Chapter 19
NINETEEN
WESTON
Christening the garage felt like a rite of passage. The sweetest form of revenge.
It’s put a big enough smile on my face that I can even welcome my brother back from New York without wanting to deck him. All I have to do is look at the bit of wall in between the bay doors, his precious equipment for the shop that got some new and creative uses that night—most of the weekend, really—and I feel better, just like magic.
“Hey,” Wyatt says, dropping his bag in the office with a thunk and stepping back out onto the sawdust-covered concrete of the main floor to meet with me on what happened while he was gone.
At least, in regards to the vehicles I worked on. He doesn’t need to know all of what went down here.
“When did you start carrying a bag?” I ask him.
He scoffs, as good as an eye roll from him. “My wife got it for me a while back.”
“Explains why it’s got taste,” I say, bouncing my head from side to side.
“Listen, can we fucking talk?” Wyatt goes right into it, and there goes my good mood.
Not the biggest fan of confrontation, but I don’t see a way out of this either, so I just nod, shoving my hands in the pockets of my cargo pants.
I lean back on the car behind me, crossing one leg over the other, and he mirrors my position from a few feet away, letting the silence stretch between us for blissful seconds until he breaks it.
“You can’t even make it to family dinner on time because you’re too busy fucking some girl. How is this any different than high school?”
If Amelia were here, I’m not sure she wouldn’t sock him for that, and my stomach drops at the thought.
“I’m into her, man!” I yell the words. “I’m into her! For the first time in my godforsaken life, I actually caught feelings. Okay?”
“Feelings for her mouth, or for her?”
I roll my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest and clenching my fists to stop from socking him with them. “Rich, coming from the guy who almost knocked me out for mentioning his sex life.”
“That was for mentioning my wife .”
“Then you should know not to talk about Amelia like that,” I counter, brow furrowed.
“So you are into her?” he questions.
“What about that am I not making clear?”
“I dunno, it’s just… It’s you. You sorta have an MO, Wes.”
He uses the nickname he knows I can’t stand, his better half not here to jab an elbow into his ribs and make him change course. My eyes narrow on his with more heat than usual. He’s trying to get under my skin, like he always does, but this time it might be working.
“Has it occurred to you that I want her to stay too? That I’ve been working since the first night I found her on the side of the road to make her feel safe here, show her it could be worth sticking around? That she might want to be here with me? I know you only see the fucking worst in me, but sometimes I’m not that bad, okay?”
“I don’t think you’re bad ,” he hedges, looking everywhere in the garage except for at me, as the uncomfortable tension between us ratchets.
“Well, sorry I can’t be perfect like you, Wyatt.”
His gaze narrows on mine, fuming now. “Me? You’re the perfect one. Fucking golden boy of the family. Everyone’s favorite Grady.”
I scoff. “Yeah, okay. That why you’ve hated me for twenty damn years? Because I was more popular?”
“I don’t hate you.” His grumble dies off into a barely audible tone by the end. Even he doesn’t believe the words enough to get them out.
“You just hate talking to me, being around me, sharing blood with me, that it?”
I tick each item off on a different finger as I call them out. He doesn’t say anything more, so I do.
“When are you going to stop holding it against me? Huh?”
Eyes so similar to my own flash back up to me, a sea of unspoken emotion raging in them. It’s time to get it out.
“The divorce, Wyatt, let it out!”
That breaks the dam. My brother goes off. “I busted my ass to get us through that time. All you did was make it harder on Mom.”
“What, by loving her? Making her laugh?”
“By being a needy son of a bitch!”
“Is this what you’ve been holding against me all these years? That I cried when our parents got divorced? That I needed my mother’s love? What, you think I’m a pussy because I needed a hug?”
“I was out working, trying to put food on the table for us before Daniel came along. And you made her life harder, not easier, Weston.”
Twenty years of space between us because of a grudge over my reaction to the divorce? I know he’s always had a low opinion of me, but this might be the first time I actually have one of him.
“I was thirteen, Wyatt! Thirteen! A child. Too young for a job, hadn’t developed a sense of responsibility yet. Still had my heart, unlike you. What was I supposed to do? Turn tricks on the corner for money? All I had to offer her was smiles, all I could do was give her a reason not to cry. I’m not going to apologize for having an emotional response to the most devastating thing kids can go through. But I tried too.”
Wyatt runs a hand through his dark hair, spilling some over his forehead in the process as he gets out his frustration.
“If you wanted to help, you could’ve done shit around the house or mowed some fucking lawns or something, West. It’s not that hard.”
“That’s you, Wyatt, that’s not me. You’re the guy who shows up quietly for the people he cares about. I’m the one who lightens the mood. We’re not all made from the same mold, and I wish you saw what’s good about that, instead of resenting me for it.”
His shoulders slump, like my words hit him hard.
“I don’t need you to be me ,” he says.
Maybe he hasn’t given this as much thought as I have over the years, with him being so preoccupied with losing the love of his life and all, but this is something I’ve deconstructed in my mind over and over again, and I know what I know.
“Yes, you do,” I insist. “You do. You’ve always held it against me that I’m not you. And here’s the kicker.” My volume rises, a hit of insanity showing through as my voice cracks on the words.
I fling my arms up in the air and let them fall back down on my thighs with a slap.
“The fucking punchline is that I always wished I was you, Wyatt. My big brother, who always had his shit together, who met ‘the one’ in high school, and always knew what he wanted out of life.”
Wyatt’s jaw clenches tight, probably to stop from dropping, and he watches me intently.
“It’s been the bane of my existence, never being able to find anyone out there who made me feel a goddamn thing. Until Amelia, I thought I was broken. I thought I couldn’t feel the things you feel. That I didn’t have it in me.” One fist pounds my chest, causing my words to rumble as I continue. “And the one thing that’s been ruining my life all these years is what you’ve held against me. What you’ve used against me, like ammo. My biggest weakness is your greatest strength. And now I’ve finally found someone that makes me feel something, and you’re determined to keep us apart so that I don’t fuck it up, because that’s all you think I can do.”
Wyatt’s eyes turn glassy as my emotion leaks through my voice.
“For once in my life, Wyatt, I have someone that means something to me. Something worth trying to succeed at. I don’t need you making it any harder on me, man.”
My brother covers his face with his hands, and I think he might be trying to contain himself. I see his chest shake, inflating with a deep breath or two, and when his arms drop back down, it’s regret shining through his eyes.
Breathing heavily, my chest rises and falls, some sort of peace coursing through me at finally airing this out between us. If he wants to hate me for the rest of our lives because I’m not as good as him, at least now he’ll know I wish I were.
“I never knew,” he says. He clears his throat, but the words still sound unnatural when he says, “I’m sorry, man.”
“Yeah, ’cause you assumed I’m just some fucking idiot you had to share your toys with when we were young,” I bite back.
Wyatt shakes his head, and his voice cracks when he speaks. “No, you’re my fucking brother, West.”
It’s more than I thought I’d ever hear from him, a bigger apology than I could’ve hoped for, and emotion swells in me at the meaning behind the words. I hear what he’s not saying.
He pulls me in for an actual hug, not even a bro hug. For once it feels like we really are brothers in every sense.
Pulling back, he turns around to give me a second to wipe my eyes, and I’m thankful for it. After a moment, he clears his throat again and speaks, voice thick. “If you guys are together together, maybe you should, like, bring her to family dinner and shit.” His booted foot toes the ground, scuffing along the concrete flooring.
“That you saying that, or your better half?” I ask.
“Both.”
I’ll bet my Charger his wife sent him in today with the order to invite Amelia to family dinners and make shit right with me or he’s sleeping in the chicken coop, but still, progress is progress.
“I’ll ask her then.”
“Good.”
“Good,” I echo.
Even the caveman in front of me has to feel how awkward this is.
“Thanks for taking care of the shop,” he mutters, trying to branch out into using more than one syllable at a time, unfamiliar territory for him.
This is probably about two months’ worth of dialogue for him, he might need to go on vocal rest after this.
His affliction must be contagious, because all I say is, “Yeah.”
Wyatt takes a few steps, looking around the garage, like a safe conversation topic might be hiding in plain sight. Hands in his pockets, he finally says, “Got a text from Ronnie over the weekend. He’s giving up on fixing his old motorbike, I think he was holding out hope I’d be able to help him on the weekends, but with the baby, and Gonzo being gone… Anyway, he wanted to see if I could fit it in here.” Wyatt looks around the shop, the vehicles in every direction, holding his hands out, like it speaks for itself. “You got time in your?—”
I can practically hear him biting back words that would normally come naturally, something scathing like “busy schedule , ” to play nice.
“—life to fit that job in for me?” His natural inclination to be a prick must win out, because he tacks on, “Or do you only work on vehicles for people you’re fucking?”
My eyes narrow on him in warning, and he holds up his hands. “Below the belt, I’m sorry.”
I flip him off. He chuckles, the air lightening instantly, which is new for us so I keep it going.
“If either of us are fucking Ronnie, it’s definitely not me. I’ve heard the man’s poetry about your dick,” I say, laughing. “And you could do worse in a best friend. He’s like your junk’s personal hype man.”
Now he flips me off. “Dear Lord, don’t remind me of his lack of boundaries. I still won’t camp with him.” Wyatt shakes his head, and his scruff twitches. “Listen, I’ll pay you, obviously. But I don’t really have time for the job with all this.” He waves a hand around the garage at all of the vehicles waiting for service.
I think over the offer, trying not to be persuaded by the lifting in my chest at the thought of working on bikes again. Before I left town, it’s what I thought I’d end up doing with my life. I have a good time with most things I do, but shit, things with small engines are just more fun to work on than anything else that pays legally.
“Besides,” he says gruffly, talking to the floor more than me. “You’re better at small engines anyway.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I say loudly, cupping one hand around my ear. “Think you’re gonna need to repeat that, possibly on video.”
“I’m not saying it again,” he mutters, but I could swear his lips are twitching beneath all that scruff. “Are you gonna take the job or not?”
I put my hand out for his, and he claps his palm into mine.
“Yeah, bro. I’m taking the job.”