him.

I finish repairing Mr. Callahanger's engine and turn to change Mikey's poor tyre. Mikey yaps in my ear about his latest burrito-ham-egg-and-steak-sandwich invention. He's a genius in all things food, but a fool when it comes to driving and doing anything useful.

"I'm telling you, it's perfect! Take a bite," he dangles the burrito in front of my face.

"Dude, you dropped that thing in your car!" I slap his hand away and back away from his car.

"All done," I tell him.

"Okay, there is such a thing as a five-second rule. And that burrito was down there for less than ten, give me a break!"

Tony and I tease him about his last experiment involving Doritos and a massive explosion. "Man, I'm calling you that from now on. We're changing your name to Dorito," Tony tells him.

Mikey rolls his eyes, "You know what, that ended up being a successful experiment!"

"Was that before or after you came out looking like a giant cheese puff?" I tease as I hop onto the hood of Tony's car.

Dorito huffs as Tony leans back on the hood beside me and hands me a beer, snorting at his distaste. "We could've mistaken you for Donald Trump with your white ass hair," he adds.

He and I crack into a fit of giggles as Dorito tries to explain his actions, and why he looked like he had gotten a terrible spray-tan.

"Ugh, forget you guys. I gotta get going," he says as he checks his phone for the time.

The sun is setting behind us, I take a swig of beer and wave Dorito off. "What do you think his reason will be next week?" Tony asks me, raising his dark eyebrows questioningly.

"His cream-cheese-and-baloney-sushi-roll will have tasted so heavenly that he would lose consciousness and crash into a tree, duh," I shrug.

He roars his head back in laughter, and I join him. My phone beeps in my pocket and I nearly have a heart attack. I check it to find a message from mom telling me to meet them at the restaurant in two hours.

I sigh deeply, having completely forgotten that I'm supposed to meet them for dinner. My stomach tangles up in knots, what do they have to tell me?

"What's up?" Tony furrows his eyebrows in concern.

I turn to face him. "Parents. I have to get going," I tell him as I hop off his hood.

Tony and Mikey—ahem, Dorito—are the only people who know Brandon and Aurora are my parents. My father trusts his father, and our families are somewhat close. Mikey is Tony's step-brother, and very trustworthy, so he knows as well.

"Need a ride?" he asks.

I hesitate and look at the beer in my hand. "Yeah... Probably," my gaze shifts to my baby.

"I brought my cruiser, though. Can you drop it by my place tonight?" I ask.

He snorts, "I'd do you a favor if I just accidentally made that thing disappear. You should join a biker gang," he complains. "But yeah fine, no problem."

He doesn't approve of me riding bikes. Apparently, it's too menacing for a fragile flower like me. I kick him in the balls every time he says it, and this time is no exception. He grabs my foot before it makes contact with his manhood and laughs at my annoyed state.

"Ugh, let go!" I yank my foot out of his hands and shoot him a glare.

He spends the entire drive home lecturing me on responsible drinking and getting a new ride. Meanwhile, he's the one providing beer to a minor. The nerve! Instead of listening to him, I think of all the possible reasons my parents want to have dinner tonight. None of them are comforting thoughts.

"Before I forget, this month's paycheck," he says as he digs into his pocket and pulls out an envelope.

"Tell your folks I say hi."