Chapter 16
CHAPTER 16
S andy crossed his fingers that these two tall, muscular men didn’t come to blows any second, because there was absolutely no way he’d be able to prevent a bloodbath with his diminutive stature and jelly upper arms.
“Is everything ruined in the store? Is it a pile of rubble now?” Dolan asked in a more reasonable tone of voice.
Patrick stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Everything’s burnt to ash inside or water logged. It’ll have to be gutted.”
Sandy breathed a great sigh of relief when the brothers momentarily settled down. The last thing he needed to deal with was explaining a battle royale to the McCormick’s parents.
Sandy scanned Patrick’s brother from head to toe, giving him the once over for the first time. Despite the spendy suit, he didn’t look like a criminal. In his imagination, Dolan wore shiny suits, slicked back his hair, and smoked cigars like a character on The Sopranos . This guy looked more like a run-of-the-mill Chicago businessman—useless and boring.
“I’m going back in.” Dolan threw a thumb in the direction of the hospital room.
Sandy reached out for Patrick before he followed. “So, what do you think?”
“I’m going to call the sheriff now.” As Patrick pulled his phone out of his pocket, a woman stepped out of Pat’s room.
Sandy stepped back, instantly recognizing her as the Lance Right Corporation HR representative. He held his breath. Please don’t recognize me. She didn’t the other day, so chances are she won’t recall my face now either, right? He folded his arms and then unfolded them, failing in his attempt to appear relaxed and not nervous.
She held her hand out to Patrick. “We briefly met the other night at the store. I’m Nancy with the Lance Right Corporation. I wanted to check on your father.” She handed Patrick her card and then turned to shake Sandy’s hand.
Sandy gave her a tight smile.
She continued shaking his hand as her brows came together. “Sorry, but your face is familiar.”
Sandy shrugged.
“Don’t worry. We’re not going to sue.” The accusal in Patrick’s flat words intruded on the attention she’d focused on Sandy.
“Oh no, that’s not why I’m here.” Her voice rose to a shrill pitch and her hand fluttered in front of her like a wounded butterfly. “Well, you have my number, please call me if there’s anything that we can do for your family.” She gave a nod and walked away.
But before she got too far, Patrick tapped her on her shoulder. “There’s something you can do. I have an employee I think would be terrific manager material for your store.”
“Wonderful, email me their resume. I’m sure with your endorsement they’d be an excellent addition to our team.” She turned, paused, and snapped her fingers in the air. “I know who you are—Sandy Holiday—you’re our new product placement photographer. That would have bothered me all day.” Nancy’s phone buzzed. She checked it and gave a wave. “Nice seeing you again.” Nancy walked away.
Once she was around the corner, Patrick turned to Sandy, his face red. “Tell me what she’s talking about.”
Sandy clasped his hands together until they blanched. “This is what I was going to talk to you about. I’m . . . I have a job with them beginning next year.”
“What the fuck?”
“I planned to tell you earlier, but then when I found out that they were, are, your arch enemy and direct competitor out to ruin your business . . . I decided to wait.”
“Wow.” Patrick’s features twisted in disgust. “This entire time you had this job, and you didn’t say squat?”
“I needed the job. The one at your store. And I need the one with them. You’re not the only human being in town with financial problems.”
Patrick’s head shot back as if Sandy had jabbed his chin. “That’s low. You show up and change everything and then what were you planning? Just bail and leave us once the new year rolled around? How could you even consider this?”
“I’m a photographer. I accepted the contract with them before I even knew you. I have to go where the money is to support myself. How the fuck don’t you get it? Look at your store. You were one step away from bankruptcy. You’re just fortunate that it burned down so you can collect on the insurance money.”
Patrick’s arms dropped by his sides. “Get the fuck out of my sight.”
“Shit. I didn’t mean that.” Sandy stepped toward him.
Patrick put his hands up. “Don’t touch me. I want you out of my house. I want you out of my town.”
“It’s not like you trusted me anyway, is it? How could you, though? With your brother screwing you over it was only a matter of time before I did.”
“Yeah, and you proved me correct. And don’t act like you didn’t have one foot out the door the entire time we were getting close—tanking our date. I should have known you weren’t ready. This is why you don’t have a partner. You’re not worth it.” Patrick stormed off.
Sandy’s hand pressed against his chest as he struggled to breathe. Swallowing his emotions, he needed to get away from Patrick. He needed an open space—preferably someplace that had a lot of oxygen. His walk turned into a jog, and then he was flat out running. He hated running, but he hated being this close to Patrick more. As the electric doors swooshed open, Sandy turned and kept going. His jacket flapped in the wind behind him as he ran across the parking lot.
He didn’t know what he was doing or where he was going, but he didn’t care. His lungs burned. He wasn’t a runner. He hated exercise of all forms, but right now he hated Patrick more. He hated his crooked nose, his perfect torso, and that damn shaggy hair. But most of all, he hated that stupid lumberjack-looking beard and his dumb affinity for all things flannel.
As he ran across the viaduct over the highway, rain started to pelt him in the face and his legs were ready to give out. He turned toward a fast-food restaurant and slowed to a walk. With his head down, he pushed inside to nab some napkins and dry off his face and neck. Distraught and exhausted as he was, the grease from the grill managed to catch his attention. The magnet scent pulled his feet up to the counter where he ordered his weight in burgers, nuggets, onion rings, and, to top it all off, a giant chocolate shake. While he waited for his order, he shook out his coat and claimed a booth. He slid into the vinyl seat by the window. The rain started to come down in sheets. He sighed; the gray morning sky mirrored his feelings. He didn’t have his car. What’s the plan? Walk down the highway? I might deserve that, but my leather shoes don’t. No, that’s not an option. He pulled his cell out of his jacket and texted Chelsea. If they couldn’t pick him up then he might have to hitchhike, which might force him into a situation where he’d have to listen to conservative talk radio. He shuddered at that horrible torture. Thankfully, Chelsea agreed to chauffeur his ass back to Mayfield and his car, no questions asked.
As three trays of food appeared at his table, he stared blankly. He snatched some napkins to blot the water that overflowed from his eyes. He didn’t know where the hell this inconvenient emotion was coming from or why. He’d only known Patrick for a handful of days. No man is worth this shit. He tossed his used napkins on the tray and unwrapped one of the burgers. “Hello, my love.” He bit into it, hoping the quarter-pounder could fill the void inside of him like it usually did.
Six burgers, some nuggets, and several boxes of onion rings later, Chelsea pulled into a spot directly outside of his booth. He tidied up his table, crumpling the greasy paper into balls and stacking his trays. He sucked on his shake as Chelsea stopped at the counter for only a coffee. Ugh, now I feel guilty. Couldn’t they at least get some fries or something?
Chelsea slid into the seat opposite him, cupping their hands around the large coffee.
“I didn’t know who else to call for help.” Sandy couldn’t meet their eyes. He slurped from his shake and debated getting a third one. The peppermint one looks good. Maybe if I drink that I’ll explode and won’t have to deal with whatever is breaking inside of me.
Chelsea didn’t move, didn’t blink. Sandy wondered if their breathing had stopped. Their immobility cracked through all his barriers.
“I screwed up. I lied to him, and now he hates me and never wants to see me again. He’s banished me from town, but who could blame him? I deserve to be sent to that stinking tiny island for misfit toys,” he confessed with closed eyes as he set the empty shake cup on the table.
“Don’t knock the island of misfit toys.”
He opened his eyelids. Their deadpan expression didn’t flinch.
“That’s all you have to say?”
They took a sip of their coffee. “His Irish temper runs hot. Give him time to cool off.”
Sandy threw a hand in their face, making a circle. “I liked it better when you didn’t speak.”
Chelsea smirked. They gave him a head nod as they slid out of the booth.
Sandy shrugged his jacket over his shoulders. As he dumped his garbage and trays, he truly hoped Chelsea was correct and that Patrick just needed time. But for some strange reason, it didn’t feel like he would.
Chelsea waited for him by the door.
“Give me a minute.” He held a finger in the air and then stopped by the counter. “The largest of the largest of your peppermint shake, please.” May as well try to drown his sorrows in a vat of Christmassy goodness.
Slouching in a chair in the hospital lobby, Patrick stared at his phone. He’d called the sheriff, the insurance company, the bank, and all the other people he was required to contact. And now he wanted to shrink into a little ball of misery and roll away.
Disappointment and failure clung to him like the stench of burned Christmas cookies. He needed to get up. He needed to go sit with his family, but his butt stayed in the chair, wallowing in self-pity. Of course, the last person he wanted to talk to sat down next to him. Well, maybe not the very last, but the second to last anyway.
“Been looking for you.” Dolan glanced at him. “Dad’s sleeping. You look like shit.”
“Thanks. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.” He shook his head with disgust.
His ne’er-do-well brother started to stand, but hesitated. “Do you—” He cleared his throat. “I mean, do you need anything?”
That question threw Patrick off completely. His brother didn’t willingly ever do anything out of the goodness of his heart because he didn’t have one. He was worse than the Grinch and Scrooge combined. The only thing he could count on Dolan to do was to push him over a cliff like the Abominable Snowman, but there’d be no bouncing back to life for him. His features distorted at the mere suggestion that Dolan could deliver anything other than stolen goods.
His brother held his hands up. “All I’m saying is that you’re not alone in all of this.”
Patrick rolled his eyes. If one more person says this to me, I’ll beat them with something a whole lot more brutal than a candy cane.
“Did it, again, somehow, didn’t I?” Dolan shook his head. “I’m never going to say the right thing, am I? Although, does anyone with you? It’s only a store.”
“You would say that. Do you have any idea how much of my life was put into it?”
“Yeah, I do and it’s idiotic. As far as what Mom tells me, you weren’t living. For years you’ve been dedicating yourself to only work, pushing relationships aside. The last guy you were with left you cuz of it. Then this other guy comes along when you need him the most, and you finally get a chance to have something more in your life and what . . . you throw him away because you lost your job?”
He shook his head, irritated. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Enlighten me.”
“I can’t trust him.”
Dolan scoffed as if that was the most absurd thing he’d ever heard. “There’s a difference between not wanting to trust someone because you’ve been burned before, which is you, and not trusting someone because they’re no good. But, if you ask me, people evolve, so that kind of doesn’t matter anyway.”
“Why am I talking to you?” Patrick growled.
“Because even though I screwed up and broke your trust, you’re still talking to me and you’re still trusting me, too.”
Patrick glared at him as if he’d gone completely crazy.
“I didn’t give you any proof of my innocence; you took my word and talked to the sheriff on my behalf.” Dolan spread a palm out as if visually laying his point before Patrick’s feet.
“He’ll do the leg work and bust your ass if you’re guilty.” Patrick looked away. And I feel like a dumbass for doing that.
The crooked smile Dolan gave him reminded him of when they were kids and giving one another a hard time. “Mom said you like this guy. Maybe it’s time to give someone else the benefit of the doubt? Where’d he go?”
Now I feel foolish. “Back to Chicago. Who knows?” It really didn’t matter where the adorable goof had gone. He wasn’t hoping Sandy would come back. No, he was glad to be rid of him. They were a mismatch. A stupid holiday mistake that ended before it even began. Plus, he had other things to worry about, right?
“Do you know when I knew I wanted to marry Emily?”
Patrick refused to look at his brother. He didn’t want to listen to some sappy story about his undeserving brother falling in love.
“I told her about taking the money, and she made me call Mom and Dad and apologize and send them the money I stole.”
Stunned, Patrick whipped his head around, gaping at Dolan. His parents never told him about any of this, especially the part about him returning all the cash. What happened to the money? They had to have reinvested it in the Madison store.
“They didn’t tell you because I asked them not to. You’ve had a lot on your plate because of what I did for years, and I didn’t want to stir things up for you again.” Dolan leaned his elbows on his knees. “Emily accepted me for who I was and for who I became. Even the crappiest version of myself, she loved me, flaws and all.”
“Are you saying I should forgive Sandy for all of his flaws?”
Dolan shook his head. “I’m saying forgive yourself first because you’re blaming him for all of it, but you gotta see that you had a part in it too.”
Baffled at this sudden depth coming from his brother, he stared at him. This unexpected wisdom seemed like a trick.
Dolan stood. “Gonna find some coffee. You want any?”
This revealing conversation had left him numb. Patrick shook his head.
“See you back at Dad’s room, yeah?” Dolan patted Patrick’s shoulder.
There’s a slim chance that he’s right. How can I be pissed at Sandy for taking a job with Lance Right when I’m submitting Chelsea for a managerial position with them? The difference was that Sandy knew from the very beginning and had purposely kept the information secret. Patrick dropped his head against the back of the chair. This was torture. And he hated to admit it, but he really missed Sandy.