Chapter 5 #2
“I’d rather stay here. Maybe watch you work? If that’s okay?” She tucks the corner of her lower lip in her teeth, and I know I’m losing this battle. I’m not certain I ever stood a chance.
“I mean, I’m pretty boring,” I say, sinking my hands into my front pockets and balling them into fists. “But if you want—”
“I do want. To watch, I mean.”
Our eyes are locked, and the quiet seconds drag on in slow motion, the tension wrapping around my throat, slipping down my chest and into my veins. This is a slippery slope, and Saylor is playing with fire.
I take a step back and laugh softly, flitting my gaze to the open bay doors behind her, willing someone—anyone—to walk through and save me from the pending terrible but tempting decisions.
“Saylor, what are we doing?” I level her with my gaze, my mouth pulled into a disciplined line, my head slightly askew, my fingers fisting even tighter.
Her eyes shift from mine as she blinks her focus to the center of my chest while she draws in a deep breath. She flattens her palms on the desk across from me and raps her fingers a few times before pulling her mouth in tight and falling back on her heels.
She makes her way back to the workbench where she was before, when she was sitting and scrolling through her phone quietly and at a safe distance.
I assume she’ll go back to that, so I slide a pile of invoices next to my computer and begin looking them up on our system to see if checks have cleared yet.
I’m not normally the accounting guy, but I know what I’m doing in the software.
And frankly, I could use the distraction.
“You shouldn’t diminish your dreams, Rowan.” I flinch at her words, but something about the genuine care in her tone forces my eyes up from the screen.
I shrug.
“I don’t diminish them. I’m doing exactly what I want to do, and I know how lucky it is that I can say that. Believe me . . . you don’t have a two-hundred-pound parole officer unlock a monitoring anklet and not feel grateful about the good shit in life.”
She smirks, and her gaze drops to the open space beneath the desk where my legs are on display. My skin warms, and though the anklet is long gone, the place where it circled my leg throbs from the memory of its weight.
“I’m sorry you went through that.”
Her tone is quiet but not the ashamed kind my brother and father use with me sometimes. Her gaze has shifted up a bit, too, though not fully on my eyes.
Rather than dismiss her apology with the typical write-off I typically do, saying, “it’s no big deal,” I decide Saylor deserves my honesty.
I wasn’t lying when I told Brady she was like family.
She’s more family than my brother and father at this point.
Besides, I’m sure Caleb filled her head with his perspective.
It’s only right I get the chance to counter it.
“It stung more than anything. I thought Caleb had a higher opinion of me, is all,” I say, biting my tongue when Saylor’s brow pulls in.
Maybe she doesn’t know.
“Caleb was my character witness. I assumed he told you.” My eyes dim as her gaze drops with the shake of her head.
A short, breathy laugh causes my nostrils to flex, and I flip over the golden pen weighing down the stack of invoices. I’m tempted to throw my brother under this massive bus right now, but despite our mutual disdain, I can’t lie about him completely.
“He didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. He just shared a little too much.” I lift a shoulder and pull my mouth into a crooked smirk.
Saylor sinks back, resting her shoulder blades against the brick wall.
“He told them about the fire?” She exhales the words in one breath.
I nod.
“Yep. They unsealed that sucker faster than the final lap at Daytona. I’ve learned closing a case is more important than getting it right sometimes, so I took a deal.
” I grimace at the memory from that moment, when I knew I was going to have to fall on another sword.
At least in my past I was the one making the choice.
This sword left me with few options, if any. And it was sharp.
“Is your sentence done now, or do you have a parole officer or community service hours?”
I nod.
“Parole Officer Steve and I have a standing date every Thursday. At least for the next eighteen months. Unless there’s overwhelming evidence of good behavior.”
My eyes flash to hers, and there’s a snap in the air that I don’t think anyone can hear but me. Saylor’s head falls to the side as a wry grin etches into her cheeks.
“I think we both know your behavior is questionable at best,” she jests.
I chuckle, then flip the pen over again to rid my hand of nervous energy that builds during the brief silence.
“What about you? Collegiate swimming is a big deal. I still remember the lanky girl flapping around the swim club pool, trying to pull off the butterfly stroke.”
We both laugh at the memory, and Saylor stretches her arms out wide to mimic the stroke, at least the way she did it back then.
“I was better at drowning,” she laughs.
I shake my head, though, because even with her unpolished technique, she was always the fastest in the water.
“I distinctly remembering you smoking my brother in a race after your first practice. You were a natural,” I praise.
Her lips settle into a faint smile as her gaze drifts to the side for a beat.
“Caleb doesn’t tell it that way,” she finally says, her gaze hesitating but coming back to me.
My brow draws in.
“He’s told that story a few times, like to people at school or to your dad. In his version, he wins.”
My chest burns with this tiny piece of intel, and I know it’s not important, but I can’t seem to shut off the defensive flood that’s suddenly eating at me inside.
“Why didn’t you correct him?”
I know why. The same reason I let other people’s versions of my story go unchecked. It’s easier that way.
Her shoulder rises as her mouth bunches.
“It seemed way more important to him, I guess,” she says in a soft voice.
I nod and match her tight-lipped, resolved expression.
“I understand.”
A brief silence settles into the garage, but my phone buzzes on the tabletop before it becomes unbearable.
I flip to my screen in my palm and am instantly filled with a mix of excitement and trepidation at reading Brady’s response.
He has the part, and it’s mine if I want to pick it up today at their warehouse.
It’s just a mere six hundred bucks, which I would laugh out loud at if I were alone.
Since I’m not, I keep the sticker shock to myself.
I know it’s still the best price I’ll get for it.
“Is that Brady?” Saylor slides off her perch as I hold up a finger, pretending to still be reading his response. I’m not sure if I can make it through this day without touching her, and I’ve already crossed the line plenty.
I type Brady back.
ME: Awesome. I’ll swing by on my way home for the day and leave cash with Bev.
Bev is Brady’s mom. She runs the books, and she loves when I operate in cash because, well, she also cooks them.
As soon as Brady sends me a thumbs up, my shoulders relax. Before Saylor can invade my space again, I tuck my phone into my back pocket and move across the room to snag my keys and wallet from the locker in the corner of the garage.
“The good news is he has the part. The bad news is it won’t be ready for pick up until the end of the day, so I’ll have to do the work tomorrow.”
Her lips curve down with disappointment, and I feel my own mouth twitch from guilt.
It’s too late, though. I’ve spun the tale, and I know in my gut that I need to get the two of us out of this space.
This way, tomorrow, I can work at my own pace and without the smell of her citrus shampoo and chlorine invading my senses.
“I can give you a lift, though,” I offer.
Her eyes light up, but before I can fully catalogue the new world of trouble getting her alone in my car could cause, our private conversation is interrupted by the high-pitched hum of my brother’s electric BMW.
Caleb pulls into the bay, between Saylor and me, and I can’t help but chuckle at his obvious play. I’m not sure what the hell he’s doing here, but I one hundred percent recognize his jealous behavior. He cuts his engine, and the quiet whir ceases.
“Having car trouble, Saylor?” His back is to me as he gets out of his car and glares at Saylor from across the roof of his car as if he owns her.
“She is. What do you want, Caleb?”
My brother turns to face me, and I silently connect with Saylor before I give him my attention. I can’t tell if her wide eyes are twitching because she’s freaked out that Caleb is here or that I just took over answering for her. I shouldn’t have, but my brother pushes me into auto-defense.
“Dad needs to get a scan of your license for the trust paperwork. I offered to come by,” he mutters. He keeps glancing back at Saylor, though, obviously rattled by her presence . . . here.
“You know, we’ve got a service through the company. I could have given them a call to get you a rental, had them pick up your car and diagnose—”
“It’s not your company, Caleb,” I say. It’s annoying when my brother speaks as if he and my father are on the same level, like they’re partners. He’s barely out of high school. And he bailed on his AP math courses. I honestly think it will be a miracle if he passes the security exams.
My brother’s glare narrows on me, but his brow ticks up on one side after a moment.
“Unless this is a charity thing. It’s nice of you, Saylor. Keeping my brother in business. Family supports family and all that. I get it.” Caleb’s cocky expression shifts between the two of us as he sits on his hood.
“I was about to take her home. So if we could just hurry up with your little errand,” I say, pulling my license out and handing it to my brother.
He snatches it from my hand but keeps his challenging glare on me, his mouth frozen in that half smirk he wears when he feels superior.
“I can take you home, Say. I’m heading that way. And I’m sure my brother has a lot of work to do.” Caleb doesn’t look over his shoulder to meet her eyes. If he did, he’d see the creese deepening between her eyes as she scowls.
I spin my keys around my finger, partly to draw Saylor’s gaze back to me, but she’s locked in on the back of Caleb’s head.
My brother fishes his phone from his pocket, palming my license as he snaps a photo while his mouth lingers in that arrogant grin that never seems to leave his face.
He hands my ID back, and I take it while splitting my focus on him and Saylor as she cradles her phone and rapidly types out a message.
I secretly hope to feel my phone buzz in my pocket, but after a few seconds pass from the time she puts her phone away and begins to march toward the garage drive, I relent that whoever she was texting wasn’t me.
It wasn’t Caleb either, though, and I’m a bit smug at that thought.
“You know it’s bullshit, right?” Caleb says, his voice low. He has yet to realize that Saylor’s walked away.
“You driving over here to do something I could have done myself with a text? Yeah, Caleb. I know it’s bullshit.
” He came over here to gripe about me getting a share of the family fortune, I’m sure.
He didn’t get to say everything that was on his chest to me during our lunch with dad, so he made up an excuse to see me and take up round two.
“You don’t have a right to any of it. You gave that up the second you torched our home.
” His whisper-shout would have easily been heard if Saylor were still there, and as much as I like the idea of her seeing more of Caleb’s ugly underbelly, I don’t want her hearing more of the same old story about the disturbed Anderson boy who liked to play with matches.
I’m sick of that tale myself, and I’m the one who fucking wrote it.
Caleb glances over his shoulder as he seethes, his spine straightening as soon as he realizes Saylor’s gone. Spinning on his feet, he turns toward the roadway where his ex is holding out a hand and waving to someone not quite in view yet.
“Saylor! What the hell?” Caleb holds up both hands, incensed that she would not need him perhaps, or maybe irked that she would dare leave without a word. She left me, too, but unlike my brother, I’m willing to respect her choice and own that I probably didn’t deserve her goodbye this time.
Cami’s car pulls into view within seconds, and Saylor holds up a middle finger before getting into the passenger seat and slamming the door shut.
“I was taking you home now! Why you gotta be that way?” I chuckle silently as my brother shouts at Cami’s taillights.
And when he turns back to finish his lecture to me, I decide to take a page out of Saylor’s book, turning my back to him and flipping him the bird on my way to the back room where I live and can lock the door.
The click feels good, as does the way my brother futilely calls me a dick from the other side of the door before leaving. But then I’m all alone again, with nothing but a fleeting mental snapshot of Saylor’s smile and her broken air conditioning.