22. He Saw It Was Time to Talk
He Saw It Was Time to Talk
Aiden
Harry stumbled across the motel parking lot, duffel bag dragging on the concrete, and his T-shirt riding up as he stretched in a yawn. He carried on like I’d hauled him out of bed at three o’clock in the morning. Too bad it was five in the afternoon.
“Morning, Princess,” I said.
“Sorry.” Harry’s head lolled back in another yawn. “I dozed off in front of the TV. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Your mum’s hit a bit of a rough patch again?”
Harry kicked a rock with the toe of his sneaker. The tiny pebble soared over the oil-stained concrete and dinged against a hubcap, but he didn’t hoot about making the shot. “You were listening.” He frowned.
“Thin walls, kid.” Really thin walls. It wasn’t the first night he’d been stuck on the phone for hours. “Look, it’s not my place to say anything—”
“Then don’t,” he said. “I know what you’re going to say.”
“Think so?” Possible. I’d suggested a few times that he should consider moving out of his mum’s place. He was a good kid, but his whole life was passing him by, paying for someone else’s mistakes.
“Yup,” he said. “You’re the king of routine. I could set the clock on my phone by you. You’re predictable.”
He spat the word predictable out like it was a disease. My father had always said the word for what I had— disorder —like it was a disease, too.
I squared my shoulders, defensive. “Nah, not really.” Who was I kidding? I only functioned because of the routine.
Harry grunted. “Says the man who’s eaten the exact same breakfast since we checked in last week.”
“Did not.”
“The motel owner didn’t even bother asking for your order today.
She already knew!” To prove his point, Harry held up his hand and started ticking off my breakfast on his fingers.
“Four strips of crispy bacon. Two fried eggs. A slice of toast. An apple.” He wiggled his thumb. “And a cup of black coffee.”
I scowled. And just what was wrong with that? “That’s a good breakfast!”
“It’s predictable.” He cocked his head. His eyes were on the black Henley I’d paired with my jeans. “This shirt, though. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Blame Ruth. She sent me a message earlier.” Or seven. “I was instructed to dress nice.”
Harry snorted. “I don’t think that shirt is what she meant when she said that.”
“Yeah? What does she mean then, smart arse?”
“Good clothes. You know, something fancy.” He tugged at the ribbing around the neck of his T-shirt. “Something with a proper collar. And when Miss Ruthie says nice, she definitely doesn’t mean jeans .”
“You’re wearing jeans,” I pointed out.
“That’s ’cause Miss Ruthie didn’t tell me to dress nice .” He grinned. “You’re gonna be in so much trouble.”
I hauled Harry’s bag off the dusty concrete and into the back of my truck. “I’m already in trouble. Ruth’s been on my arse all day about being home by six o’clock. Her last message had ten exclamation marks reminding me we should’ve left an hour ago.”
“She got something planned?” Harry’s eyes lit up. “Is she doing Fiesta Fridays again? Man, I’ve been dreaming of her tacos.”
“Sorry, mate, no tacos. She’s dragging us to the bar.”
“Lame.”
One hundred percent lame. We were on the same page. It wasn’t up to me, though, and standing around gasbagging all afternoon wasn’t getting us home any quicker. I pointed for Harry to get moving. He was dawdling to the passenger side when he skidded to a stop.
“Hey, old man,” he called over his shoulder. “There’s, uh—there’s a tree in the back of your truck.”
No shit. “It’s for Lola.”
“We talked about this, right? When I told you to up your game, I meant you should ask Lola out to dinner or something.” He shook his head, dumbfounded, pointing at the stump. “What’s she gonna do with that giant hunk of wood?”
“This isn’t just a hunk of wood.” I ran my fingers over the rugged silver bark. “See this?” His lip curled. Guess not. “This is Tasmanian blackwood. Beautiful timber. A hundred years old.”
“Yep. I believe it. It’s as grey and wrinkly as Old Ben Shepherd, and he’s pushing at least eighty.”
“I’m going to build something for Lola.”
I tugged at the strapping. Secure. Not going anywhere. My fingertips traced the coarse bark, the chipped edges of the mottled crust barely hinting at the red timber underneath.
A knot tightened in my chest. Maybe that piece of blackwood was like me.
Hard and rough on the outside, but a rich golden heartwood waiting on the inside if someone could be bothered to find it.
With some patience, even that broken old stump could be turned into something useful— beautiful —for Lola.
Because of Lola.
“You good, old man?” Harry grinned. “Need some time alone with your hunk of tree there?”
I shoved him closer to the passenger door. “Save it.”
“You’re gonna need more than your… wood …to get back in Lola’s good books.” He wiggled his eyebrows. When I didn’t burst out laughing at his joke, he rolled his eyes. “You got those messages from Hollyoak, right? Lola’s on the warpath!”
I groaned. I didn’t need the reminder—and warpath was an understatement.
Hollyoak, his head stuffed with cow feed, had dumped me on top of his manure pile. He’d been too busy fluttering his eyelashes at Lola over coffee to turn his brain on and make up a decent excuse to cover our backsides.
Sorry, he’d said. Didn’t realise she was so smart, he’d said.
Had Hollyoak paid any attention to Lola at all? She was sweeter than damn sugar but smart as a whip. She’d had him over a barrel, spewing all the details of our meeting with Evan before he even blinked.
My jaw clenched. I dragged the seat belt over my chest, and my eyes locked on the scowl darkening my rearview mirror as I reversed out of the motel parking lot.
I was pissed as hell, but… What was I angry about? Getting caught for dealing with Evan? I wasn’t sorry about that. The first time I’d rocked up to his garage, I should have done a better job. I was prepared to wear Lola’s wrath if it meant she was safe.
I loathed to admit it, but the thing sticking in my gut was those bloody messages from Hollyoak after his coffees with Lola.
She was just peachy, he’d said. No problems to report.
My reply? Awesome. Smiley face. He’d treated her to a drink at the bar, too.
Cool, hope she had a good time. He’d walked her home.
I’d pretended to ignore that message even though my fingers itched to reply with the emoji of a hand flipping the bird and then toss my phone at a wall.
My jaw clenched tighter.
Screw Hollyoak .
Harry craned his neck to peer at me from the passenger seat. “You doing okay there, old man?” He nodded at my white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. “Are you jealous of the farmer spending time with your woman?”
I grunted. “She’s not my woman.”
“What’s the issue then?”
I wanted to be the one pushing open the coffee shop door for Lola and pulling out the chair so she could sit down. Jealousy didn’t even begin to describe the dark, ugly feeling twisting my gut.
“They’ve been having coffee together. Every damn day we’ve been gone.” I threw Harry a helpless look because this was killing me, and I had no idea how to handle it. “Is coffee like when Ruth tells me to dress nice? What does coffee actually mean?”
“In Ryan’s case? It means they drink a coffee.”
I relaxed my fingers. Tension eased from my hands as I turned the truck onto the highway. But I still scowled like a grumpy toddler when I mumbled, “Why does he get to have coffee with Lola every day?”
“Have you asked Lola to have a coffee with you?”
“Well, uh… I mean…” I sighed. “Not exactly.”
“There’s your answer.”
I blew out a frustrated breath. “Give me some tips, then? How do I talk to her?”
Harry’s mouth dropped open. “You’re asking me for advice?”
“You’ve had girlfriends, right?”
He spluttered but eventually managed to choke out, “No!”
“Seriously?”
His cheeks flamed redder than his hair. “I mean—I’m not like… I’ve done… stuff .” He shifted uncomfortably in the seat. “Haven’t you had a girlfriend?”
I lifted a shoulder. “Not really. I’ve never done the whole relationship thing. I’m not even sure if I should try. I’m not…built right.”
“Is that why you treated Lola like shit?”
“Harry…”
His lips flattened into a frown. “How does she fit in then?”
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “Maybe the two of us could be friends?” Emptiness filled my chest. The thought of being “just friends” with Lola itched at my brain like a scratchy woollen sweater.
“You don’t need my advice to make friends,” Harry said. “Dunno how, but you managed to find a couple all by yourself.” He cocked his head with a grin.
I tried to smile back, but my mouth was stiff, fighting not to show the tightness gripping around my lungs. “What if I want to be more than friends with Lola? How do I do that? I’m not good at talking to people. You are. Give me some pointers?”
“Just be yourself.”
Careful to keep my attention trained on the road, I glanced at Harry from the corner of my eye. My eyebrows were on the roof. Was he serious?
He laughed. “You’re overthinking it. Maybe just…” He cleared his throat. “Try acting a bit less… awkward.”
He had to be taking the piss. “You know me, right?”
“You’re not that bad.”
“I once told Lola that her freckles were like chips of wood.”
I swallowed hard. Harry didn’t notice because he was laughing his arse off.
But… Lola’s freckles. In her bedroom. The second time I’d had her that night, when she was a little braver, moaned a little louder, her hand clawing at the sheets…
Goddamn . Moments like that were the stuff dreams were made of.
Tears stuck to the crinkles of Harry’s eyes as he fought back laughter.
“Yeah, okay, you’re right. That’s pretty bad.
” He wheezed a few more breaths. “What is it with you and bits of wood? Is this some kinky cabinetmaker thing? You’re supposed to tell girls they’re pretty, and you love how good they smell. ”
“Oh, yeah?” I teased. “Something like how her hair’s like golden waves of honey?”
Harry sank low in his seat. “Screw you,” he grumbled.
“Sounds like something kinky a friend of a cabinetmaker might say.”
He laughed.
My hands loosened on the wheel. I’d missed our banter—our friendship.
The week away had been good for us. The days were long, and work kept us busy, but Harry had filled every moment of silence with a constant stream of consciousness as we’d worked.
We’d finally talked things out and regained some of the ground we’d lost after the way I’d acted.
I glued my eyes back on the highway. “So, what’s your excuse, then, smooth talker?” When Harry mumbled a huh , I added, “Why are you avoiding Brooke?”
The mood shifted. The inside of the truck chilled frostier than the Antarctic winds that whipped over the valley. No more laughing. He didn’t answer.
“She’s real sweet on you, kid,” I said. “Everyone says so.”
Harry turned to blink out the window. The never-ending blur of green zipping past was more important than facing whatever thoughts spun in his head.
“Harry, what’s going on? Is it what happened at the bar? You’re not the first guy to say something stupid when he’s drunk.” Or even when dead-cold sober, but no one needed a reminder about my dumb arse.
“It’s not that…” Harry sighed. “Well… It’s kinda that… But…” Another sigh.
“Brooke likes you. You were down on one knee, so I’m guessing you like her, too. Seems like a no-brainer.”
Harry scowled at me, but then his face drooped, and his chin fell against his chest. “I’m like you, I guess. I can’t be in a…a… relationship .”
“Sure you can. You’ve got the sweet talk figured out.” I grinned and added, “You understand the rules about dressing nice.”
“But what if…” Harry’s voice lowered, strained. “What if I’m like my dad?”
A sucker punch hit me in the chest. That poor damn kid. “You’re nothing like your dad.”
“But what if I am? I couldn’t live with myself if I ever…
” Harry’s head knocked back against the seat.
His eyes squeezed shut. “That day up at your place, my brain got stuck. I couldn’t think about anything except…
” He shook his head. “It’s in me, Aiden.
I’m capable of thinking like him. I didn’t give it a second thought before I came at you. ”
“With truly the worst right hook I’ve ever seen, mind you.” The joke fell flat. I sighed. “You were sticking up for someone who needed help.”
“That doesn’t make it right!”
“You wouldn’t hurt a fly, mate. You’re sure as hell nothing like your father.”
“I could be. How would I know? I’ve never been…you know…in a couple . And couples fight all the time!”
“I guess some do. Just ’cause you’re sweet on someone doesn’t mean you’ll always agree about everything.
That doesn’t mean you’ll…” I refused to say the words out loud.
There was no chance he was like that. “Your mum pisses you off when she goes off at you about leaving your socks around the house, and you gripe about it, but that’s where it ends. ”
“I can’t risk it. Anyway… Not like it matters. Brooke deserves better than some dumb electrician.”
“Hey. First off, you’re not dumb. High school doesn’t mean shit once you head out into the real world. Second, finishing your apprenticeship took hard work. I’ll let you talk a lot of crap, but that’s something to be damn proud of.”
Harry’s mouth pressed down to a thin line. He said nothing.
“Maybe you should talk to someone about what’s going on in your head?” I suggested.
Harry folded his arms and sank lower in his seat. “Maybe you should talk to someone.”
“Yeah…” My empty sigh filled the truck. “You’re probably right.”
His gaze snapped up to stare at me dead on, mouth open.
“I used to, you know?”
He shook his head. Of course he didn’t know. No one did. Not even Ruth.
“I used to see a shrink every couple of weeks in the city,” I said.
“I stopped a few years ago. I figured out a routine and decided I was done trying to get better. What was the point? I was doing okay.” My fingers tensed around the steering wheel.
“I’ve been kidding myself for a long time. I’m not okay.”
“Do, um… You wanna talk about it?”
I shook my head. “And that’s got nothing to do with you, kid. It’s just…”
“Hard. Yeah, I know. I don’t like talking about…stuff…either.” Harry stared out the window, and his frown reflected in the glass. Finally, he asked quietly, “So, you think you will? Talk to someone, I mean?”
“Yeah, I will. I need to.” Harry was too old for it, but I stuck my hand out and ruffled his hair. He laughed. “I’ll be a better man if I start dealing with what’s going on in my head. I can’t keep letting my past rule my present.”
Or my future…