Chapter 22
Auggie
Leon’s sweaty as hell, and once I finally manage to get him up the stairs at home, I wait around to make sure his fever drops.
Cam said it looks like the flu and that I should keep my distance. But I can’t keep working on Leon’s house with him there because he’ll insist on helping, and no way will I let him get up like this.
Still, like a creepy creeper, I let myself watch him sleep until I’m sure he’ll be okay if I leave.
He has to be the least peaceful sleeper ever as well.
He tosses and turns and snorts and breathes through his mouth.
He never looks peaceful, and at one point he starts to snore, but each moment I sit there, with every rise and fall of his chest, softens me toward him even more.
He’s a big man with a big heart, and if I know him at all, he’s going to recover and be beyond angry at losing all these days, but I can’t say I’m surprised. You don’t work yourself into the ground without your body turning around and saying that’s enough.
A flare of determination lights in my chest as I think about everything he wants to get done. I already know what his plans are for the house this week, but I don’t know where he’s up to on the worksites or for next week’s planning, and that’s where he’s going to struggle.
It’s also where I can help.
Mom has been the brains behind Dad’s business for at least the last decade, and she taught me basically everything she knows about business management.
The number of hours I spent hovering in the office while they organized tradespeople and balanced the books and put together quotes were hours I thought I’d wasted, but actually …
This could be my chance.
I still need to make up for the forklift incident. I still need to prove to Leon I can exist without being a gigantic clusterfuck of a human, and maybe, just maybe, if I do a good job, he’ll be … proud?
That’s a completely foreign concept to me, but I want it. Not like a daddy never loved me or felt proud want, because while Dad frustrates me at times, he’s also made sure to say when I’ve done well too. No, this has nothing to do with Dad and everything to do with Leon.
I want Leon to be proud. I want Leon to trust me and to know he doesn’t have to watch over my shoulder at every goddamn minute of the day.
He’s the only one I want to impress, which is a whole load of weird, and a whole load of something I’m not going to think about.
I brush his graying hair back from his forehead and press a kiss against his clammy skin. Yep. I’ve got this.
Probably.
I grabbed Leon’s keys before we left his place, so instead of going back there, I head to his office.
It’s a tiny space he leases off the back of the pharmacy, barely large enough to hold his desk and workbench.
It’s nice though. Framed pictures on the walls, polished floorboards, and a bookcase loaded with binders that are labeled with dates on the spine.
I quickly flip through one of them, finding invoices and plans and warranty certificates organized by address. Leon might seem like a chaotic mess most of the time, but it’s clear he knows how to keep things simple and organized, which is a good sign for me.
I’m momentarily deterred that I don’t have the password to Leon’s computer, but the keyboard has a light coating of dust over it, and there’s a diary lying open to the side. Looks like Leon is a bit of a technophobe.
It’s something I’ll be sure to nag him about later and take advantage of now.
Just like the binders, Leon’s meticulous with his scheduling. I shouldn’t be as surprised as I am, but seeing every commitment written out in neat lines in his messy scrawl makes me smile.
He does that a lot.
Makes me smile.
The knowledge sends warning signals firing in the back of my mind, but I push it all away because now is not the time to concentrate on that.
Now is the time for me to do things that will make Leon smile.
I copy his schedule over onto my phone and wonder if this is going to keep being a permanent thing, whether we should just sync our calendars so he doesn’t have to carry this heavy diary around all the time.
At least with the house renovations, Leon’s schedule isn’t packed as tight as it potentially could be. I’ll have time to make it through, well, most of the stuff on here. I hope.
The most efficient process looks like visiting the sites this morning to check on work, a quote at Harvey’s at midday, and then back to Leon’s to work on the build.
That’s not too many people to deal with. Mostly. Though usually when we’re on-site or meeting potential clients, Leon is the one who does all the talking while I awkwardly hover in the background.
Today, I’ll need to talk and cross my fingers that whatever comes out of my mouth is business appropriate and doesn’t turn Leon into a laughingstock.
I’m representing him.
I sit at his desk and take a long, deep breath. Then another. And, ah, another.
Right. That’s enough.
I need to get my ass up and get started.
Seize the day.
Get motivated.
Not run home and climb under the covers.
Damn, I wish peopling came easy to me. Actually, I wish anything came easy to me.
As I’m about to get up and get moving, my phone starts to ring, and I bite back a groan at my dad’s name on the display.
“Kinda busy,” I say when I answer.
“I should hope so. It’s a workday.”
Probably the best greeting either of us can expect from each other. “Exactly. You never call while I’m working.”
“Not for personal conversation. This is business related.”
My ears perk up because I can’t remember the last time we ever discussed anything business related that wasn’t “oh, so-and-so can’t keep you on anymore,” but I know that’s not what this conversation is.
If Leon ever needs to fire me, I can at least trust him to do that himself.
I lean back in the chair and kick my feet up onto the desk. “Go on, then.”
“I’ve been running the books.”
“Right?”
“We’ve had a good year.”
I nod, even though he can’t see me. “We always have a good year. What’s your point?”
Dad clears his throat, and I can tell he’s already getting frustrated with me. “It was the best yet, even without that Port Welling contract. The team has grown, the work is consistent, but I need more foremen to run the projects.”
“So …” I have an unsettled feeling that I can sense where this is going. And I don’t like it.
“So it’s time for you to come home. Your mother is fretting that she hardly sees you anymore, and let’s face it, you shouldn’t be wasting your time playing apprentice to some low-level builder when you could be here, getting qualified, and taking on some of the business.”
I have a million and one retorts right on the edge of my tongue that I want to impulsively throw back at him.
Why now? Fuck you and I’ll take it are the most prominent.
But there’s no doubt in my mind that Dad wasn’t expecting me to last here this long.
He’s clearly been waiting every day for me to mess this up …
and once I’m back at home, I’m back under his control.
I think back and realize that this is the first time I’ve actually been completely independent. I pay my rent, buy my groceries, cook for myself. I work every day and walk around Sunbury in the evenings, and in general … I’m really enjoying myself here.
Dad’s offer to speed up qualifications, to take on some of the business … it’s sort of mind-blowing. It’s what I’ve always wanted.
A month ago, I would have jumped at Dad’s offer with zero hesitation, but the more distance I get from home, the more I learn from Leon—not even about building, but about how to be a self-sufficient human—makes me hesitate.
Is the offer that perfect when I’m sure it comes with strings attached?
“Auggie?”
“Actually, I’m about to head out, so we’ll have to discuss this later.
” I’m proud of myself for how professional I sound.
It might be my dad, but if this is a business conversation, I need to behave that way.
I’m not ready to turn him down, because what he’s offering has been my dream for years, but …
But.
“Of course,” Dad says, and there’s a bite of snark to his tone. “Tossing up between a permanent, well-paid position and a trial apprenticeship requires a lot of thought.”
I know he’s being sarcastic, but actually, it does. Which is wild. Dream job versus bottom-rung position.
What is wrong with me?
I should be jumping at this.
“You’re right, it does. I’ll give it some consideration this weekend and be in touch.” Then I end the call.
And as much as I try to push the conversation from my mind, my stomach is in knots.
Stay here, where I’m actually happy, or go home to a position I’ve been dreaming about my whole life?
Do I trust Dad to keep his word?
Well, yes, because Mom would kill him otherwise. Still, I can’t shake this slimy, gross feeling that comes with his offer and makes the whole thing feel cheap. He’s offering it because I’m his son, not because I’ve earned it.
All I ever wanted was for him to take me under his wing and teach me everything he knows so that when the time for him to retire comes, I’m ready to step into position. Sure, that may be his plan now, but the timing has me wary. The business has always done well.
So this offer is one hundred percent made with the intent to get me back home and away from Leon.
The thing is, Leon is a big part of why I want to stay. I’m not sure if growing feelings and intense hookup sessions are playing a part in that, or the fact that Leon gave me a chance when no one else would, but even considering all the ways this offer is perfect, I have no idea how I’d take it.
How I’d tell Leon that sorry, boss, something better has come along. He stood up for me with Dad. Took time to understand me. Hired me even after my tragic attempt at an interview. Even against his better judgment.
My phone pings with a reminder of the quote I have scheduled in an hour, which gets me to table my thoughts and make a move.
I’m nervous to show up on Leon’s worksites and judge the others’ work—who am I to be marking up defects and telling these guys when something isn’t right? But it needs to be done.
I can tell Rory is thrown at first, but I put on my best big-boy face and try to channel my inner Leon. Which doesn’t actually exist, but I’m faking it hard.
The thing is, walking around the site, checking over the work they’ve done, makes me realize I do know this stuff.
Doorjambs out of alignment, plastering that hasn’t been done properly, a plumbing line that needs to be moved an inch or two to match the plans, and a floor waste that hasn’t been completed.
I can’t shake the whisper of imposter in my ear every time I point out something to Rory. I can’t shake the feeling of being a kid playing dress-up. I can’t shake the way Rory eyes me with something close to amusement.
What I can do is force my voice to stay level and not shake and try to control my brain from going haywire under the pressure.
Then I make a note under the appointment in my phone of everything we’ve discussed and email it to him, before getting back in my car and heading to Harvey’s.
I don’t stop for steadying breaths. I don’t stop to wonder if Rory will even listen to what I’ve asked him to complete or ignore me and tell Leon that no one checked.
I don’t even give myself a moment to question if I’m doing the right thing or if I’ve completely overstepped and screwed up again.
No.
Because this isn’t about me.
Piper Harvey lights up when I walk in, trying to behave like a total professional. She quickly says something to another girl behind the counter before hurrying in my direction.
“Where’s Leon?”
Just like Rory, of course that’s the first question she asks. “He’s not feeling well, so I’m helping out today.”
“I thought you were an apprentice?”
The question is fair, and she doesn’t have any judgment behind her words.
“Well, technically, yes, but I’ve, umm, been at this for a while. And don’t worry!” I rush to add. “I’ll note everything we discuss and run the quote by Leon first. No running solo with this stuff—he’s still in charge, I just wanted to make sure he could keep his commitments, that’s all.”
“Good.” She smiles warmly at me. “I’m glad he has someone he can rely on.”
My chest puffs out. “He can. Rely on me, I mean.”
“All right, then, let’s get started.”
To my relief, Piper takes over most of the conversation.
She runs me through how she’s looking to extend, what style she’s hoping to create, and the work that needs to be done to both the roof and the foundations.
It’s an old building, and I’m confident in my assessment that a lot of her money will be spent on invisible issues, but we can work with that.
Making the place safe comes before making it pretty.
I note literally everything we discuss and even surprise myself with some of the questions I ask. It’s like all these little nuggets of information have been sitting in my brain, waiting for the day I can use them.
“You want some lunch, honey?” Piper asks.
“Thanks, but I need to get to Leon’s, so I’ll cook something there.”
“Nonsense. It’s on the house, come on.”
Well, I’m not going to be ungrateful and turn down free food, am I?
Piper chats to me between customers which helps me relax, and by the time I leave there, I think I’ve maybe made a friend.
And had a successful day.
But there’s still the house.
Walking in there solo is a little overwhelming. I know where I need to focus my efforts, but the motivation to get started is slim. It’s already been a big morning, and I’m used to Leon giving me direction. Creating it myself is a whole other skill that I apparently need to discover ASAP.
Once I actually get into it though, it’s a smooth process.
Nowhere near as fast, but I’m also not stressing over screwing up or looking like an idiot at every minute of the day.
The work flows, and I feel competent, which isn’t a feeling I get often but is definitely one I can get on board with.
I play music while I work because I don’t need to second-guess whether the people around like what’s on, and it’s maybe the first time ever I’ve completely enjoyed myself.
This is what I want.
This is the ideal version of what my life will look like in the future. Whenever I picture what I’ll be doing for the rest of my life, it’s this.
Working.
Enjoying.
Not feeling constantly on edge.
I don’t stop smiling once.