Chapter 8
“I’m too old for this shit,” I grumbled to Malibu as I dropped the torque wrench to the ground and slid out from under the car.
As I rose to my feet, my back twinged. I pushed the creeper to the far corner of the garage and scratched my stubble, which I should probably call a beard if I let it grow any longer.
Malibu yipped from her bed against the opposite wall.
I understood why she was unimpressed by the situation—having to park my truck in the driveway because the garage was occupied by a project I’d been working on for a decade must have been inconvenient.
It was especially true since her dog bed had to be moved to account for the car parts scattered everywhere.
If I was being honest, I knew why the car had been in my garage for over a decade.
“I know, princess. Mark and Miller would say I’ve been holding onto things for too long. This Mustang might as well be scrap metal for all the good it’s doing just sitting here.”
She barked, wagged her tail, and padded to my toolbox, demanding pets. I obliged, dropping to my knees and scratching under her jaw.
“One guy at the office offered me a pretty sweet deal for her.”
I shook my head and turned toward the door leading to the mudroom, wondering why I was still bothering to fix the old car. I’d never get behind the wheel—not after what I did.
Even though this wasn’t the car I crashed that day, it was the same make and model—a constant reminder of my failure.
Some part of my subconscious tried to push through thoughts of the drunk driver and black ice, but I refused to let myself cop out of the blame.
I’d agreed to fly to Costa Rica.
I was driving the car.
I took my eyes off the road.
Nothing else mattered except those cold, hard facts.
If my mood dropped any lower into this pit of self-recrimination I could add one more reason.
I’d agreed to the honeymoon destination and insisted on driving a car that needed a tune-up.
Lucky for me, the furry mood elevator at my feet kept me from sinking even lower. Well, my pup and the constant presence of Summer in my thoughts.
She didn’t belong there. No woman did. But the longer I mulled over her situation, the more I wanted to dropkick that guy in the balls. What gave him the right to speak to any woman—let alone his ex-wife—like that?
Admittedly, I shouldn’t have listened to them argue as long as I had, but like a reality television drama, I couldn’t look away.
The longer he demanded that she open the door, the more that hot, aggressive ball of tension grew in my chest, threatening to burst unless I stepped in and announced my presence.
If Summer couldn’t be thankful I spoke up, she should at least be grateful that it got her douche of an ex to back the hell off.
Not that she wasn’t doing a hell of a job holding her own. Watching her control the narrative, temper her emotions, and refuse to budge to his demands, left me feeling—something.
Something better left unsaid and buried deep. It was bad enough I’d be forced to tolerate her presence while we finished the repairs. The last thing I needed was for her face to creep into my subconscious when I wasn’t at her place.
I kicked my boots off and turned to look at the unfinished pile of metal.
A midnight blue front bumper was waiting for me down at my buddy’s shop, but I didn’t feel like listening to him bitch and moan about God knows what—I got enough of that from my brothers.
Maybe Mom had something I could busy myself with for the afternoon instead.
Nope. I’d been using her as a crutch for too long.
The oppressive silence of the empty house weighed me down like a wet blanket, so I snatched my old ball cap from the mudroom, gripping the brim before shoving it on my head. I whistled for Malibu, who trotted up to me, tail wagging, before grabbing my truck keys and striding out of the garage.
I rolled down the front windows and breathed in the air, chuckling as my pup’s tongue lolled and speckles of drool fell from her mouth onto the passenger seat protector.
When we stopped at a red light, she yipped once before scrambling to the back seat and pressing her nose to the closed window.
The light changed to green, and I sped up, rolling down the back window while she barked.
As we drove to the shop, she protected the truck from three palm trees, two squirrels, and one lady on a hot pink bicycle.
“Mav? I thought I saw your scowling mug,” Rob said, grabbing a rag from on top of a large toolbox and wiping his hands before clasping my shoulder.
Malibu pushed herself between us, reminding Rob that, being a lady, she should have been greeted first. He laughed, this big, booming sound that radiated from his chest and bounced against the walls in his garage, before bending his knees and scratching under her chin.
Satisfied with the pets, she settled by my side, sitting on her haunches and tilting her head to watch Rob.
“That’s just my face,” I said, shaking my head and crossing my arms. “I’m here to get the front bumper for the Mustang.”
“No can do, buddy.”
Rob tossed the rag back on the toolbox and walked past me toward his office.
I had no choice but to follow, hesitating before I opened my mouth to say something I’d regret.
He sat behind his cluttered metal desk, shoving a handful of invoices aside and resting his elbows on the cleared space.
More papers littered the threadbare couch on the opposite wall, and I took a minute to straighten and slide them to one side before sitting.
“I find it hard to believe someone needed the exact part and color I asked you to order for me a month ago.” I pressed my lips together, knowing I sounded like an asshole, but refusing to budge until he explained why this was a wasted trip.
It wasn’t like my Saturdays were filled with endless excursions, but I’d put in a few extra hours last night at the office so I could carve this time out for myself.
“You know as well as I do that no one needed that part,” I said, shaking my head.
“Why don’t you just let me pay you for it and I’ll be on my way? ”
“Maybe because I’m tired of indulging you with this fucked-up project that’s been sitting in your garage for a decade.”
I sighed as a sinking feeling took root in my belly and radiated down my arms. My temples throbbed, and I unclenched my jaw, arching a brow as Malibu rested her chin on my thigh.
I knew he was right—knew it was tortuous for me to keep repairing the same make and model of the vehicle that took her life—but as long as it stayed in my garage, it felt like a part of her was still with me.
“Isn’t it past time you sold the car? Or hell, I could strip her for parts, and you’d make twice as much,” Rob said, scratching his jaw and grabbing a red rubber ball from his desk.
He tossed it between his hands and I followed the movement, anxious to get out of there.
“You seemed off during the poker game last week.”
“I’m fine,” I said, gently pushing Malibu’s head away and standing.
My back cracked, and I groaned, remembering that I was too damn old to fall asleep in my recliner.
“Forget the part. I gotta go, Rob. We’ll catch up next week when you get back from the Great Lakes.
Enjoy the fishing trip.” I raised my hand and gave him a two-fingered wave before shoving them in my front pocket to retrieve my keys.
“Wait a second,” he said, moving to stop me from walking out of the office.
I appreciated his concern—mostly—but I refused to spend the afternoon discussing my feelings just because I couldn’t get Summer out of my fucking head at our weekly game.
Not that I was ever a big conversationalist, but if Rob noticed something, I definitely needed some self-reflection time to get my head out of my ass.
“I proposed to Megan.”
I stopped in the doorway, slowly pivoting to face him as I processed his words.
“I proposed, and she said yes. Almost two weeks ago.”
“Two weeks?” I scratched my stubble and shook my head, leaning against the open door.
“Yeah. Two weeks tomorrow.” Rob sunk back into his fading leather chair and smiled. His mood was infectious, and I returned the gesture, happy for him.
“Then what’s with the third degree when congratulations should be in order? Want to cut out early and get a beer? My treat.”
I leaned across his desk and held out my hand, grasping his and squeezing. He exhaled and chuckled before leaning back and running one hand through his closely cropped dark hair.
“Yeah, I’d like that. Just give me half an hour and we can go to the pub. It’s Trivia night. Think you might win for once?” Rob clapped his hands, rubbing them together like some cartoon villain, and I laughed, knowing he far surpassed me with random trivia factoids.
“Only if the categories are history or literature,” I said, glancing at Malibu, who, I knew, would be put out that she had to go home. “But seriously. Why didn’t you tell me two weeks ago? Not that we call each other gossiping, but I’ve seen you, what? Two? Three times?”
“Well. Um.” He paused, dropping his head to his chest and rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t sure how you’d react, is all.”
“How I’d react? How long have we known each other, Rob?”
“I lost count when it hit double digits.” He chuckled and tapped his upper lip as Malibu pushed herself between his desk and chair so he could pat her head.
“And when have you known me to begrudge someone’s happiness? Megan is great.”
“I guess never, but—”
“But what? This vague shit isn’t like you. What’s with the secrecy?”
“Because of Autumn,” he hissed between clenched teeth.