Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Flynn
I return Rupert’s Chevelle and text Monroe:
Can u come get me? No questions asked
He picks me up twenty minutes after I send him the address.
As requested, he doesn’t ask questions. He drives to the empty parking lot behind the auto body shop where he works.
Then he reaches into the back seat and pulls a six-pack of beer from a sack and hands it to me as we stare at the outlines of graffiti by the service entrance door.
I crack open a beer and down half of it. Monroe’s phone lights up with a text from Naomi, but he turns off the screen and flips it face down on the dash. He’s my only true friend, and I’m losing him to a woman and the life neither of us ever imagined. I’m happy for him. He deserves it.
“She’s rich,” I say. “And famous.” I drink the rest of the beer, crush the can, and toss it on the floor at my feet before opening another beer.
“And I’m not pissed off that she didn’t tell me.
I’m pissed off that I waited too long to tell her my …
” I laugh. “My exciting news. I’m an ex-convict.
That would go over well at Thanksgiving with her rich family.
Right?” I lean my head back and close my eyes.
“She’s … fucking brilliant, man. A cellist with a band.
And they’ve played concerts around the world.
She’s talented beyond words. Smart. And for whatever reason, she liked me.
But it was all a lie. We were a lie. She was hiding her greatness.
I’ve been hiding the most regretful, embarrassing parts of my life.
” I lift my head and open my eyes. “Doesn’t matter now. It’s over.”
“Because you told her and she doesn’t want to be with you?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t tell her. I was going to.
That was the plan. Even if I lost her, I needed to tell her.
But after I discovered her secret, I just …
couldn’t. Man, you should have seen this person who recognized her.
She went on and on like June was her idol.
And I felt like a fraud standing next to her. ”
“I think you’re too hard on yourself, Flynn.”
I shake my head. “If she were my daughter, I wouldn’t let her within a mile of a guy like me.”
“A guy like you? Define that. A hard worker? A guy who cares less about himself than literally everyone he meets? A survivor? A loyal friend? A fucking muse?”
I laugh, shaking my head before drinking the entire contents of another can of beer. “Stupid job. That woman is either going to kill herself or she’s not. And her husband will blame me no matter what. I’m not a muse. I’m a … what’s the word? Something goat?”
“Scapegoat?”
“Yeah, that.” I crush a second empty can and toss it on the floor.
“And I don’t even care,” I mumble and sigh.
“Some nice person with good intentions and a tragic story of their own will pat my back and tell me it’s not my fault.
It’s the story of my life. But I’ve spent a lot of time locked up for a life that hasn’t been my fault. Ya know?”
“Maybe she’s different, Flynn.”
“She’s not. You should have seen the look on her face when she had on the expensive dress the Rawlings sent her or the way she couldn’t stop smiling while we ate dinner at that fancy restaurant.
The orchestra. Just … everything.” I open another beer, feeling the start of a nice buzz.
“And ya know what? I don’t even blame her.
Cuz it’s not really her fault that she’s smart, pretty, talented, and rich.
But it makes it hard for her to know me.
To feel me.” I pound my fist against my chest. “Like really feel me. That’s what money does.
It numbs you toward the rest of the world.
” I slouch against the door and close my eyes.
Monroe takes the beer from me. “Where can I take you? I can’t take you to my apartment. Are you staying with the Rawlings?”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Sort of.” All I see is June biting her lip to hide her grin. All I feel is her fingertips on my neck. Her sweet perfume. The sound of her voice so soothing like a song. And for a few weeks, she chose me. The version I let her see.
She’s right. I’m the asshole.
“What’s this?” Rupert looks up from his computer when I step into his office, holding the folded suit and shoes.
Loki jumps off his lap and runs out of the office.
This asshole likes the cat. I wonder if Callie knows this?
I’m too tired to give it much thought. My head feels like a bowling ball crashing into ten pins.
However, I’m proud of myself for thinking to charge my phone and set my alarm after waking up at three in the morning to piss.
“Thank you for the clothes, but I can’t keep them.” I set them on his desk. “And you can’t pay me five grand a week to hang out with your wife.”
Rupert leans back in his chair, hands folded on his stomach.
“I made eighteen dollars an hour at the detail shop, not counting tips. You should pay me the same amount.”
He chuckles. “Are you allergic to money? Opposed to getting ahead in life?”
“It’s charity. I’m not a charity case.” I sit on the sofa, elbows on my legs, head bowed.
“Now feels like the right time to mention I have security cameras in my garage, but you can’t see the toilet.”
I lift my head.
He’s seen me sleep in his car. Fuck my life … he’s seen me bathe in the dog wash.
“Am I fired?”
He chuckles. “Fired? I don’t know, Flynn. Do you want me to fire you? I’m at a loss this morning. I don’t know if, in the history of mankind, someone has ever requested a pay cut for themselves. Granted, it’s probably safe to assume most people don’t sleep in their employer’s garage either.”
“My roommate got engaged. And his girlfriend is pregnant. I was sleeping on the sofa. It’s a one-bedroom apartment.
After you paid me, they assumed I could find my own place.
But I don’t know how long this job will last, so I don’t want to sign a lease.
Hotels require a credit card, which I don’t have.
I could stay at a shelter. There’s one on Hiawatha that’s pretty decent.
It’s just been really convenient to be in your garage since I have to be here so early in the morning. ”
Rupert nods slowly. “Okay.”
Okay? That’s it?
He drums his fingers on the desk. “How was the orchestra?”
“I’m not an expert on that kind of music, but everyone seemed to know what they were doing.”
He rolls his eyes.
I try to smile, but it’s hard to find one today. “It was fine,” I say. “Funny thing I discovered.”
“An orchestra is comprised of people playing instruments?”
“Actually, yes.” I give him the bird. “June has traveled the world as a cellist in a band. Her picture is on the wall at Orchestra Hall.”
Rupert squints. “What?”
“Yep.” I lean back, hands laced behind my head. “It would seem that I landed a rich girl too. But I don’t want that life, so what a waste, huh?”
“What is her band?”
“A World Away.”
“Sounds familiar. I’d have to ask Callie, but we might have seen her perform. Come to think of it, Callie thought she looked familiar. And what life don’t you want?”
“This life.” I roll my head, gesturing around the room.
“Flynn”—he laughs—“we’ve joked about my life, but I didn’t marry Callie for her money.
When we met, I didn’t know her family was wealthy.
She said her dad would hate me, but I just assumed it was because of my rough past. You don’t cast someone aside because of their net worth.
Is that how you want people to treat you? ”
“How do you think she’ll treat me if I tell her about my years in prison?”
Rupert rocks in his chair. “There’s only one way to find out.”
“Well, I don’t actually want to know. Not anymore. I was going to tell her last night after the concert. I told her we needed to talk.”
“And why don’t you want to know how she’ll react to your past?” He reaches for his green drink.
“Because, as unlikely as it is, I like to imagine her not caring about it. And what’s the point now?”
He takes several gulps, then licks his lips. “Why imagine it? Why not just find out?”
“You’re not listening. I said it’s unlikely. And there’s no point.”
“So what?”
“So, I don’t want to see that look of anguish on her face.
” I stare out the window at the rain clouds forming in the distance.
“I’ve been looked down upon my whole life.
I don’t know if the fragmented images I have of a woman with long black hair are of my mother, but I think they are.
And the look on her face is anguish. Like I’m a burden.
A regret. A mistake. I like June. What we had was short, but it felt real, even if it wasn’t.
” I return my gaze to Rupert. “Last night she looked heartbroken.”
“And you want that to be the lasting image you have of her?”
“She was brokenhearted because she thought she loved me.”
“Maybe she did.”
I shake my head. “You can’t truly love someone unless you know everything about them.”
He finishes his drink and sets the empty glass on a black coaster. “I’m sorry, Flynn.”
“For what?”
“For suggesting you wait to tell her about your past. From now on, you should have a twenty-four-hour rule.”
“A twenty-four-hour rule?”
He nods. “As soon as you think you like someone, friend, romantic interest, whatever, tell them about your past within twenty-four hours. The ones who stay are the ones who matter. But be prepared because most won’t stay.
That’s okay. Life isn’t a popularity contest. You’ll feel safer and more content if you keep your circle small. ”
“I bet you have a lot of friends. All rich people do.”
“No.” He laughs. “They don’t. In fact, the wealthier you get, the smaller your circle becomes. Having more means you have more to lose, more for people to steal. Show me a really rich person, and I’ll show you someone who has no real friends.”
“You know, you’re proving my point.”
“Oh?” He lifts one eyebrow. “What’s your point?”
“A wealthy life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
He barks a laugh. “I’ll grant you that. But love is. Finding someone who is your home, your partner in this life, is pretty amazing.”
I deflate. What else is there to say? He’s not me, even if we’ve had similar experiences.
“Get Callie her tea. She’ll want to hear all about the orchestra. Put a smile on your face and make her believe it was the best night of your life. Can you do that? I’ll pay you eighteen dollars an hour to do that.”
“Yes, sir.” I stand.
“Did you just call me ‘Sir’?”
“Yeah.”
He slides on his reading glasses and focuses on his computer screen. “There’s hope for you after all.”