Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
The door to my office swings open, and I let out an agitated sigh.
Really?
I just shooed Stephanie out of here a few minutes ago. Lately, she uses every opportunity to bother me, and it seems like I can’t get anything done anymore.
Isn’t a secretary supposed to make my life easier, not harder?
“I told you, I don’t have the time—” I start before looking up.
“We need to talk,” Hunter nearly growls out, and my eyes snap up to his.
He’s standing in the office’s entrance, already closing the door behind him, while Lio comes in and climbs up on the brown leather couch that stands against the wall opposite me.
He coughs a few times and pants a little before pushing some of his golden hair away from his face.
The color that haunts my dreams.
His hair is the same color as his mom’s long strands.
Her hair was so beautiful and soft.
Just like all of her.
Every time I see him, I’m reminded of her.
Every time I look at him, I see her, smiling, so full of life.
I picture her hair flying in the wind as she runs barefoot in a summer dress along the beach at low tide.
I remember how I used to let my fingers glide through her hair while she lay on my chest, the morning light filtering through the curtains.
But these happy memories always lead me down a path I don’t want to take.
I think about how everything changed. How the day my life changed, I changed hers as well.
How her smile turned into a frown, replaced by tears whenever we spoke—tears of anger and sadness.
And how there was no smile left on her face but disappointment and hurt, and they were always directed at me.
Until even that slips from her face when the vision morphs into her relaxed features underwater, like in sleep, a sleep she’d never have to wake up from, never open her eyes again to look at me, in hurt or with love.
It’s not the grief that’s killing me.
It’s the guilt.
She’s gone because of me.
She’d rather do that than live a day longer at my side.
A slightly squelching noise brings my thoughts back to the present, a noise that only a kid with sticky fingers can make against smooth leather.
“Did you wash your hands, Lio?” I ask, eyeing them.
The sticky handprints he left on that couch a week ago took Stephanie ages to clean.
Time she spent talking my ear off.
Lio nods, already focused on his boat again. My attention returns to Hunter, who meets my gaze with simmering frustration.
“What? Were the rainbow sprinkles for the cupcakes sold out again?” I ask sarcastically.
I know I’m a fucking dick to him, but I can’t help it most of the time.
This is me being nice.
“Lio, ears,” Hunter nearly hisses, and Lio places his boat down next to him on the couch, covering his ears with his palms and humming a lullaby. It’s not his first time tuning us out.
“You’re such a fucking dick,” Hunter accuses as soon as Lio can’t hear him anymore.
“What have I done this time?” I ask with an eye roll.
Hunter is like a nagging wife, always berating me. I shouldn’t work so much. I should be home, do more with my son, take time for myself, and not drink so much. I can’t stand hearing it anymore.
I can’t stand anything, least of all myself, when my thoughts aren’t occupied with work.
“You’ve been complaining for days, stressing yourself and us out because you can’t find a mechanic, and one came in two days ago, but you pushed her to the curb just because she’s a woman?” He confronts me with disbelief written all over his face.
“How do you even know about that?” I ask, surprised, but he just glares harder.
“It’s not because she’s a woman. It’s because she’s the woman.
It’s the girl Nash fucked last weekend. Don’t tell me you’re na?ve enough to believe her story.
She just wanted to worm her way in to spend more time with Nash, seemingly determined to snatch herself a Jones. ”
I know I pegged her right the second she walked into my office.
“Oh, she told me that you called her a gold digger. What the hell is wrong with you? She was the one telling Nash no when he asked her out again. You were there!”
I blow out a breath in reply. Am I the only one in this family able to think with my head? “Of course, she did! She’s playing hard to get, and Nash jumps on that like the mindless idiot he is!” I grunt, looking back down at my papers.
“North,” Hunter warns, voice low and unyielding.
There’s an edge to it, letting me know he’s not to be fucked with right now.
“Sloan is going to work here. She starts tomorrow. She’s going to fill in for William, and we’re going to treat and pay her very well, and I mean very well.
If she wants to stay after William is back, she can. Do we understand each other?”
I stand from the chair, placing my hands on the surface of my desk and leaning in. “I’m going to tell you what I told her. I need a mechanic. She can’t play around here to humor you or Nash. If you want to give her money, give her the fucking money and make sure she leaves, but I can’t—”
“I know you think you’re the big fish here, but don’t forget that a third of this…
” he motions around us, “… is mine, North. You’re only sitting in that chair, making decisions, and playing the boss because I let you.
But I can change that in a heartbeat if you keep being a fucking dick for no other reason than to be one.
We decided to send Lio to kindergarten a year late, but maybe it would be better for him to start now.
Maybe it would be better for me to be in the office next door every day, in a fancy suit just like you, walking around with a stern face and a coffee, second-guessing every fucking decision you make. Just because I can.”
I glare at him, knowing he damn well would. Hunter is the most easygoing person around until he senses someone he cares about is being treated unfairly. Then, he’s willing to go to great lengths to correct that injustice. He’d do all this and more just to make sure I paid for how I treated her.
Fuck.
“For fuck’s sake, Hunt! She’s going to get hurt or break shit. She doesn’t have what it takes to—” I start to argue.
“She starts tomorrow,” he interrupts, leaning over to tap Lio on the shoulder, effectively ending this discussion.
Lio lets go of his head, takes his boat, and hops off the couch.
“And I’m going to ask her how she likes working here.
You don’t want to find out what I’ll do if she tells me she feels uncomfortable, North. ”
With that, he heads out the door, and Lio mutters, “Bye, Daddy,” before they leave my office.
Goddammit.
“Well, that’s unfortunate,” Mac rumbles from the kitchen while Tally and I lean against the counter between the cooking and dining area.
It’s still early, and Tally and I have just finished all the preparations for the dinner shift. I told her everything when I visited the café earlier, but she’s still not over it, and Mac wanted to know too, so I had to recount everything to him while we worked.
He comes over and leans his hip against the counter on his side, crossing his massive, tattooed arms over his chest. “I don’t have much room, but if things go to shit, you can always crash at my place, become my ship mouse under the bed.” He chuckles deeply.
“What?” I ask, my brows raising.
I already gathered that Mac was something else, but maybe he’s just nuts.
“Mac lives on an old houseboat in the harbor. His bed is more of a cot,” Tally explains, rolling her eyes.
“Well, thanks, but a sleeping place isn’t the problem here. Not being able to move the van back to the campground is the issue.”
I could try to move it, but chances are I would get stuck on the road, and that would be a disaster.
“Why?” Tally asks, scrunching up her nose. “I told you, you can let it stand outside. It’s even better, so you don’t have to pay the fee for the place.”
“I know, and this is more than nice of you and very much appreciated,” I offer, giving her a grateful smile.
“But I’m talking about toilets, showers, electricity…
” I trail off, emphasizing the practical necessities I’d miss out on.
I can do without them. I did so a few times over the last few months, but not for an extended period of time.
And it seems it will take me a few weeks, maybe even months, to get the money I need together.
Tally rummages in her pocket until she retrieves a set of keys and manages to remove one from the ring.
“Here…” she smiles, extending it to me, “… it’s the key to the back door of the restaurant.
You can use the toilets here, and we can lay out an extension cord from the electrical outlet inside to the van.
The only problem is the showers.” She bites her lip in thought.
“I would offer you to come shower at our place, but…”
“I know, girl. You’re fine.” I smile at her, feeling an unfamiliar warmth spreading through me.
Tally’s generosity is overwhelming. I’m not used to this kindness, not from friends, because, well, I haven’t ever had any.
But there’s a part of me that’s tense, wary of taking too much, of being a burden.
I got so used to being on my own, to relying on myself.
Accepting help isn’t really my nature. Maybe, just maybe, I can let someone in, let myself rely on someone else for a change.
It’s just for a little while.
But the idea of it is scary.
Tally told me earlier today that she inherited her mother’s old house, which needed a makeover before a family of three could move in. So, they moved out of their apartment to save some money for the renovation and are living with Tim’s parents in his childhood room until the house is done.
“I don’t have a shower either. I wash myself over the sink and am just fine,” Mac grumbles.