Chapter 20
I’m instantly transported to my eighth birthday, my dad swinging me around while I hang onto his neck. A giddy girl happy to see her dad and ready for her birthday cake. My birthday may be a few months from now, but this gift is better than any cake I’ll have.
“Why are you here?” It’s hard to speak through my wide grin, but I manage to as he sets my feet back on the ground. He looks good. Healthy, maybe dressed a little nicer than normal. His band is doing well.
“We had an extra day built in, and since we’re still rag-tagging across the country in our own cars, I thought maybe I’d build in an extra day and get Nancy checked out by a hot new classics shop I’ve been hearing about.
” His gaze drifts from my face to over my shoulder.
I twist my head and find Rowan a few feet behind me, hands shoved in his pockets and his modest smile pushing dimples into his cheeks.
“Nancy’s the truck, by the way,” I explain to Rowan.
He nods.
“I remember.” Stepping forward, Rowan pulls his hands from his pockets, then runs his palm across the front of his shirt before reaching out to shake my father’s hand.
“Good to see you, Rowan. This is quite the enterprise you’ve started.” My dad nods toward the sign perched above the open bay doors that reads Old 66 Restoration. It’s an homage to the classic route, which runs through the northern part of the state.
“Things are going well. Just gotta keep feeding it, ya know?” Rowan holds his palm at his brow to shade his eyes from the sun as my father nods.
“Yeah, that’s the secret. I know a thing or two about feeding the passion, little by little,” my father responds.
The two of them exhale with easy laughter, and my chest swells with a comforting warmth. My two favorite men seem so good together. I suck in my top lip when I realize that I’ve put Rowan on par with my father suddenly. It feels right, though.
“Mr. Kelly. It’s good to see you.” Miguel steps up, shaking my dad’s hand.
The three of them spend the next few minutes sharing mutual praise—my dad for their entrepreneurial spirit, and them for my dad’s growing music success.
I step back to watch and listen, suddenly feeling like the people I’m surrounding myself with are the right ones.
“Let’s pull her in and take a look,” Miguel finally says, holding out his hand to take my father’s keys.
“You can sit in here with me,” I say, waving my hand over my shoulder to encourage my dad to follow me into the garage.
I round the counter and snag two cold water bottles from the fridge, handing my father one as he nestles into the deep sofa cushion on one end while I sink into the opposite end, folding my legs up so I can face him.
“You work here now or something?” He glances down at my sweatshirt, well, Rowan’s sweatshirt. I tuck my chin and note the garage’s logo on the upper right side of the front.
“Oh, I had to borrow a shirt. I had an oil incident.” I don’t know why I didn’t think through the optics of me being here until now, but I can’t imagine wearing an oversized sweatshirt that’s clearly not mine hasn’t raised my dad’s suspicions.
“And what was the incident?” My father turns his head just as Rowan walks up. I swallow hard, suddenly lost for words.
“We did a little oil change lesson. Saylor wanted to learn how. Just trying to learn the basics before she heads off for college.” Rowan’s answer is perfect, and I exhale and smile back at my dad, playing the part of a good daughter simply trying to do the right thing.
He seems to buy it, too, because he raises his water bottle for a toast.
“Hey, cheers to that!” My dad leans to his side and points to the other side of the classic Chevy, where my car’s hood remains propped open, waiting for new parts. “So that is your Toyota then.”
“Yep! Needs an alternator,” I proclaim, as if I know exactly what that is.
“Ah. You guys giving her a fair price?” my father asks before taking another sip from his bottle. His gaze settles on Rowan, and my lungs burn with sudden stress. He’s still suspicious.
“Friends and family discount,” Rowan says, waggling his head. “So . . . free. Yeah. Doing it for free.”
Rowan glances behind him, and I think he’s making sure Miguel is still behind my dad’s wheel. I wouldn’t mind paying, at least some of the cost. I don’t want Rowan to hide things from Miguel.
“That’s a mighty kind gesture. I always knew you were a stand-up guy.” My dad’s gaze lingers on Rowan for just a hint too long, and my legs suddenly feel restless amid the growing tension.
I get to my feet and move to the other side of the counter, suddenly feeling like it might be good to have shelter if this questioning gets any more serious.
Thankfully, Miguel calls Rowan over to check out something on the engine, and my dad pulls his phone out and begins firing off a few texts, everyone busy with their own things.
I take the opportunity to slip back into the bathroom where my phone and ruined shirt are.
My dad is pacing near the bay doors when I rejoin them, so I tuck myself back into the corner of the sofa and split my attention between my dad and Rowan.
My father’s conversation lasts a few minutes, but when he ends his call, he lingers by the garage entrance, finally calling out to Rowan to join him.
“Be right there,” Rowan hollers over the low hum of my dad’s truck engine. He and Miguel exchange glances, and Rowan only briefly looks my way before snagging a clean towel and wiping off his hands on his way out to meet my dad.
I do my best not to look obvious, propping my phone on my knees as I watch a video.
My eyes are really focused on the conversation several yards away, though.
All I can do from here is read body language, and the fact that my dad isn’t grabbing Rowan’s collar or punching him in the teeth is a good sign.
There’s a lot of nodding on Rowan’s part, his gaze lifting periodically to meet my dad’s before lowering his head again for more nodding.
Eventually, my dad places a hand on Rowan’s shoulder, where he pats a few times before squeezing and pulling Rowan in for a short hug.
I scan both of their expressions for more clues when they step back into the garage, but they’re both impossible to read.
The fact that Rowan seems eager to remain by my dad’s truck, though, with his back to me, is a pretty good signal that he’s trying to maintain a certain level of decorum between us.
I’ll simply have to work the clues out from my dad.
“Are you ready for the semester?” He crosses his legs, propping a foot up on his knee, exposing the skull socks I mailed him last Christmas. I smile at the sight, and he follows my gaze. “Oh, yeah. I wear them all the time. They fit my personal brand.”
I laugh softly, loving that he recalled my note to him in the package.
That’s precisely why I bought them for him.
While their band isn’t necessarily rock, my dad’s heart has always leaned toward the grittier side of the industry.
I thought the skulls were a nice little rebellion for a folk-rock band.
“You’re avoiding the school question. Saylor?” he prods.
I grimace. I might be avoiding it a little.
“I guess I’m ready. I’m not exactly doing backflips for it, though.
” Other than Rowan, my dad is the only other person I’ve mentioned my lackluster emotions about swimming in college to.
I’ve also texted him about my frustrations with mom, two which he always redirects me to sit down with her and have an open and honest conversation.
I’m not sure if he remembers exactly how difficult doing that with mom is.
“You can always try it for a year. Maybe you owe it to yourself to see how it feels when you’re in it, you know?” He pounds his fists together for emphasis.
“I told mom I want to study social work,” I share.
My dad’s brow jets up to his hairline, and he chuckles.
“Oh, and how did that go?”
My head falls to the side.
“I think you know exactly how that went,” I say.
“She’ll come around,” he replies, but all I can do is puff out a short laugh.
“We’ll see.”
A strained silence settles between us, but it’s not long before my father feels it.
“So, it’s over for good between you and Caleb, huh?” My dad’s gaze drifts toward Rowan, at least I think it does. Maybe I’m reading too much into things.
“Oh, that’s definitely done. He and I are in different places. And I’m so fine with that.” Even if Rowan weren’t in the picture, I think I’d feel relief not being tied to Caleb anymore.
“It’s good you know who you are. And things with Rowan and you aren’t weird? What with the breakup, I mean.”
My insides spike with adrenaline, but I fight to maintain a calm exterior, blinking slowly before bringing my gaze back up to meet his. I shake my head and twist my lips, uttering, “Nah. We’re fine.”
His eyes narrow a hint, his brow lowering the way it does when he’s putting me through the famous Jason Kelly litmus test. I might need to sell this harder.
Scrunching up my nose, I glance in Rowan’s direction, then back to my dad. “I don’t think Rowan likes his brother very much, so in a way, he’s on my side.”
My dad chews at the inside of his mouth, nodding after a torturously long second.
“Uh huh.” His mouth curves the tiniest hint, but I hold my ground, mentally yelling at my facial muscles to stay locked and steady. “Well, that’s good then, I guess. You two seem like you’ve become . . . friends.”
Fuck.
I nod my way through to the end.
“We have.”
If I keep this up the entire time the boys are checking out my dad’s truck, I’m going to end up running back to the bathroom in stomach distress.
Rather than torturing myself, I shift the topic to the one thing I know my father will get lost in for as long as I need him to—music. More pointedly, his music.