—26— Diego
Diego
Leave it to me.
To not be able to tell Wyatt: I care about you.
To be fucking incapable of a sentence like: I want to be someone important to you.
Or even: I want this relationship.
Instead, I define my feelings as a job description.
I come when you need me.
I wonder if that’s what I was doing all those years ago at that birthday party I only half-remember: answering Wyatt’s SOS when I went out and joined him on that hanging bench, ignoring all the fun inside and basking in the peace and quiet.
I wonder if he remembers that.
It’s a windy fucking Monday at Whitaker Auto. Busy, too. It’s perfect for keeping my hands and mind occupied, though. Tons of oil changes. Tire rotations. Washer fluid and every other done-this-a-thousand-times routine.
I haven’t heard from Wyatt since yesterday. Figured he’d need time with his sis and thought I’d done my due diligence answering his SOS, so I let them be after the restaurant.
I didn’t want to. But I did.
Wyatt no longer needed his soul saved.
He just needed to be honest with his sister.
And whether that involved a heart-to-heart talk over coffee or just an actual game of chess, I don’t know.
I haven’t stopped thinking about him since. His last words at that restaurant. That look he gave me. Couldn’t tell for a sec if he was about to jump my bones right there in the middle of that busy place or ask me to run away with him before his sister got back.
Might’ve welcomed either outcome.
If only he wasn’t so fucking confusing.
That beige rental I thought belonged to another neighbor was still sitting in front of his house this morning when I left for work.
I think his sister’s heading back today, wherever she lives, never found out.
And just when it seemed like she and I were on the same page about Wyatt’s insistence on letting the world walk all over him …
Maybe it reminds me of my dad a bit. How he never asked for anything, yet everyone in his life just kept taking, taking, taking.
But I also think of my mom. How she always played the role of the loving, smiling, kind wife who threw the best parties.
I wonder if any of that was real. Hard to tell when you’re a kid.
Even as an adult, the memories are so fucking misleading.
Remembering my mom and I laughing. Then her coldly staring out the window a few minutes later as I watched from the hallway, unable to recognize my own mother through her creased forehead and dead eyes, like something took over I couldn’t understand at that age.
No matter how many times I distrust nice people, I’m never gonna have the answer to why she left. I might go the rest of my days not even knowing what she’s doing with her life.
But that’s fine.
Closure isn’t what I need.
She doesn’t have to get some magic redemption arc in my life.
I need to learn how to separate her from everyone else. I want to be able to laugh with people again. I want to trust smiles. I want to see the world the way Wyatt does.
I want to see me the way Wyatt does.
“Still not gonna spill anything about you and Wyatt?”
Joel keeps trying to start up this same conversation about the movie-slash-game night Wyatt threw on the weekend for his sister and how it was kind of outed that we’ve got something going on. I poker-faced him the first time.
I poker-face him this time, too. “No idea what you’re talkin’ about.” I dive back under the hood.
A minute later at the supply racks, Joel comes up. “It ain’t a big deal to me, man, I’m all for guys gettin’ their dipsticks dipped wherever makes ‘em happy, but—”
“But?” I turn to him.
He shrivels. “I’m just sayin’ … like … I’m just …” He shrugs. “It surprised me is all. You guys seem … kinda … opposite …?”
I frown.
“And I mean, all power to ya, happy for ya. But for a guy who’s hit the lottery as far as a saint like Wyatt goes, you seem awfully bent out of shape all the time.”
“I ain’t any shape,” I bark back. “I’m a man. Keep sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, I’ll bend you into a shape.”
“That a come-on? Kidding. Straight. Married.” Joel snorts and grabs what he needs off the rack. “But seriously. Never seen a man so pissed about getting laid before. You and Wyatt. Wow.”
Then he strolls off, chuckling to himself.
And I’m left wondering why the whole damned town seems so determined to decide what Wyatt and I are.
I’m hungry and wanting some serious separation from all the noise of talkative Monday-morning customers, minutes from my long-awaited lunch break, when I spot the nice car pulling into the lot.
Something sets deep in my stomach right away, even before I know why.
The door swings open. Clack of a pair of shiny-ass dress shoes that literally fling the sunlight at my eyes.
I blink away the blindness as I see his dress shirt, khakis, and a flashy pair of shades he lifts into his flipped-up hair.
No golf polo today. Still a dick.
You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.
He struts up to Joel first, handing off his keys. “Nice shop you got here,” says the dick, sounding annoyingly polite. “Clean floors. Always have to look at the floors.” He smiles.
Perfect teeth shining.
Wealth apparent on every inch of his hair, clothes, and car.
And of course Joel takes a liking to the bastard right away.
“Wow! Haven’t seen a beaut like this in a while!
” He whistles as he looks it over. The dick nods at every compliment Joel dishes out, as if regarding them as apparent facts in the world.
The sky’s blue. The grass is green. His car is a million bucks.
“So what brings you in today?” asks Joel.
“It’s pulling slightly right,” explains Bellamy. “I notice it more at high speeds, out on the highway. Just needs an alignment.”
I watch and hear every word of this exchange, wringing my hands dry in a rag. Waiting for the bastard inside him to come out, as it inevitably will, instead of this polite and respectful version of himself he’s putting on. He doesn’t get a pass with me just because he’s in a decent mood today.
I know what he’s really like.
“That so?” asks Joel pleasantly, tilting his head to get a peek at the car. “Just an alignment?”
“Yep. I’m sure that’s all it needs. Beauties like this are made to last. She’s still young and capable.” He chuckles. “Y’know. The way I like my women.”
Joel chuckles, too. “Well, well, sir, I’ll … definitely agree about this car. Very new. Very … capable.”
“We’ll figure out what it needs.”
That comment doesn’t come from Joel.
It comes from me.
Joel and Bellamy look my way, as if just now seeing me here. And I’m about to enjoy a sweet and personal satisfaction when the dick recognizes me from our brief encounter at the flower shop.
Yep, fuck face, it’s me.
Then I watch him smile and nod pleasantly, passing Joel and extending a hand to me. “You must be the muscle around here. Grant,” he introduces himself.
I look down at his hand. Then back up at him.
Seriously? He doesn’t recognize me …?
“I don’t mind a little grease,” he says, assuming my hesitation is because I haven’t washed my hands. “Real men get dirt under their nails when they do honest work. And I prefer to look a man in the eye when he’s about to work on my lady.” He chuckles.
Something about this really fucking irritates me.
Like his use of “real men”.
And if he treats men like me and Joel as equals, what the hell is his deal with Wyatt? Doesn’t Wyatt also get dirt under his nails? Fucking literally?
Mr. Bellamy knows how to respect people.
He just doesn’t respect Wyatt.
“Mr. Valdez will be happy to give her a look,” says Joel, who seems both surprised and a bit worried to hand the reins to me.
He’s not the one who should be worried.
I take the keys from Joel and, after getting an admiring nod from Grant, get to work.
In this case, that involves a short road-test to feel the car out first—it drives like a million bucks, too—then bring it back to the shop and put it on the lift.
While Joel talks shop with the guy, I get underneath it and do a closer inspection.
Grant’s assessment isn’t wrong. It does need an alignment.
But that isn’t all I’m seeing under here.
“So you can align it?” asks Grant when I return.
“Yup.” I twist my hands in my rag. “But it won’t stay aligned.”
His face twists, not following.
I point underneath. “Control-arm bushing’s got play in it. So if I align it like this, then you’re paying us to straighten something that’ll wander again. We should fix what’s causing it first.”
He squints at the car, then crouches slightly, like he’s actually trying to somehow spot what I’m pointing at. “That so?” he asks. “That’s what you’d do?”
“That’s what I’m telling you to do.”
He straightens up and looks at me.
Something cold enters his eyes. “Do I know you?”
My jaw sets. “Do you?”
He gives it another few seconds of thought, looking me over. I can’t wait for it to dawn on him. To see the flash in his eyes.
Then he says, “You must get that a lot. Familiar face. Reminds me of this handsome chap at my office. Does scheduling. All the ladies have a thing for him, even though he’s married to a man.
Nice husband, too. Met him once. Just has that kind of charm.
” He chuckles and backs off. “Fine, let’s do what you recommend.
I do appreciate a man who tells me what actually needs to get done …
who gets to the point. Too many businesses, they’re soft.
Afraid to be direct.” He puts his hands on his hips.
“Can’t run a business if you’re worrying about everyone’s feelings, know what I mean? ”
I stare back, silent.
He leans in. “Case and point. Just came from somewhere else in this town, little errand at some hardware store, and the owner couldn’t just give me a straight answer to save his life.
That’s the trouble with these small-town operations.
Half can’t say whether they’re running a business or just making friends and convincing locals they know what the hell they’re doing. ”
I feel an itch under my skin.
“Got a shining exception, though,” he says with a proud smile.
“Flower guy in town. Good kid. Talented. Very accommodating. Been using him for years.” He sighs.
“But I got tired of having my assistants reinvent the wheel every time I need some bouquets for an event, so I finally put him under contract.”
I work my jaw, staring this man down.
“I mean, he was free to say no.” He chuckles. “No one said he had to sign. But what’s a guy like that gonna do? He understood the relationship we’ve got. He makes reliable money from me. He gives me preferred pricing. We’re both happy.”
“You sure about that?”
He comes out of his head for a second, looking at me. “Huh?”
I face him. “Do you respect Wyatt?”
He pauses.
For a while.
“Of course I do.”
“Then why don’t you talk about him like you do?”
He turns completely to me like there’s something new on my face. Like he’s actually seeing a person instead of a mechanic. “Did I in some way indicate I don’t respect him?”
“You’ve known me ten minutes, and you trust my knowledge about what to do with your car.” I nod toward the garage door, as if Wyatt’s right there. “Then you spent ten seconds ranting about a guy you’ve hired for years like he’s some kid you’re training.”
Someone drops a wrench nearby. Loud clang.
Neither of us flinch.
“Right,” he says finally, still rigid, pensive, staring at me. “I … perhaps should’ve rethought my words. Calling him a kid. I guess everyone’s a kid, in some respect, when you get to a certain age.”
This dude can’t be more than ten years older than either of us. It isn’t “age” this bastard’s talking about. It’s bank account size.
Then he nods. “And yes. I do trust you. I know when a man’s … worth my trust.” He lifts his eyebrows. “And so I’ll trust you to do your honest work with my car and be out of your way.”
Joel was hovering too close and quickly dives in. “I’ll take you to the waiting room,” he says, somewhat out of breath, listening to all of this and knowing exactly what’s gotten me hot.
I don’t acknowledge Grant any further.
He doesn’t stay in the waiting room. Job will take hours.
After the guy fucks off to get lunch around the corner or strut down the street sizing up the rest of the town, I get busy. Joel goes to the computer. Supplier’s got what we need. Forty-five minutes out. Ordered.
Then I’m doing my honest work.
Second the part arrives, I get busy with Carl as we replace the whole control arm assembly, then perform the alignment.
Whole time, I’ve got no thoughts. Can’t have any.
If I start, I’m gonna do something bad. My goal right now is treating this stupid prick like a customer and getting the job done.
Believe it or not, I ain’t in the business of doing something careless—or unethical—that’ll cause his vehicle to go sideways on the highway and put his or others’ lives in danger.
Hours later, I’m finally checking off on the work with one last road test, taking her up to highway speed and back. Grant returns at the same time I do. I don’t gotta say anything, because Joel steps in to do the ringing up at the register while I clean up.
Grant still catches me just before leaving, insisting on taking my hand and giving it a firm shake. “For what it’s worth,” he says, “you’ve given me something to think about.”
I stare him down, wondering what that means.
I’m still wondering after he leaves and I’m at the mouth of the garage, glaring toward the road, watching him head out of town. I keep sucking on my teeth, frustrated somehow.
Maybe it has nothing to do with him. Maybe it’s the silence I’m getting from Wyatt. Wondering what his Monday’s been like. If he made up and got along better with his sister. If she extended her stay and I won’t have a hope in hell of seeing him for a while.
If my house is a second away from being sold.
If it even matters what the hell we do now.
I don’t know why it occurs to me in this exact moment, but I don’t feel in such a hurry to hit the road like I used to. In fact, the idea makes me sick for some reason.
What’s out there for me?
What was I hoping to find?
“You know it’s been a day when even Carl is afraid of you.” Joel has appeared at my side with a clipboard hugged to his chest.
I don’t bother asking why Carl’s afraid of me. I know I was a block of ice the whole time I worked on that shiny car that looks like even its engine gets vacuumed out and polished every day.
“He never mentioned Wyatt’s name,” adds Joel.
I frown at him. “So?”
“But you did.”
I stop. Look off at the road.
Flower guy, Grant called him. Kid.
Joel’s right. He didn’t mention him by name.
I did.
I shrug. “So what if I gave away that I know him? Small town. He’s an idiot if he doesn’t assume we all know each other.”
Joel eyes me. “We? So … you’re part of that ‘we’ now?”
“Fuck off.”
He giggles. “Love you too, Big D.” Then he heads back into the shop, whistling to himself. I check my phone. No messages or calls. I take off my hat and run a hand over my head, exhausted.