Chapter Five #3
How could someone with that kind of prestigious education and dream career path give it all up to come back to his shitty little hometown in Michigan?
There’s no chance in hell he didn’t cut it in the big city, especially given how long he was out there.
It only makes me that much more curious about what could have happened.
Knowing how reluctant he’s been to talk about it, I’ll probably never get an answer.
I just have to keep those questions to myself.
I can’t seem to help myself, though. “Why the fuck are you working at a machine shop?”
Luke shrugs. “It pays well.”
I shoot him a look, and he must be able to tell I’m unconvinced because he clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes.
“I grew up doing it,” he explains. “My dad—my real dad—used to do this stuff in our garage when I was a kid. He worked full time at the shop, but also did it as a side gig for extra money. He always let me help him, so I’ve done it since I was seven or eight. Plus, it’s easy work.”
“I guess.”
“Well, why do you work at a machine shop?” Luke insists.
“I…” I start, but then freeze, suddenly panicking.
How am I supposed to say that I really don’t have a good reason to be there, except that it gets me out of the house, and I get to work with my friends?
It’s not like being a machinist was a lifelong dream job of mine or anything.
I just sort of fell into it with the guys, and then I never got out of it simply because I couldn’t think of anything better to do with my time.
Besides, I can’t get into how little I care about the pay without opening the door to questions I am wholly unprepared to answer.
Like how I’m actually a multi-millionaire who never needs to work another day in my life if I don’t want to.
Winning the lottery at twenty-two wasn’t part of the plan, but once it happened, I quickly realized that I had no ambitions or direction I wanted to pursue.
Even with the financial security it provided, I couldn’t bring myself to quit my job when the alternative was sitting at home all day.
For as much as I love reading, it only took a month or two of doing nothing but that before I was bored out of my fucking mind.
It still feels strange that I’ve never honestly thought of quitting, even after all this time.
I rub my forehead anxiously and sigh. “I guess I just don’t know what else I want to do,” I settle on. It’s a truth—a safer one.
“Did you go to school for anything?” Luke frowns.
I shake my head. “I didn’t finish college.”
“Why not?”
I’m quiet as unpleasant memories flood through my mind. I swallow hard and clear my throat as it suddenly gets tight. “Um. Well, my dad died my freshman year. It was…hard. And unexpected.”
“Oh,” Luke says softly. “I’m sorry.”
“I never felt up to going back, you know?”
“No, yeah. I get it.” There’s no judgment in it. Just pure understanding. I meet his eye briefly, and he gives me a small smile, and suddenly, my throat closes again.
The car goes silent, save for the radio playing softly in the background. It runs through an ad for deals at Meijer before the DJ introduces the next song, some new artist I’ve never heard of. We don’t say anything else for the rest of the way, but it’s not uncomfortable.
As I eventually pull into Luke’s driveway, he sighs very dramatically, and I see the old lifted diesel truck parked by the garage that caught his attention.
There are a shit ton of bumper stickers adorning the back window and tailgate, ranging from Second Amendment advocacy to insulting political commentary and rhetoric.
There are no less than three ‘Trump 2020’ decals and one very pointed sanctity of marriage sticker right above the license plate.
It's not uncommon around these parts to see cars and houses fixed up to express their owners’ political opinions to everyone passing by. But the level of aggressiveness on this truck is disturbing. I grimace at the sight of it.
“Is that your stepdad’s truck?” I scoff.
“Yup,” Luke smacks.
“Dear lord.”
“Right?” He laughs. “Fucking tool.”
“I’m sorry you had to ride in that.”
“Just imagine what it’s like living with him.”
I shudder slightly, giving Luke a sympathetic look. He nods his agreement, then groans, dropping his head against the headrest.
“Would you still be willing to pick me up for work tomorrow?” he asks sheepishly, his jaw clenching like he’s uncomfortable with the question. “I haven’t figured out a new car situation yet, and after today, I can’t rely on that prick taking me anywhere.”
“Yeah, of course,” I answer instantly. “No problem.”
“I’ll give you gas money.”
“Fuck that,” I scoff. “Don’t worry about it. Really.”
“Thank you.” Luke sighs, and I can see his relief by the way he lets his shoulders drop.
We set the time I’ll be back to pick him up in the morning, and then he gets out of the truck and grudgingly walks up to his house.
I can see the tension in his body from here as he makes his way up to the door, undoubtedly squaring up for what will likely be an unavoidable confrontation with his bigoted stepdad, and I feel sorry for him.
Before he goes inside, he turns and looks back at me, chuckling to see that I haven’t even started leaving yet.
He gives me an overdramatic bow of gratitude, and his face breaks into a wide grin.
I flip him off through the windshield as I put the truck in reverse, and he bursts out laughing as he disappears into the house.