Chapter 3
Chapter 3
In all honesty, Tanner didn’t expect to ever hear from Lance again. After all, if someone had predicted that someday he’d end up sitting in his living room talking about buying furniture from the one and only Lance Kingsley, he’d have said they were batshit crazy.
But, surprisingly enough, the very next morning, as Tanner laid stretched out on his couch, thinking about heading into work a little early, a text came in from Lance:
Lance Kingsley
Are you up for a tour of junk room central tonight?
I should be done with work around 4.
It was only 6:00 a.m. What the hell was he doing up so early, scheduling shit with Tanner? Tanner stared at the text, trying to figure out why Lance was doing this. Didn’t he have way better things to do?
Tanner Casey
You really don’t have to.
Lance Kingsley
I really do. Freaks and weirdos, remember?
Besides, it’s the perfect excuse for a Monday night beer.
Tanner had to smile at Lance’s quirky sense of humor. He wasn’t sure what that blossoming feeling in his chest was, but it felt oddly familiar. Like something he’d felt before but had pushed to the very back of his mind during the chaos of the past few years. He wasn’t sure what to think right then, so he shelved it for later. For now, he needed to re-work his plan for the day.
He glanced at the time again. It was 6:04. If he got up and headed in to work now, then he’d be able to leave an hour early, so he’d be done around 4:00 as well.
Tanner Casey
5:00 ok?
Lance Kingsley
I’ll put the grill on.
I can hustle you into taking all my ex’s crap while the steaks cook. Woohoo!
Tanner couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed a good steak. His appetite lately had dwindled down to basic survival mode. But suddenly the idea of a grilled steak made his stomach rumble.
Tanner Casey
You drive a hard bargain. I’ll bring beer.
Lance Kingsley
Deal.
How this deal with Lance had evolved from simply buying an old desk to getting invited to a steak dinner was a real mystery. But even he wasn’t masochistic enough to deny himself a relaxing meal with the Lance Kingsley. After all, the world had kept turning in his absence, and like his shrink always said, That’s a good thing. Means there’s still a world for you to get back to. What better place could there possibly be to start than dinner at Lance’s house?
When Tanner was about four years old, his father set up his own lawn care maintenance company. So, Tanner grew up hauling equipment, mowing lawns, and trimming hedges. He’d never planned on sticking with the family business after high school. But after getting out of the military last month, he’d had a hard time finding a decent job because of his physical limitations. His sister’s husband Mark had generously offered him a sales position with the company. He didn’t want to be a salesman, but the pay was decent, and Mark knew all about his situation, which meant that when Tanner called off work because he was sitting in the corner of his bedroom, head tucked between his knees with ghosts for company, Mark didn’t ask questions. Tanner was eternally grateful for that, even if the work was like watching paint dry.
Fortunately, salesmen for the company didn’t have to go door-to-door anymore. Advertising was done on the Internet, radio, and television. When people called asking for lawn care service contracts, Tanner would schedule his visits with them and didn’t have to worry about being turned down.
On this particular Monday, he was greeted at the door by an African-American woman in her 30s, holding a baby while a toddler clung to her right leg. She looked exhausted.
“Hi, come on in,” she said, stepping back with the toddler clinging tenaciously. Tanner hurriedly entered and closed the door behind him in case the kid decided to make a run for it.
“My husband is in the kitchen.” He followed her through their very nice house.
Most of his customers were financially comfortable. They had to be to afford his company’s level of lawn care maintenance contracts. This couple was clearly doing well. Their house was a recent build, with beautiful wood and tile flooring and cathedral ceilings. Its open floor plan was the type often featured in magazines and ads for designer homes.
“Addy, bananas are for after dinner,” she chastised the whining toddler still clutching her leg. As they entered the kitchen, the toddler abandoned her mother’s pantleg and headed for her father, who was seated at the kitchen table, reviewing documents spread out in front of him.
“Hey, munchkin!” He leaned over and picked her up, then turned to Tanner and froze.
Their mutual recognition was instantaneous.
“Tanner Casey! Holy shit! You’re alive!”
It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten this reaction, but he still wasn’t sure what to say. By default, he fell back on twisted humor.
“Heaven didn’t want me, and the devil thought I was too high maintenance,” he said with a friendly smile. He forced himself to stay relaxed though he knew the slew of forthcoming questions would guarantee an uncomfortable spike in his blood pressure.
“Holy shit—” Jake repeated wonderingly. There was a fair chance it would be a while before lawn care would be discussed as he gestured for Tanner to take a seat.
He fought the urge to turn and run back out the front door. Instead, he took a deep breath and sat down.
Let the torturous storytelling begin, he mused with a sigh.
“It’s so good to see you,” Jake said for the fourth time, as his wife Keila placed cups of coffee in front of them. She hadn’t asked him if he wanted one, but he smiled and thanked her anyway.
“Thanks, Jake, same here. Things seem to be going well for you,” he replied, maintaining a polite facade while battling an ever-increasing desire to just cut and run.
The last time he’d seen him, Jake Bryers had been a military engineer in charge of repairing helicopters. He’d been a wet-behind-the-ears rookie, with a timid smile and glasses too big for his face. Since Tanner had been a military pilot, they’d frequently crossed paths and eventually ended up working on several helos together. Tanner had enjoyed fixing the birds almost as much as he had flying them. They’d spent a lot of time together doing routine aircraft maintenance during his downtime between missions. In fact, Jake was one of the last people he’d seen before his life had gone tits up. Clearly, he was no longer in the Army, since military engineers didn’t make the kind of money it took to buy this kind of house. Nor the designer-label clothes he wore in said house.
“I admit, things turned out pretty well. I got out a few months after—” He stopped there, for which Tanner was grateful. “A buddy of mine from college reached out with an idea for a new aviation company, and I jumped on board. It’s been going really well. We designed and built a new type of propeller. Smaller and more efficient. We got a new contract a couple of months ago with the US Army. Really set things off,” he said with a modest smile, as if he needed to explain his good fortune. Tanner could see signs of the bright young engineer he used to work with. Buried beneath the outer layer of a confident businessman, but there all the same.
“That’s great! You have a beautiful home.”
“Thanks. It’s really all Keila’s design. She’s an interior designer. Saved this place from looking like a giant man cave, which is what it would have been if I’d had to put it together!” Jake said with a quick laugh. Then, he suddenly turned serious. “Last I heard—” he shook his head. “They told us you were gone. Said the chopper went down. That it caught fire.”
Tanner wished people would stop doing that. He didn’t need people reminding him of what had happened. Fuck—he’d been there. Memories of that day were crystal clear even though it had been over three years ago. Most days, he could barely remember what he’d eaten for breakfast, but the sight of his co-pilot’s dead unseeing eyes and the crash of their helo were burned into his brain. The sounds of metal crunching, squealing, grinding, were embedded in his memory forever in those final seconds before it had blown up.
“Right,” was all he managed to say, as he focused on regulating his breathing.
“Must have been a relief to get discharged.” Jake’s leap in time confused him for a minute. “I mean you probably never wanted to see a helo ever again, right?”
Tanner nodded wordlessly, but his situation wasn’t nearly as simple as Jake made it out to be. Yeah, he’d been incredibly relieved when he’d been told that he would be receiving a full medical discharge, guaranteeing that he’d never have to go back to the sandbox. But then again, he’d loved his job. He’d been a rescue pilot. He’d mattered. He’d had a sense of purpose. Nowadays, exactly what was he doing that meant anything to anyone anymore? He was just some gimp with more baggage than United Airlines, selling lawn care contracts to financially comfortable homeowners, while he couldn’t even afford to furnish his apartment, let alone buy a house.
There was no easy answer to Jake’s question, and he couldn’t seem to come up with one that sounded plausible. So, he was beyond grateful when Keila saved his ass by sitting down next to Jake, ready to talk contract terms. Tanner was so fucking relieved he could have kissed her, yet he refrained. He might not be the salesman of the year, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t the best way to close a sale.
Thankfully, it was the only ghost from his past that he encountered that day. All the other client visits and contract negotiations were uneventful. That didn’t mean he’d returned to the office looking chipper. In fact, he looked and felt whipped, his ass dragging from exhaustion and the trauma of running into Jake and digging up old memories that were best forgotten. He should have known better than to let his poker face slip at the office, though. His sister called just as he pulled out of the office’s parking lot to head over to Lance’s house.
Cameron was his only sibling, and his twin. She’d been born three minutes before him and did an exemplary job of playing the role of overbearing, pesky older sister.
“Cammy-whiny,” he said in greeting, using her most hated nickname as a diversionary tactic. She was like a bloodhound. She could sniff out his dark moods from miles away. Even over the phone. Besides, she had spies everywhere. There was no escape. Mark was Tanner’s boss, but he was Cameron’s husband first and foremost. No doubt he’d reported Tanner’s somber mood the very second he’d walked out the door.
“Mark says you looked like someone had pissed in your Cheerios when you came back from your first client meeting today.”
Red-hot anger flared in his gut, and he barely restrained the urge to rip off the steering wheel of his truck. It would have been a disproportionate reaction, though, and Tanner was working on managing his temper. Not an easy feat at the moment, especially in light of his ordeal . Instead, he tried to distract her again.
“Mark pissed in your cereal? What an animal!” he exclaimed in mock horror.
“Jerk! You heard what I said!”
“I did! Absolutely disgusting! Dare I say it’s grounds for divorce even!”
“What happened?” She was fucking relentless.
“You’d have to ask him. Maybe it’s old age. Dementia? You should probably get him checked out,” he recommended as seriously as he could while hitting his turn signal to turn onto Lance’s street. According to his GPS, he’d be arriving in two minutes, so he needed to wrap this up quickly.
“Tanner, come on. What happened with the client? Mark was concerned, and after last time—”
“Nothing.” He cut her off rather sharply, having neither the time nor the patience to deal with her nagging bullshit. He remembered the last time well enough. “Nothing happened. The guy was an old buddy from the military. He thought I was dead. He was kinda surprised to see me, that’s all.” He spoke calmly through gritted teeth. Hopefully, his matter-of-fact response would shut her up.
“Hmm—well, you should come over for dinner. The kids would love to see you. I’ll make lasagna.”
The kids would love to see you , was code for her being worried about him. No one was fooled by this old trick, especially him. He generally humoured her to prevent her racing over to knock down his front door. Cameron had lived over three years thinking her twin was dead, and when he’d finally returned—she’d found him a mere shadow of his former self. He knew she’d seen the video of when they pulled him out of the crashed helo. He’d been crying, covered in blood, and begging for someone, anyone, to kill him. And then, there were the incidents since he’d made it back stateside. How many times had she found him wrecked and lost, completely out of his mind and struggling to remember his fucking name? He doubted that he would ever forgive himself for what he'd put her through. All he could do now was make it up to her every chance he got. But it wasn’t going to be tonight, that’s for damned sure. Lance was waiting for him.
“That sounds great, thanks, but can I take a rain check? I’ve already made dinner plans,” he said, just as he reached Lance’s house. It was a nice place, very traditional and charming, built of red brick, with two levels and a wrap-around porch.
“I’m sorry? You have dinner plans?” She couldn’t have sounded more shocked.
“Yes, I do, Nosey Nellie,” he said mockingly as he parked his truck in Lance’s driveway.
“Who is it? Do I know her? Where’d you meet her? Oh—is it one of your old girlfriends from high school? You had so many—”
“Cameron, I’ve got to go. I’m running late.”
“No! Wait! At least tell me her name!”
Tanner had a brief, errant thought of telling her that his dinner date’s name was Lance, if only to placate her, but then he’d have to deal with the aftermath, a/k/a interrogation, and that wasn’t worth it. So, no, he was going to leave her hanging for now and pay the price later.
“Love you bunches!” he said hurriedly and hung up before she could yell at him.
Looking up from his phone, he saw Lance open the front door of his house and lean against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest. It was—a bit odd, if Tanner was honest. Why hadn’t he waited for Tanner to ring the doorbell? Then again, Lance had a certain— vibe to him that Tanner didn’t quite understand. Like an old southern gentleman who’d been forced to speak the language of jocks for so long that he’d become a bit of both.
With an awkward wave, Tanner smiled and then shoved his phone in his back pocket. Graceless and stiff, he more or less fell out of the driver’s seat and hobbled around to the passenger side to grab the six-pack of his favorite Belgian beer that he hoped Lance would like.
He’d taken just a few steps towards the house before Lance stepped off the porch and walked over to relieve him of the six-pack.
“Hey,” he greeted with a warm smile. “Glad you could make it tonight.”
“You promised steaks on the grill, Kingsley—I’m a little slow, not crazy,” he answered with a shrug.
Lance laughed and led him into the house.
It was a nice place, but the décor was confusing. Some of the furnishings were modern, while others were antique. Heavy, dark wood pieces were mixed with those made of stainless steel and glass. There were lots of boxes, along with numerous half-finished projects, as if Lance had just given up and walked away. They seemed like simple projects too, like shelf installation, hanging up pictures, and patching holes.
“Please pardon the mess,” Lance said, smiling sheepishly, as he set the six-pack down on the counter.
The kitchen was in much better shape than the rest of the house. The center island was massive, with a double sink and bar stools placed alongside the open counterspace. Their steaks were resting on a plate, pre-seasoned and ready to cook.
Tanner scoffed at the insinuation that he had any right to judge anything. “You’ve seen my place, right?”
Lance laughed as he reached for the beer opener.
“I started the grill a few minutes ago, and it should be hot soon. Want a beer and a quick tour in the meantime? I can show you the items that are up for grabs if you like.”
“Sounds perfect.”
Tanner followed Lance throughout the house listening to his plans for updating the place, and why he’d decided to go with a fixer upper. Granted, his extensive list of projects would take years to complete since his day job didn’t allow for a lot of spare time. But it was his first home renovation project, and he was clearly excited to see what he could accomplish.
When they reached the top of the stairs, Lance opened the first bedroom door on the right, revealing the amassed pile of furniture and accessories he wanted to get rid of. The room was overflowing with stuff. All kinds, too, with no discernible style. Lamps, coffee tables, end tables, bookcases, dining room tables and chairs, dressers, armchairs, even some deck chairs—Tanner had hit the jackpot.
“Jesus!” Tanner exclaimed, looking around the room in amazement.
“That might be the only thing not in here,” Lance said, with a laugh. “Julie was a bit of a furniture fiend. I thought she’d take this stuff when she left, but she didn’t want anything to do with any of it. Something about my toxic energy imprinting on the wood, if you can believe it.”
“Yeah—she sounds like a hoot,” Tanner said, rolling his eyes as he stepped forward cautiously. “Her loss,” he added, limping his way around the room. He wiped the top of a small dining room table free of dust to reveal the pattern of entwined flowers carved into the wood. It was a beautiful piece.
“I love this table,” he said admiringly, as his gaze wandered to a pair of oak nightstands that would look great in his bedroom. “And those two nightstands.” As he took his time looking over each piece, he kept finding things he really liked, but wondered how he could possibly afford them all. Maybe some kind of payment plan could be worked out.
“See anything you might like?” Lance asked after a minute.
“Yeah. It’s great. Exactly what I was looking for,” he said, with a nod and a smile. “I don’t know how much I can buy from you right now, though. Maybe I could start with these three pieces, depending on the price.” It was difficult to admit he had limited funds, but the past three years had been rough financially. The big fat government check promised to him last month hadn’t arrived yet.
“Nah, pick whatever you want. It’s all free. Like I told you on Sunday, I just want to clear out the room and feel as if the stuff is actually serving a purpose and not just gathering dust.”
Tanner spun to face Lance, shaking his head, feeling himself flush with embarrassment.
“No! I couldn’t accept all this. It’s way too much.”
Lance opened his mouth to reply, but Tanner didn’t give him a chance.
“Seriously. I can’t take all this for free. Maybe—” he bit his bottom lip, thinking hard as he looked over the pile of furniture again. “Maybe I could work it off?”
Lance eyed him skeptically at first.
“I didn’t mean sexually—just so we’re clear,” he added, in a quick bid for humour.
Lance chuckled and shook his head. “Nice to know you’re not one of the freaks and weirdos.”
It had the intended effect, though, because Lance seemed to consider his offer. Tanner supposed offering to work it off when he had only one good arm and one good leg wasn’t really all that convincing. But it must have worked because Lance finally nodded in agreement.
“How about we hammer out the details over dinner. I’m sure the grill is ready by now and I’m starving.”
“Great plan!” he agreed with an enthusiastic nod.
Lance led the way back downstairs.
It was a gorgeous evening. The sun was still up, but the oak trees around Lance’s back deck provided plenty of shade. He felt pretty useless watching Lance work the grill, but he’d been told quite firmly that since he was a guest his job was to relax in a lawn chair with a beer while the steaks were cooking. He’d been listening with half an ear while Lance talked about the neighbourhood when a thought occurred to him.
“Hey, Lance, can I ask you something?”
“Sure! Shoot!” Lance directed with a smile as he shut the top of the grill and turned to face him.
“Why didn’t you play after college?”
Lance grinned ruefully and nodded. “That’s right, you’re a Badgers fan. Truth? I was never a diehard player. I played because I was good, and it paid my way through college, but—that was it.”
“No fucking way! I’m not buying it,” Tanner protested.
“God’s honest truth!” Lance held up his right hand as if taking an oath.
“Dude. Seriously? I’ve seen you in plenty of games. You definitely looked like you were enjoying it.”
Lance tipped his head from side to side.
“You can’t not enjoy it while you’re playing. But I didn’t miss it during those times I was off the field, and I didn’t crave it like the real diehards do. It was just fun. Even felt like a god sometimes. All those people chanting your name—” he broke off while gazing off into the distance like he was reliving his glory days.
“So, what do you do now?” Tanner asked curiously. Lance groaned, as if dreading having to answer that question. It only made Tanner even more curious.
“I’m an accountant.”
Tanner couldn’t contain his boisterous laughter. That was definitely the very last job he’d envisioned for his favorite ex-quarterback.
“Come on now!” Lance exclaimed, pretending to be deeply offended. “It’s a cool job!”
More laughter and a few snorts later, Tanner had to wipe tears from his eyes.
“Accountant? You turned down offers from all those NFL scouts to become an accountant? Holy shit!”
Lance smiled despite himself as he observed Tanner’s reaction. He shook his head and checked on the steaks. “Everybody’s a critic,” he grumbled.
“I’m sorry,” Tanner said insincerely, still wearing a huge smile. “If that’s what you wanted to do with your life, I shouldn’t be laughing at you. It’s just—out of all the options you must have had after college—accountant seems awfully tame. ”
Lance nodded in agreement and sighed. “I know it sounds crazy, but—I didn’t want that life. Getting chased down by 300-pound offensive linemen is fun when you’re 18 and feel immortal—not so much at 28. Besides, I like numbers. I’m good with numbers. It pays well, and—it’s just a job, really. It’s a means to an end. Keeps the lights on and food on the table, among other things.”
Tanner hummed thoughtfully and had to admit Lance had a point. Jobs could be just that. They didn’t have to be life defining.
“You know what, that’s actually pretty reasonable and insightful. I apologize for taking the piss.”
Lance grinned as he picked up the steak tongs.
“No need. I’d have laughed, too, if I’d been in your shoes.”
He opened the top of the grill and flipped over the steaks. Turning back to Tanner, he looked at him questioningly.
“Turnabout’s fair play. What about you? You said you were back from deployment—Army?”
Tanner hesitated, tugging at the edge of the label on his beer bottle. Feeling uneasy about re-visiting his past so soon after running into his old Army buddy that morning, he struggled to react normally to the question.
“I was a helicopter pilot in the US Army,” he said, managing to hold his voice steady.
“No shit!” Lance replied, looking shocked. “Was?” he added cautiously.
Tanner gave a slight nod. “Now discharged.”
“So your arm—?” Lance pushed for more. People always did. It was hard not to, and he couldn’t fault their natural curiosity. Except the big problem with his story was that it had a dark, ugly ending that they didn’t want to hear. And he didn’t really want to share it with anybody in the first place. Tanner looked at the ground and sighed deeply.
“You really don’t have to—” Lance began, but Tanner quickly cut him off.
“I can’t tell you everything—most of it is still classified. But while my guys and I were flying back from a rescue mission our helicopter was shot down. I was taken prisoner and—uh—” he cleared his throat, doing his best to even out his breathing. “I was a prisoner for three years until I managed to escape and steal an old-as-fuck helicopter to fly to the nearest US military base.” He couldn’t meet Lance’s gaze just yet, so he kept his eyes on the ground as he continued. “Funnily enough, I was still in one piece when I escaped, but then the US ground defense system shot my stolen helicopter right out of the sky and— that crash nearly killed me.” He smiled in grim amusement at this bit of irony. It had been pure hell, but he’d survived. That was the main thing.
Tanner finally raised his gaze to find Lance looking intently at him with gentle understanding. Tanner didn’t know how he felt about that. It was a reaction he wasn’t accustomed to getting, since most looked at him with obvious pity.
“Are you going to go back to flying?” Lance asked. Tanner struggled to maintain emotional balance. He felt compelled to confess things to Lance, for some reason. Even though they’d just met the day before.
“No,” he shook his head. “I was declared unfit for active duty. My only recourse would be to look for a job in the private sector in aviation but—” he shivered at the thought of taking to the skies again. Maybe one day, but not anytime soon. “My piloting days, I fear, are over. I was also a fairly decent aircraft mechanic, so maybe—” he shook his head again, and took a deep breath. It got overwhelming at times, trying to stay in the present and plan for a new future while the ghosts of his past hovered over him. “I don’t know anything for sure yet.”
Lance hummed thoughtfully, lifting the lid on the grill and then moving the steaks to a serving platter. As far as reactions went, Lance’s was considerably more reserved and less intrusive than most, as if he’d surmised that Tanner wasn’t in the mood for any more prodding or poking around in the past.
“Should we eat out here on the deck?”
“That sounds good to me,” Tanner replied, feeling much lighter than before. He wasn’t sure what to chalk his relief up to. Maybe it was the beer or the unexpected ease with which he’d just discussed the darkest part of his life. He chuckled to himself at that unfathomable thought. Tanner was probably losing his damned mind. A sentiment further supported by what he thought was a wink from Lance as he turned to set the steaks on the table.
Jeez. At this rate, he’d be ripe for the looney bin by midsummer.
*****
It took a great deal of inner fortitude for Lance to act normally after learning about Tanner’s past and his uncertain future. The older brother in him—the caretaker of his siblings for a long time—wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around Tanner and shield him from the harshness of the world. He knew it wouldn’t be welcomed. In his experience, adult males generally didn’t take kindly to being tackled to the ground and hugged fiercely out of the blue, but he still wanted to. God, did he ever want to! He did his best to conceal those thoughts and find something easy and fun to discuss, since Tanner looked like he needed to relax and let his guard down more than anything else.
“I talk a big game in the kitchen, but I gotta tell ya, I’m definitely not all that when it comes to cooking. Maybe send up a quick prayer that these T-bones will be edible!” Lance declared with a laugh while loading their plates and then gesturing for Tanner to dig in.
“Listen, one-armed cooking has made me the king of the microwave. This will be better for sure,” he assured him with a brilliant smile. Lance was amazed at the contrast between how happy and relaxed Tanner looked in this moment and how serious and uncomfortable he’d been on Sunday afternoon. Lance wasn’t much of a cook, but if he could make Tanner joke around and smile so openly more often, then he’d be planning a lot more of these kinds of dinners.
“Cheers to that, then!” Lance lifted his beer in a toast. “And to new friends!” he added, sounding corny as hell, but Tanner didn’t seem to mind as he laughed and clinked his bottle against Lance’s.
Lance cut into his steak and discovered that he’d done a fairly decent job after all. A perfect medium rare. He glanced at Tanner, hoping to see that he was pleased with his steak as well. Instead, Tanner looked frustrated as he struggled to cut his steak with one hand. Lance was horrified at his failure to think of this issue before serving him.
“Jeez! I’m such an idiot,” Lance said, causing Tanner to look up in confusion. “Let me cut that for you. It’ll grow cold before you manage to get a single bite.”
“Can’t argue with that logic,” Tanner chuckled, pushing his plate towards Lance. “But just so we’re clear, if you make a smiley face with my steak, I’ll kick your ass!” he warned, eyes narrowed. With a serene smile, Lance proceeded to do exactly that.
When Tanner retrieved his plate, he had to laugh at how the pieces of steak had been arranged to form a smiley face with the big bone used as a hat.
“Asshole,” he mumbled under his breath. Lance looked supremely satisfied as he sipped his beer.
“So, about that dining room table and two nightstands,” Tanner said, as he began eating.
Lance mentally sifted through a few possible arguments he could make to eliminate the money issue. But before he could say anything, Tanner launched into his plans to finish all of Lance’s half-assed work. “I know I don’t look like I can do much on my own, but I’m actually pretty handy to have around for minor repairs. I should be cleared by my doctor next week to use my left arm again for simple tasks. I could definitely help with some of your projects, like putting up pictures and doing some painting.”
On the one hand, Lance wanted to say yes, since these projects took a lot more time to complete than he’d originally planned. On the other hand, he’d really wanted to learn how to do everything by himself so that maybe one day he could teach his kids, which was something his dad had never done for him.
“Okay, but under one condition,” he said resolutely, pointing his knife at Tanner, who was smirking at him, confident he’d win this round. “Teach me how to do stuff while we’re finishing the projects. I want to learn how to fix up a house. My dad was never around to teach me things like that, and I hate YouTube tutorials.”
Tanner laughed and nodded in agreement. “Sure, I can do that. My old man taught me a lot of things about home maintenance. He had the patience of a saint.”
“He passed away?”
Tanner gave a slow nod. “Yeah, from a heart attack, while I was gone.”
“Shit,” Lance said in a knee jerk reaction. “I’m very sorry for your loss. Must have hit hard when you got back. You were probably hoping to spend time with him and catch up on everything you’d missed.”
“Thanks,” Tanner said, tugging at the label on his bottle again. “And yeah—it—it messed me up for sure. I think that was the hardest part about coming home. I knew there would be stuff that happened over those three years, even little things like—fucking Walmart moving into the space where K-Mart used to be. Or seeing how my niece Clara isn’t in diapers anymore, and Lucy wasn’t even born when I left. And then finding out about my dad—” he swallowed hard. “I don’t really know how to explain it, but I was so obsessed with making it back, for so fucking long, that I never really stopped to think that lots of things wouldn’t be exactly the same when I got back. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but—” He ducked his head self-consciously.
“No, you make a good point. I see what you mean,” Lance said reassuringly. “I suppose when you focus primarily on just trying to survive, everything else in everyday life is an afterthought.”
Tanner looked at him in amazement.
“Yeah—” he said, nodding slowly. “Exactly.”
Lance recalled the downtrodden guy he’d met just yesterday. He’d been so grey, so defeated. The guy sitting across from him now was entirely different. Bright hazel eyes filled with lively interest and good humor, looking at him as if he hung the moon. With his hair swept back, like he’d attempted to tame its unruliness, he projected maturity and self-confidence today. His tattoos were still visible around the collar of his shirt, snaking up the side of his neck, but he didn’t look quite so—grunge. The smile certainly helped to lighten his appearance.
Lance wasn’t sure how long they stared at each other, both lost in thought, but Tanner finally broke the spell by picking up his fork to tackle the remainder of his dinner. Lance mentally patted himself on the back for having come up with the idea of dinner and a tour, as this was just the ticket to help Tanner and get his house whipped into shape. Win-win, baby!
“So, Mr. Fix-it, it’s a deal then. You can have whatever furniture you want from Julie’s Junk Room and in exchange we begin laying the groundwork for a new TV series called This Half-Done House.”
Tanner snorted at Lance. Looking up from his plate, hazel eyes alight with mischief, he declared, “Lights, camera, action!” with an added jazz hand for effect. “This dinner is excellent, by the way. It deserves five stars for sure,” Tanner said, as he finished his salad.
“Glad you enjoyed it because I intend to force you to eat loads more of my Michelin restaurant cuisine. I definitely need you to bulk up a bit if you’re gonna fix my house.”
Tanner rolled his eyes but finished every bite on his plate and the sight pleased Lance far more than he cared to admit.
Feeding Tanner made him feel fulfilled in a way he’d missed more than he’d realized until now. Taking care of others had been such a big part of his upbringing that it was now coded into his DNA. He felt it again with Tanner. He wanted to make him smile. Wanted to feed him. Just like when he used to watch Parker demolish the breakfasts he always made for him before school, or when he sat in the stands and saw him score his first ever touchdown. That sense of satisfaction was one and the same.
It was exactly the same, he told himself. Except now there was something distinctly new to add to how he felt that had emerged sometime in the past two days. A kind of steady hum or buzz in his gut that was gaining strength with every hour he spent with Tanner.
Not a bad thing—just—new.