Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
WESTON
If the past week and a half is anything to go off of, my brother is somewhere on the pissed-off scale between no longer welcome at family dinners to disinvited from my niece’s future graduation .
According to the text I got last night, Wyatt’s not quite mad enough at me not to let me cover the shop for him while he’s gone.
Ticked off enough not to talk to me for a whole nine days, sure, but seems like his seasonal trips to the Big Apple for his wife are so important even his fuckup of a brother can’t derail them.
Guess I have seventeen or so years to get back into his mid-graces in time for the little one’s high school graduation then. It’s a tall order, based on the icy silence I’ve been blessed with ever since he walked in on the aftermath of the best blowie I’ve ever gotten in my life.
Though, I will say, one bonus of all of this is that Amelia and I can just be together .
No bullshit, no hiding it.
Wyatt’s the only one who cared in the first place, his weird little obsession with keeping my dick dry, as Amelia puts it. And we haven’t had any more hiccups like that night, with Wyatt out of the picture. No more arguments between her and I either, just good times.
I was a little worried about how worked up she’d gotten after Wyatt walked in on us, but she’s back to normal and doesn’t want to talk about it, so I guess that’s that.
The best part is she’s been able to come over a lot. Her flexible work schedule and me busting through my painting projects has been working in our favor lately.
The Heights isn’t quite done done, but it’s getting there. Soft opening of downtown is in just over a month. Grand opening with the whole shindig’s not until August, but everything should be open and operating as normal long before then. Most of the buildings downtown are fully ready at this point, and a bunch are already open to the public.
Which means my work here will be done before long.
With the amount of jobs I got given while here, shit, I could coast for close to a year, probably more, before needing to go find another gig.
Though, if Amelia is staying… I might have a reason to hang around for a while too.
The thought bolsters me, and I exhale a heavy breath as my boots disrupt the gravel with every step toward Gonzo’s Garage. Or whatever it’ll be called once the sale goes through.
Rory’s SUV is already backed up to the open bay at the far left of the garage, surrounded by flowering trees at the end of the lot. This May weather is so balmy I can’t even see steam coming from the exhaust pipe anymore. Summer isn’t far off at this rate.
The blooms on the sides of the road, the lawns, and across the town have gone through several color cycles since I’ve been here. White, then soft pink, yellow, some blues and purples, and now brighter pink is starting to dominate the landscapes.
The crepe myrtle trees that border the lot here will be budding soon, white, purple, and hot pink flowers that grace the leaves all summer long, even when it’s as muggy as the devil’s ass crack. Amelia’s been so excited by the constantly changing landscape of spring in the Smokies, I can’t wait for her to see those when their time comes in summer. I think they’re even one of the trees planted along the sidewalks downtown.
“There he is!” Rory welcomes my approach in a shirt with a big bow tied on it and some pants that look awful fancy for travel, along with her usual—a pair of heels.
My brother—if I’m allowed to still call him that—grumbles something unintelligible and Rory digs her elbow in his side. He must have a permanent bruise there at this point.
“We gotta hit the road, can we make this fast, gentlemen?” Rory asks, looking at her husband pointedly.
He grunts, and I nod. But then it hits me. “Wait a damn minute. Y’all are driving to New York? Not flying?”
“Yes,” she says calmly.
“It’s like a ten hour drive,” I point out.
“Twelve-ish now that we’ve got the little one. Used to make it in ten though.” She shoots Wyatt a smirk that he returns.
“Why the hell aren’t you just flying?”
“Well, we go to stock up on necessities and the airlines max you out at two checked bags.”
“Each, Rory. Two bags each . Plus a carry-on.”
Rory shrugs her slim shoulders, somehow still looking elegant as she does. “Exactly. We’d never fit everything if we flew.”
My brother shakes his head softly, then kisses the top of hers, hearts in his dark eyes, and opens the passenger side door for his wife. He’s so fucking gone for her it’s ridiculous.
“You’re sweet, but you’re still not getting any,” she tells him under her breath, and I don’t wanna know, so I jump on the chance to change the subject.
“By necessities, you mean…?” I let the question trail off.
“Shopping. Clothes, shoes, dry goods, you know. The stuff I can only get in Manhattan.”
How the hell they fit all that in their cozy little home, I’ll never understand. Her closet must be a vortex through space and time to fit as much as I’m sure she buys every few months.
As Wyatt herds her to the open door, helping her in, I poke my head in the back seat to say goodbye to my niece. “I’ll miss you, little munchkin,” I coo to her. Missing family dinner these past two Sunday nights meant not getting much time with her, and I’m surprised at how much she’s changed in just a couple of weeks and how much I’ve missed her little toothy smiles and chubby cheeks.
When Wyatt is busy closing Rory’s door with a grunt and heading back toward the garage, I get my wallet out and hand my sister-in-law a few large bills. “Bring me back something worthwhile, yeah?”
She laughs. “You already miss the finer things, too, huh?”
I haven’t spent much time in New York, but I have been in a decently big city much of the last ten years or so. There’s a lot the Heights has to offer, but dammit, sometimes I miss that life too. Convenience. Luxury. Change of pace. I guess she’s worked out how to get the best of both worlds.
“You know it,” I tell her and pull myself back out of the bench seat with one final air kiss to my niece.
Turning back to the garage, I find my brother waiting by the office door.
It takes almost no time at all for Wyatt to explain the vehicles he needs me to work on in his absence, run me through the paperwork on the desk, and fit in a record number of scowls at me along the way.
“Don’t burn the place down,” he tells me, back turned, strolling away to the dark SUV he got his wife when she decided to stay in the Heights once and for all.
“Your faith in me is reassuring,” I call out to his back.
Wyatt turns around, scruffy face pulled tight. “And don’t call me. I’ll be trying to fix things with my wife because she’s mad at me over this bullshit with you and won’t touch me. You’ve managed to ruin my relationship by your mere presence, which is a new accomplishment, even for you.”
My brother has held me accountable for damn near every issue in his life, starting from when we were kids. If I had to guess, I’d say it was our parents’ divorce that started him on this road, and my teen years only helped confirm his biases against me. But he certainly didn’t get any kinder once Rory left him.
I’ll admit I’ve made some mistakes along the way, but I try to own up to ’em when I do. This shit with his wife is his own doing, and he can shove it.
“We’re blaming me for that too? You sure it’s not just because you’re a dick?” I offer, only a tiny bit joking.
He flips me off and heads to the driver’s side.
“You still owe me fixing my trunk, asshole!” I’m kinda proud that’s all I called him.
The car dips as he gets in, and then they’re gone.
Sighing, I head into the office and re-review the paperwork he showed me. I think I got the gist of it, but there’s a lot of fucking vehicles, all at different stages of their repairs.
I don’t think I give him enough credit for keeping so many things going at once, this is almost impressive for a guy who can barely string ten words together.
Two of the vehicles here are some of my favorite kinds to work on. An ATV and a dirt bike. The side by side is having an issue with its alternator, and the dirt bike needs a new crankshaft. I make a plan to start on those first, because they seem like the most fun. I’m not sure that’s how Wyatt runs his business—there was some buzzing in my ears about first in, first out and priority sequences—but while I’m here, that’s my plan.
My mind drifts back to my brother and a heavy sigh sags my shoulders. From Rory’s texts every other day, checking on me and Amelia, offering her support, I know she is happy for us. But I can’t decide if I’m relieved that Rory is on my side of this blowup with Wyatt, or if I don’t want her getting involved in our spat.
They’ve been through enough together, getting him to sort their shit out was probably enough drama for them. She doesn’t need to insert herself into our family issues.
Though at the thought, I’m vaguely tempted to call my mom in for backup. She always takes my side, but that’s one surefire way to really piss my brother off. It riles him up, the way I always get the benefit of the doubt and he never does.
But what can I say? I’m the baby. I make her smile every time I visit, and he just huffs and puffs. Who wants to hug the big bad wolf when you’ve got a golden retriever right there?
Speaking of, I really should make more of an effort to see my mom while I’m in town, however long that’s gonna be. I’ve barely squeezed in a few dinners with her since I got here, so I make a mental note to schedule something more with her soon.
Plopping down in the old rolling office chair, I pull my phone out to see why it’s vibrating.
Reminder: Firefly lottery
Today at 4:00
Shit, I would’ve totally forgotten today’s the day. Thankful for the electronic brain in my hand, I open up the shop computer and find the website where we can apply for parking permits to see the synchronous fireflies.
Though they’re visible in many areas of the Smokies, parking is very limited, which is what makes seeing them so difficult. It’s all the luck of the draw.
Just because Amelia is staying in one place for a while doesn’t mean she shouldn’t get to keep living out her adventures and checking things off her “Shit to Do” list.
It only takes a few minutes, filling out the form under my own name, putting in my credit card info. Then I do it under Wyatt’s, Rory’s, Lexi’s, my mom’s, and Duke’s. I consider any of the friends Wyatt and I grew up with who might not mind me using their personal info, consult the address book in my phone, and fill out another half a dozen applications too.
Best case basis, every one of us wins the lotto and my card gets a serious workout that day. But there’s nothing else I can do except hope until approval emails go out in a few weeks.
Now we wait.
Looking through the one-way glass out into the shop, bouncing my knee under the desk, I spot my Charger, still in need of some TLC to be road-ready once again.
The one with what better only be scuffs on the trunk and not scratches.
Alone in my brother’s garage, the same place he defiled my one and only prized possession, an idea for some sort of revenge forms. Just need to get through some of this workload and when the weekend hits, I’m putting my brand on his precious garage the way he did to my car.