Hold Me Still (Blue Collar Daddies in the City #13)

Everett

When I pulled up to the stop and the Ferris kids were already waving, I had to smile. Dylan was always first up the steps, with his backpack half zipped and a monologue about his day already coming at me before he even hit the top stair.

His little sister came up behind him and held up her hand for a high five. “Hi, Mr. ‘Vrett.”

I smiled at the five-year-old and gently slapped her hand. “Hi, Sophie. Did you have a fun time at karate?”

“Yup!” She stopped right on the landing and almost tripped her mother behind her. “I got a lello stripe.” She held up a white belt with a yellow stripe.

“Whoa, that’s cool.” I held out my hand to her. “Do you think it’ll fit me?”

Her blue eyes instinctively ran down me and she shook her head. “No, you’re too big.”

“Soph, that’s not polite.” Emily gasped behind her daughter and gave me an apologetic glance. “Sorry about that.”

I waved her off. “No worries. I think she’s right. I am too big for such a cool belt.”

As soon as the young family was seated, I closed the doors and pulled away from the curb.

Dylan was sitting closest to me and leaned over the rail. "Mr. Everett, do you have a joke ready?"

"I do." I waited until I stopped at a light and then shifted in my seat to face him. "What do you call a grizzly with no teeth?"

He scrunched his little face and thought about it. "Don’t know. What?"

"A gummy bear."

Dylan groaned and dropped his head back against the seat with an exasperated sigh. “I already knew that one anyway.”

I raised a brow and then turned back to the front when the light turned green. “Didja now?”

“I didn’t.” Sophie giggled and bounced in her seat. “That’s the best one, Mr. ‘Vrett. You got any pops?”

I caught Emily's nod through the mirror before I reached for the little bucket of lollipops I kept on hand for my favorite passengers. “I think I have a few left…”

Dylan grabbed a cherry and Soph took grape sucker and leaned back to enjoy the rest of their ride jabbering about random things.

Throughout my route, a mix of regulars and unfamiliar faces boarded and deboarded.

Driving the city bus wasn’t what I dreamed of as a kid, but it was a great way to interact with people and feel like I was a part of a larger community.

I had friends and acquaintances from the club I occasionally went to when I needed to scratch an itch, but no one I saw on a regular basis and who filled me in on the minutiae of their lives.

Mrs. Anderson waited at the stop past the pharmacy most days with her walker parked in front of her and both hands resting on the bar.

I always had the ramp down before she was even up on her feet.

"You spoil me, young man." She said the same thing every day as I got out of the bus to help her with the steps.

"Somebody's got to." I held the walker out of the way until she was seated and then tucked it in beside her. “Just holler if you need anything.”

She never needed anything. Just someone to talk to and share stories about the family that never visited anymore. It was heartbreaking to hear that she was alone most of the time, but part of that was because I could relate so deeply.

I pulled back into traffic and listened to stories about how her garden was coming in and the neighbor’s cat who had a litter of kittens under her porch. And when she was done, she just stared at the same people getting on and off until we reached her stop at the senior center.

There were usually a few hours in the afternoon that were quiet.

Not because the bus wasn’t packed with passengers but because I just didn’t talk much when it was busy.

Too many variables I had to keep my eye on that I couldn’t chitchat.

But I didn't mind the quiet moments. There was something invigorating about driving a bus full of people who trusted me to get them where they needed to go safely.

That might’ve been the best part of my job. I liked taking care of others, and driving was as good a way as any to achieve that.

By the time I hit the last lap of the day, the crowd had thinned out to just the few regulars who worked later shifts and were anxious to get home. I appreciated that sentiment.

The last official stop before getting back to the depot was near my favorite. It was next to the park and the perfect place to grab a coffee and stretch my legs before heading home for the evening.

Alone.

The house I bought ten years ago with a modest inheritance from my uncle was nice and comfortable…

but even more quiet than an empty bus. I'd spent the past decade fixing it up with new floors and a modern kitchen, but no amount of remodeling could create the warmth that only came from laughter and smiles and… family.

I put my keys in the bowl by the door and stood there for a second, imagining what it would be like to have someone waiting for me.

Good. I imagined it would be good.

But that wasn’t my lot in life. Maybe it never would be. Either way, it was time to make dinner for one, watch some TV, and go to bed so I could start it all over again tomorrow.