Chapter 36
“You’ll never believe it,” I say, holding up the glass, which is half filled with whiskey. “I’m a married man.”
Sitting on a stool, I toast the air and take a long drag of the liquid.
When I brought Genesis into my life, I didn’t expect her to change it so much.
Didn’t expect her to change me so much.
Every night, I come home early, not spending every hour working.
I call in and check on her throughout the day.
Genesis consumes most of my thoughts.
It reminds me of my parents’ marriage.
I almost feel like my father.
He always looked forward to going home to my mother. He said it was nice knowing someone cared that you did come home.
Men in our lifestyle not coming home was common.
Death is even more common.
It was a fact I accepted a long time ago.
If I died, then I died.
But now, I care more than I ever have.
I care because I want to come home to Genesis, knowing she does give a damn I’m home.
I chuckle, shaking my head. “On top of that, I’m married to Genesis.” I down the rest of my drink and lower the glass to the garage workbench.
The car I’m speaking to doesn’t reply to me.
It never does.
Not that I’m insane enough to expect it to.
I visit my family’s graves regularly, but this is where I go when I want to talk to my father alone.
Sitting here, talking to this car, is my source of therapy.
I don’t do it often since I’m busy and I prefer not to talk much, but anytime I’ve opened up about any of my feelings, it’s here.
I look away from the car at the sound of the garage door that leads into the house opening. Genesis appears in the doorway, and I lean back in the stool to get a better look as she walks toward me.
She’s dressed in a cashmere robe and fluffy pink slippers. “You weren’t in bed,” she says around a yawn, her eyes sleepy.
I check my watch, realizing it’s four in the morning. I snuck out a few hours ago. “I couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to wake you.” I take a sip of my drink, hoping she’ll go back to bed.
In true Genesis style, she doesn’t.
She walks closer, running her fingers along the ’67 Chevy Chevelle. It’s blue with a white stripe on the hood.
“It’s just like your father’s,” she comments, looking inside through the window.
I nod. “It is.”
It took me a year to find the same make and model in decent condition. I had it repainted and reupholstered, making it an exact replica of the car my father had cherished. When Damien and I were kids, he’d make us stay up late and help him fix it up.
The car meant so much to him.
Now, it means so much to me.
Genesis sits on a mechanic stool with wheels, and I drag her toward me.
She stares at the car, as if recollecting her own memories from it. “I remember Melissa used to beg him to drive it, and he’d always say no.” A smile forms on her face. “One time, he grounded her because she was inside, fake driving, and he said even that was dangerous with her.”
I brush a hand across my cheek. “She did wreck her car a good ten times. One of those times, she crashed into my father’s SUV. He didn’t trust her behind the wheel much.”
“Did he let you drive it?”
“Hell no. He didn’t let anyone drive it. It was his pride and joy. He’d only take it out for date nights with my mother.”
She slides off the stool, standing, and squeezes herself between my legs. “Telling me that was dangerous.” She plants a tender kiss to my cheek, resting her hand on my thigh.
“Why?” I close my arm around her waist, dragging her closer.
“Because tomorrow, you’re taking me out for a date night and driving this.”