Page 17 of Challenge Me

“Oh, sure, you definitely sound fine, and I’m a Ford Fiesta.” Fox rolled his eyes, tossing the empty box into the garage corner to hide the evidence, nudging it behind a concrete column with his wheel. “What’s wrong?”

I wanted to snap at the nosy Mustang, wanted to tell him to mind his own damn motor, eat his trash in silence, and stop shining those ridiculous eyes at me. But the kid was genuinely worried about me. I couldn’t in good conscience take my frustration out on him. Fox might have been an obnoxious garage mate, but his heart was in the right place.

I let out a slow breath through my grille and looked away. “I had a little electric trouble,” I muttered. “Nothing major.”

It was a lie, of course.

Maybe, technically, it was nothing major. Maybe to a mechanic it was only a small fault, a fuse that had finally burned itself out, but it didn’t feel small to me. It felt like the first crack in the dam. I was pushing past sixty. In human years, that was respectable. In car years, depending on who you asked, it was ancient, vintage, collectible, or one bad winter away from becoming a parts donor.

“Oh yeah?” Fox licked oil and grease from his fingers, looking not even a little bit concerned for my well-being. “Is that all? I feel like I’m about to blow a gasket every other day. I hope Al can replace my motor. In fact, I might blow it up deliberately; I reckon I can handle something bigger and he’s gonna keep putting it off otherwise. Maybe if I beg enough, he’ll slap a supercharger on top?” He grinned shamelessly. “He likes it when I whine.”

I rolled my eyes. I didn’t expect a ‘92 to understand. In car years, ‘92 was nothing—a youngling with too much energy. Fox thought replacements were simple, that upgrades were exciting. He thought new parts meant becoming more.

Not me. New parts for me meant another Challenger had to die. I couldn’t get factory-new parts. My survival depended on picking apart the corpses of cars like me.

“It’s more serious than that. If my circuits are giving up–”

“Just means you need an upgrade.” Fox shrugged. “Don’t frown! It’s exciting. Lai will get deep in your guts, get you some new parts, and get them all installed. It’s a bonding experience.”

A bonding experience? I had never thought of it that way.

Maybe because I had never been with anyone who would go to such lengths to fix me, I had only had two owners before Lai, and for a long time, I never gave them reason to doubt me. I started when asked. I roared when pressed. I was dependable.

Until the one time I needed real attention, real help, when would-be thieves ripped apart my steering column.

Then I got written off.

Not repaired, written off. As if love had a price tag, and I had finally exceeded it. So maybe that was what sat in my chassis now, heavier than my engine block.

Fear.

Fear that you would do the same, that you would think I’m no longer worth saving.

“You’re worth it.” Fox leaned in, as if he heard my thoughts. “And your man is rich. He didn’t buy you as a daily he has to rely on. He didn’t even insure you. He bought you for you.”

I froze.

Was I not insured?

Fear surged through me like a stray current, but the sound of footsteps dragged me back. I knew them, and the rhythm of your cane on the concrete.

You were back. You weren’t going to leave me alone. Not in this state. Not on my deathbed.

I held my breath as you entered with Al beside you. You whispered something to him, both of you exchanging glances near my hood. I watched every movement, every tilt of your head, every flick of your eyes. You looked calm. Too calm. That stung; as childish as it felt to admit it, I wanted you to worry.

Al stepped forward.

Al popped my hood.

My whole body tensed as the latch released and my hood lifted, exposing me under the fluorescent lights. It should have been you leaning over me. Your hands. Your touch.

You had earned the right to see me vulnerable. No one else had.

“Hmm, not here, must be under the dash,” Al muttered. “Same as Scarlet; you’re lucky I know old cars.”

Old. The word hurt more than the missing connection within me.

“Easy fix, though, right?” You stood by, simply watching, watching as someone else’s hands were reaching under the panel of my dashboard.