Chapter Fourteen
Fourteen
Kyle didn’t get over to Wyatt’s shop again until a week after Thanksgiving. He’d spent the last several afternoons at his old garage. He went in Sunday, when it was closed, to replace the alternator on the Bronco, as well as clean a few engine parts, change the oil, top off fluids, and swap out the old shitty wipers for the new ones Casey had bought but thrown on the floor in the back seat. He also scrounged up an ice scraper and put it in the truck. She lived in an area where it snowed half the year, yet somehow she didn’t have one in there. He worked on the Bronco despite her wishes. Mateo was slammed, and there was no reason to add more to his plate because she was being stubborn.
He’d called Mateo Sunday night to tell him it was done and to keep it quiet that he’d been involved. When he mentioned it felt good to work in the garage again, Mateo asked him if it felt so good he’d like to come in the next day and replace a clutch on an old Toyota. Mateo was joking, changing out a clutch was a pain in the ass. But Kyle surprised them both by saying yes, and he’d gone in to help Tuesday and Wednesday as well. It was invigorating to work on vehicles after a month off, just be in a garage again, around the mechanical white noise of drills and air compressors; the guys slinging shop jargon and banter; the rich mix of motor oil and rubber baked into the building. The sounds and smells he’d been around in one garage or another since he was seventeen.
In truth, Kyle also felt the need to put some distance between himself and Wyatt. Casey couldn’t have made her feelings any clearer at this point. He’d been relieved to hear she wasn’t angry with him, but only fleetingly. If she wasn’t angry, there was really nothing to work through, no apology he could offer to mend fences. I just can’t be around you. She wanted him gone. What had been the biggest shock to Kyle that night was his reaction to her words. Not until then did he realize some sliver of himself had gone rogue and started thinking about staying in Potsdam for a while. The idea had been buried deep in his subconscious, like he was afraid to mention it to himself just yet, but it must have been there. When Casey said that, he felt the loss of hopes he didn’t even know he had—finishing out the season with the team, spending more time with Dad, filling in when Mateo needed help. Basically reclaiming some of his life here.
But there was no way to be in Potsdam and not be around Casey, and she still felt like she was better off without him there. So he’d stick to the plan and leave at the end of December. Go back to Spokane, to George’s Automotive, to his old man hockey league and his dingy apartment.
When he walked into Wyatt’s shop Thursday, Star rose from her mat and met him at the door, nudged his hand, and let him scratch behind her ears.
Wyatt was using his braces and canes, standing at the table saw. He looked at Kyle and pulled down his goggles. “You’re back. I thought maybe you quit on me.” The wounded look on his face belied the flippant tone, and for an instant Wyatt was that seven-years-younger kid that used to follow Kyle around and thought he could do no wrong.
Both Wyatt and Star were finally warming up, letting him back in. Too bad he’d be gone again in a few weeks. “Sorry,” Kyle said. “Mateo needed some help at the garage.”
Wyatt tried for a carefree shrug that didn’t quite get there.
“Can I get back to work on the harps?”
“That’d be good,” Wyatt said, pulling his goggles up. “They’re not going to string themselves.”
Kyle flipped his hat around, sat down at the worktable, and got to it. Stringing the door harps was intricate work that involved threading fine wire around small pegs and fastening it with needle-nose pliers. He’d been clumsy at it initially, but he was getting more efficient.
After Wyatt finished at the saw he sat in his chair and rolled it over to the table across from Kyle, set about attaching hinges on a custom cabinet door.
Kyle reached into his back pocket for an envelope and tossed it on the table between them. “Would you give that to Casey? It’s some money to chip in for all that food on Thanksgiving. And my share of the cell phone bill.”
“Cell phone bill?”
“Yeah.” Kyle stretched and flexed his fingers. “There’s two months’ worth in there.”
“Why are you paying Casey for your cell phone bill?”
“I’m still on the family plan. You didn’t know that?”
“No,” Wyatt said. “But she pays the bill. And I blocked your number the day you left.”
“Nice. Well, she kept me on the plan, said it saves us money. She covers it, and I send my share each month.”
“Okay, I’ll make sure she gets it.”
“So tell me about your trip to Boston,” Kyle said, picking up the pliers again.
Wyatt was more than happy to do that. While they worked on their separate tasks, he described the new store. It was in a renovated warehouse and had an impressive showroom, which was helping business boom. It had even been written up in a couple magazines. “The location is key,” he said. “It’s in SoWa.”
“SoWa?”
“South of Washington, in the South End. It’s where the whole art scene is, lots of studios and galleries. The architecture is kind of industrial-chic, and there are all these ethnic restaurants and gastropubs…”
Kyle didn’t know what the hell a gastropub was but decided not to ask. He was having too much fun listening to Wyatt, who wasn’t often enthused enough about something to use his hands while he talked.
“They have a big open market on Sundays, with food trucks of all kinds. And there are these beautiful brick buildings with loft-style apartments.” He went back to the hinge he was screwing onto the door. “Julia lives in one of them.”
Wyatt had mentioned Julia in passing a few times. He never offered much info about her, and Kyle knew better than to poke around. Usually nothing would shut Wyatt down faster. But something told Kyle he’d brought her up today for a reason. “Oh yeah?” Kyle asked, not looking up from his work. “She have a nice place?”
“Yeah. It’s small, but really cool.”
Even though Wyatt was ducking his head, Kyle could see the blush. He stopped stringing the harp. “Wyatt, did you stay with her?”
Wyatt slowly raised his eyes. Then he smiled wide.
“No shit?” Kyle asked, feeling a smile stretch across his own face. “That’s great.”
“Yeah. It was great.”
Kyle studied him, and what he saw made him inexplicably happy. In the past none of Wyatt’s girlfriends had lasted long, and none of them had ever made him smile the way he was right then. “You really like this woman.”
He nodded, but the smile started to fade. Probably because she lived more than three hundred miles away.
“Listen, have you ever thought about spending real time in Boston?” Kyle asked. “You like the store and the team so much, you could work with them, have more help. I’m surprised Mike hasn’t already asked you to do it.”
“He has,” Wyatt said, a note of pride in his voice. “He’s been asking me to move there for at least a year. He said I could run the workshop, train apprentices, make decisions about inventory…”
Kyle flipped his hands up. “What the hell are you still doing here?”
Wyatt didn’t respond, but there was a flicker of something in his eye before he dropped his gaze. Like the answer to that question was right there, but he was stopping himself from saying it.
“What are you waiting for?” Kyle asked.
“Nothing. It’s just, you know, it would mean moving.”
“So?”
He tossed a shoulder, vaguely gestured toward his chair. “I don’t think I’m up for that.”
That didn’t make sense to Kyle. He’d never known Wyatt to let his chair get in the way of what he wanted to do. “Since when are you afraid of leaving Potsdam?”
“I’m not afraid of leaving Potsdam.”
Kyle thumbed through the possible reasons Wyatt could have for passing up such an opportunity. He didn’t have much to lose. If it went south, Potsdam and his workshop would still be here. So would his sister… That’s when it clicked. “It’s Casey, isn’t it,” he said. “You don’t want to leave her.”
“Just drop it.”
“She’s a grown woman, Wyatt. She’ll be okay if you go.”
Wyatt pinned him with a sharp look. “How the fuck would you know?”
Kyle recoiled in his seat at that blatant referral to his own departure, not sure how to respond. This was the closest they’d come to talking about it. Maybe this was his chance to try to explain why he left the way he did, but it felt like there was a more pressing issue here. Wyatt’s remark implied something, or at the least begged a question. “Why would you be afraid to leave Casey?”
“I’m done talking about this.”
But Kyle wasn’t done thinking about it. Fragments of other conversations were coming at him, snippets that had lodged themselves in his brain for some reason: one of his first days back in town when it felt like Coach was holding something back about Casey; Wyatt noting how little she ate on Thanksgiving; Mateo’s comment when he called Kyle to check on her— She’s probably fine, but I’d feel a lot better if someone made sure she was okay. Even Casey that night, while she marched along the road— I’m so tired of people worrying about me. But she had always been the person everyone else relied on. Even after Charlie died, she took control, made the decisions. The rest of them had followed her lead—certainly Kyle had. Even in her bottomless grief, she’d known what to do. She’d always been so strong. Why would everyone be worried about her now?
Wyatt was bent over the door, securing a mounting plate.
“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Kyle asked him.
“Nope.” But his fingers slipped. The screwdriver trailed along the hardwood and produced a long, thin scratch. “Shit,” he said.
A chill shuddered through Kyle as he watched Wyatt examine a jittery error he would never normally make. He reached over and grabbed one of Wyatt’s wrists. “You’re keeping something from me.”
Star had been lying on her mat, but she sat straight up then, at attention.
“Let go, Kyle.” Wyatt’s voice was firm, but there was some kind of inner conflict playing out across his features.
So Kyle decided to appeal to him. “Please, Wyatt.” He felt the strongest need to know whatever it was he was missing, though he dreaded it at the same time. A small detached part of himself realized he was scared, but he wasn’t sure why. The worst had already happened to him, almost four years ago when he lost his son. He couldn’t remember feeling one moment of true fear since then, even when he’d sought it out by starting physical fights. He’d have thought that emotion died along with Charlie.
Star whined softly and shifted her stance.
Wyatt relaxed his arm under Kyle’s grip. Then he peeled Kyle’s fingers away, and once his arm was free, he met his eye. “I got nothing to say.” Not There is nothing to say or I’m not keeping anything from you . Wyatt wasn’t denying there was something to say, he just wasn’t going to say it.
Kyle felt anger rise in his chest, felt his breathing pick up, and for an instant, he saw himself lunging across the table, grabbing Wyatt, demanding the truth. And he might have done it if he thought it would work. But Wyatt had never been afraid of a fight. He was not going to tell Kyle the truth. Someone else might though.
So he stood and left the shop without saying another word.
Less than a minute later he walked into his own house. “Dad?”
“In here,” he called from the living room.
Kyle headed that way and found him taking slow steps across the rug, without his walker.
Dad turned to him, smile on his face, hands up in ta-da fashion.
“That’s good,” Kyle said. Getting around without a walker was Dad’s biggest goal right now. “Listen, there’s something I need to ask you.” But he wasn’t sure what to ask. He just knew Wyatt was hiding something from him, something about Casey. He had puzzle pieces but no clue how to put them together.
A buzzing sound drew their attention to the coffee table, where his dad’s cell phone was sitting. He reached for it, checked the screen. “Text from Wyatt.”
“Dad, wait…”
But he was already reading the text.
Damn it. Was Wyatt warning him? Kyle needed to ask a direct question right now. “Dad, did something happen to Casey while I was gone?”
Dad’s eyes darted to his, his expression frozen in panic. “Please, Kyle… Don’t ask me that.”
“I’m asking.”
“H-hold on now…”
“I need to know, Dad.”
“What—what is this about?”
Kyle angled his head. “You know what it’s about.”
“I think… we should talk about this later.”
“I want to talk about it now.”
Dad shook his head.
“Come on, Dad. If I’m such a good son and a good man, can’t I be trusted with the truth?”
“It’s not… that simple. I should”—he reached for his walker—“get ready. For PT.” He started for his room.
“I guess what you said at the table that night was bullshit,” Kyle said, raising his voice. He had another urge to force it, yank his dad’s walker away from him and demand answers. Make him feel as powerless as Kyle felt in that moment. But, like Wyatt, Dad was not going to be intimidated into saying anything.
So Kyle settled for yelling one more thing before he stormed out of the house. “You can find another way to PT today.”