Chapter 8
As I wipe thick layers of car oil from my hands on a greasy towel, I notice Mack talking to a tall guy I”ve never seen before.
“Roman, come over here a minute,” Mack asks gruffly.
As I approach, the fluorescent lights overhead casts shadows, and heavy tools clank in the background. Mack and this guy stand beside an old Ford pickup truck with a cracked bumper.
Mack nods at the stranger. “This here is Wes. He”s gonna join us starting next week. He just got back from the war.”
I offer him a handshake, and he gives me a firm grip. His face is tanned and creased.
“Hey, man. Glad to have you here,” I say, meaning it. “We sure can use the extra hands around this place.”
“What all do you work on here?” Wes asks, looking around at all the cars.
“We do all kinds of work here; oil changes, brake jobs, engine swaps, you name it. We even do customizations and restore old cars.”
Mack crosses his arms over his barrel chest and smiles with pride. “This ain’t the fanciest place around, but we get the job done right every time. There”s not much we can”t fix. People from all over the Heartland region come to us because they know they can rely on us and we won”t gouge them on price. Isn”t that right, Roman?”
“That”s right, boss,” I reply, turning back to Wes. “You work on vehicles in the Army?”
Wes nods. “I specialized in heavy-duty diesel engines. I worked on tanks, Humvees—you name it.”
“He”s got a knack for computers too, so he”ll be able to work on some of those newer cars if they come through,” Mack says, then turns back to Wes. “You’ve got plenty of experience, so you”ll be a great addition to our team.”
“Welcome to the family, Wes. You need anything, you let me know,” I tell Wes. I recognize the look of him from other men I met in the service. He knows how to do his job, and doing it to the best of his ability is what drives him.
“Okay, Roman, can you show Wes around?”
“Sure thing, boss.”
After giving Wes a garage tour, I walk him out to the street.
“Thanks, Roman,” Wes says, squinting at the Rebel Autos sign on the front of the building. “I think I’m going to like it here.”
“We’re glad to have you. We’ve been short-handed for a while now. What brings you to Jefferson?”
Wes rubs his hand roughly over his face and shakes his head. “I was planning to head to San Diego when I got out. Good weather, nice beaches for watching the ladies.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, babes in bikinis. What made you say no to that?”
“Buddy of mine. Before he went on a mission we all knew was dangerous, he made me promise to look after his little girl if it all went to shit.” Wes pauses for a long moment, the cloud falling over his face telling me what happened. “Slade nailed the mission, then those fuckers nailed him with a fucking IED on a road in the middle of nowhere when he was coming back to base. There wasn’t enough of him left to send home.”
I shake my head, then put my hand on his shoulder. Everyone who’s been out in the desert has stories like this, and I also lost buddies of mine to IEDs. “I’m real sorry to hear that, man. How old’s this girl you came here for? Her mom in the picture?”
“I haven’t met her yet. She won’t answer my calls, and it’s a crapshoot if she responds to a text. From what Slade told me, she should’ve had her twenty-first birthday recently. Her mom died from breast cancer a couple of years back.” Wes’s voice chokes a little, and I let him take his time catching his breath. “Her death is what prompted him to do another tour. His version of dealing with hard shit was to fight, and the Armygave him ample opportunity for that.”
“That’s a lot to deal with. I’ve been where you are now. You need to talk or shoot the shit or someone to buy the beers on a Friday night and not say a word about the past, I’m your man.”
Wes meets my eyes and nods. His eyes are filled with turmoil and loss.
“Appreciate it, Roman. I’ll take you up on that. In the meantime, thanks for the tour. I’ll see you next week.” Wes gives me a sharp nod, then turns and walks down the street, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his Army jacket.
I go back inside the garage and focus on fixing the car I’m working on. Serving my country is something I grew up knowing that I’d do, but the things that happen in war can haunt a man. It’s been a while since I served, but watching Wes talk about his buddy stirs up a lot of emotions – emotions I have done just fine ignoring.
What are we living for? What if everything went up in flames tomorrow? Would I be happy? As a father, yes. No matter how much Tessa pushes boundaries, she’s a good kid, and I’m proud as hell of her. She has a good head on her shoulders.
But Marsha. There’s no denying the attraction between us. If something happened tomorrow, I’d regret not breaking my damn rules and asking her to join my life – to join the life Tessa and I share.
I wish dealing with emotions was as straightforward as working on a car. There’s no guesswork in working on an older car – the parts aren’t a mystery, you just put them together in the right way, and it all works. With emotions, they leave me feeling exposed and vulnerable, which is something the Army trained me not to do.
Yet the memory of having Marsha in my arms and nearly in my bed replays in my head over and over; her hands on my body, her lips pressed against mine, the scent of her hair as I pulled her closer, how she took control, and how I loved it when I started to let myself be vulnerable. I wanted to give myself to her, not just for one night.
What kind of example am I setting for Tessa if I break my own rules?
I wonder what would have happened if we”d finished what we started. Would it be enough to satisfy our desire, or would it only make things worse? The thought of us being together forever is tempting, yet so far-fetched at the same time. We barely know each other, but the attraction between us is staggering.
Friday night, I thought I wanted nothing more than to feel her tight pussy wrapped around my throbbing cock. Good chemistry means good sex.
Then it hits me like a sledgehammer. One night with Marsha isn”t enough, and it will never be enough. I want more than just good sex.
I need Marsha in my life forever.
* * *
“We need to talk,”I tell my daughter.
Tessa looks at me and has the good sense not to roll her eyes, which has been an unfortunate habit of late.
“What is it, Dad?”
I take a deep breath and try to explain in the most appropriate way possible, “I have strong feelings for your teacher, Miss Andrews. I know this might seem strange to you, but I wanted to talk it out with you before taking any steps.”
Tessa takes a few moments to consider my words before she responds. “Are you asking me if I think it”s weird?”
I nod. “Yes, sweetheart. Is this something that would bother you? Do you have any objections?”
Tessa thinks for a minute, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. She bites her lip. “No, Dad,” she says, shaking her head slightly, “I don”t think it”s weird at all.”
I nod, relieved that she’s not going to make a scene over it. It’s not like I even need to tell her, but if this goes how I hope it will, I need to know my daughter is on board with this.
Tessa pauses, then continues. “In fact, I think it”s kind of sweet that you have these feelings for someone. But… Are you sure this is what you want? I mean, does Miss Andrews feel the same way about you?”
I take a moment to consider her question before I answer. It”s not like I”m going to tell my daughter that Marsha was here on Friday night, and we nearly made love. “I”m not sure how she feels, but I know how I feel, and...yes, this is exactly what I want. I intend to find out.”
Tessa thinks for a moment, then narrows her eyes at me. “So if you get to date someone, does that mean I can, too?”
There”s a look of excitement in Tessa”s eyes, and I feel conflicted. If I break one of my rules, she”s probably expecting that she can do the same.
“Look. I know we have rules...”
“No, Dad. You have rules. I have to live with them.”
I take a deep breath before asking, “Tessa, is there a boy you”re interested in?”
“Not particularly,” she says thoughtfully.
“Okay, so if it”s not a boy, what do you want?” I ask, already dreading the answer.
Tessa pauses for a moment before answering. “I want to go to the summer writing conference that Miss Andrews mentioned to me.”
I push down the automatic refusal on the tip of my tongue. Be open to the possibilities and support Tessa, I hear Mackand Marsha reminding me. I know Tessa is passionate about writing, and this could be something special for her.
“Okay,” I finally say, taking one last deep breath. “I’ll think about it. Email me the info for the program, and I’ll see what we can do.”
Tessa looks at me with such hope that my heart contracts with love.
“Thank you so much, Dad. It”s a deal!” Tessa jumps up and hugs me, and it makes me love her even more. “But,” she says, stepping away and looking at me with puppy dog eyes. “Can I ask for one more thing?”
“Go on,” I say, folding my arms over my chest.
“Carmen is having a sleepover on Saturday night. Can I go? Please? Please?”
“Conditionally, yes. I need to talk to Carmen’s parents, but I think we can do this.”
This is part of why I’ve always wanted rules for Tessa and for me. Once you start deviating from them, everything can spiral until you’re lost. Everything with Marsha reminds me that life doesn’t fit into nice little rules and that I have to let Tessa be a kid and do everyday things. It doesn’t make it easier for me, but I have to trust that I’ve taught the right lessons to Tessa and that she’ll make smart decisions. And if she doesn’t, I’ll be here to help her put everything back together.
“Okay. Go to your room, and don’t make me regret this,” I joke. She knows that once I give it, my word is my bond. In my mind, she’s allowed to go to the sleepover because I know exactly what I want to do and who I want to see, alone and without distractions. “I have a phone call to make.”
* * *
“Marsha, how are you?”I sit on my couch, pressing my hand against my knee to stop it from bouncing. Just hearing her voice again has me feeling like a teenager. I know how to talk to women. I know how to ask a woman out. But with Marsha, the stakes are higher.
“Roman, hello. What can I do for you? Is everything okay with Tessa?”
I nod, then realize she can’t see me through the phone. “Tessa’s fine. She’s just finishing up some homework for tomorrow. I called because,” my knee bounces harder, “I wanted to invite you for dinner this Saturday night. I’m cooking.”
“Oh,” she says, her voice filled with surprise. “I don’t usually have dinner with students and their parents.”
“Ah, Tessa is going to a sleepover that night. This would just be the two of us.” I take a deep breath. “Would you let me cook dinner for you?”