Chapter 21
SLADE
“Yes, sir. I’ve worked on all types of machines. Mostly farm equipment, but I helped my brother rebuild a Chevy.”
The young man lifts his cap and places it on his knee. He can’t be more than nineteen or twenty. He’s tall and lanky and looks like a farm boy fresh out of the fields.
“Do you own any tools?”
He shakes his head. “No, sir, but I’ll work to purchase them.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Are you in school?”
He shakes his head. “No, sir.”
“You can drop the sir. The only thing those guys out there call me is asshole.”
He smiles.
“Where are you from?” This kid seems bright, and I want to know why he’s not in college or still working the land he clearly came from.
“I’m from a small town in Illinois. I know how to work hard and learn fast.”
I try again, knowing he’s either escaping or running, and I want to know which. “What are you doing in Cincinnati?”
His shoulders rise with a deep breath, and his eyes meet mine. “Truth?”
I nod.
“I followed a girl. She was accepted into the university with a scholarship, but I wasn’t.
My parents wanted me to stay and help with the farm.
Go to a local school. They told me if I left, not to come back.
” His shoulders droop, his eyes dropping to his clasped hands.
“She broke up with me last week. Apparently, four months of college showed her we don’t fit anymore. ”
I stare at him, knowing what it feels like to need a chance. “Why don’t you go home and run the farm. It could be a good life.”
“Sir, I won’t be crawling back home with nothing to show for it.”
“I respect that,” I say, and his eyes brighten with hope. “You’ll have to prove you can pull your weight.”
“Yes, sir.”
“When can you start?”
“Uh, I have to give the grocery store two weeks, but if they let me go before, I can start that day.”
“You’ll begin with oil changes and tires.”
He nods. “Yes, sir.”
I stand. “I’ll email you the paperwork.”
He pushes out of the chair, placing his hat on his head, and extends his hand.
I shake it. “And if you call me sir one more time, your ass is fired.”
He laughs. “Yes, s—”
I eye him, and he catches himself.
I lead him out of my office, and he follows me into the shop.
He shakes my hand again, and I let him know I’ll be in touch with the paperwork.
When the door bangs closed, I realize the garage is quiet. I turn to see all eyes on me.
Wind’s lunch box is open on the workbench, and Trig takes a bite of a burger.
“He didn’t run out of here like you threatened to call the cops, so we have to be trending in a better direction.” Carson tosses an apple in the air.
“I hired him.” I step behind the counter to pull up the schedule.
I hear the crinkle of the chip bag and the crack of Wind’s daily Dr. Pepper .
I scroll through the afternoon schedule, knowing the overflow will have to wait until the morning.
“You hired him? Is he still in diapers?” Trig asks.
“Cal hired you when you weren’t much older.”
His eyes drop back to his sandwich.
“He might be young, but you can finally do something productive and teach him a thing or two.” I point a pen at him.
They groan.
“You’re supposed to hire someone to help us turn vehicles over faster. Not someone who needs their hand held and snack time,” Trig says through a mouthful.
“Does he have his own tools?” Carson asks.
I don’t answer, and they groan again.
“If he jacks up my impact wrench, that’s on you.” Trig points at me this time.
I cross my arms and widen my stance. “Listen. He needs this job and the confidence that will come with it. He’s looking to prove himself, and you all know exactly what that’s like.
So, you will help him get acclimated and teach him because, underneath all of that loud ass groaning, you’re decent men. ”
I return to the computer to check my email while they throw tantrums.
Trig shoots his crumpled paper sack into the trash can with a swoosh, then rests his arms on the counter beside me. “Soooo, are you going to finally tell us how the rest of the weekend went, or do we have to piss you off enough that you’ll reveal things in spurts of rage?”
“We just want to know how this afternoon should go! We want to help!” Wind hollers across the space.
It’s been five days since Sarah and the kids went home. She texted me on Monday evening to tell me the water was running and the basement was still dry. I haven’t heard anything since.
I’ve been working late and spending extra time at the gym, realizing I no longer want to go home to a quiet house. It’s been a great attempt to ignore all the feelings associated with that, or the fact that I could do something about it.
I’ve held my phone at least a dozen times, thinking about texting Sarah to see if Ollie and Grover wanted to play fetch or to offer to order pizza. Each time, I couldn’t do it. Memories of wanting what would never be mine drowned the urge to send the message.
Instead, I set up interviews, inventoried the parts room, and worked out until my muscles vibrated with fatigue.
“It was fine.” If these jokers think I’ll provide a play-by-play, they’ve got another thing coming.
Carson scoffs. “Fine, my ass. A beautiful woman and two amazing kids stayed in your house, and all you have to say is that it was fine.”
I click on an email and hit reply to inform another interviewee that I’ve hired someone. “Yep.” I start typing.
Trig sniffs. “We’ve been patient. Now, you’re going to make us do this the hard way?”
I stop typing, lifting my eyes to his. “We aren’t doing this any way. You all need to mind your own damn business. She stayed with us since she didn’t have water. That’s it.”
Trig twists, leaning his hip against the counter and facing the other guys, his arms crossing over his chest.
I click send and log off, deciding to finish in my office.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Carson asks.
“My office. I’ve got work to do. You’d be smart to get back to it.” I almost clear the hallway when—
“You’re scared shitless. Just admit it.” It’s that tone that makes me want to punch him in the face.
I stop, taking a second before I face him and his prattling cronies. When I do, Carson’s face dares me to say otherwise.
I squeeze my fists tight. “I’m not scared. There’s nothing to this. She’s my neighbor, and I was helping her out. That’s it.”
His chin lifts, testing me. “Bullshit.”
There’s nothing but the sound of my climbing pulse .
“Krissy said you all went to the park and had dinner together,” Wind says, crunching a carrot. “She said the food was—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” I run a hand over my face. “Do any of you ever just mind your own business?”
“Nope,” Trig says with a smile.
“Just spill it, man,” Carson demands. “It’s time to finally go after what you’ve always wanted but are too freaking scared to admit.”
I pull in air and let it out. “Nothing is going on. They stayed. Ollie wanted to go to the park, we had dinner, and they went home. That. Is. It.”
“Heard you made breakfast.” Wind drops his can in the trash, and he has no idea how close I am to dropping his ass to the floor. “You left that out.”
Carson crosses his arms. “So, you’re honestly trying to tell us that Sarah and those kids, the time y’all spent together, didn’t make you want more of that?”
I want to say no and laugh in his cocky face. But I can’t, and this jackass knows it.
“When’s the last time you’ve been with a woman?” Trig asks.
I glare at him. I am not answering that.
He points at me. “If you have to think about it, it’s been too damn long. You cannot tell me that did not cross your mind once this weekend.
They are pinching my very last nerve. That’s just it. I did think about it. I would’ve never acted on it, but I did think about it.
Carson’s sarcastic laugh hits my ears, making my blood boil. “Boys, it’s been so long he’s forgotten how to do this.” He grins. “It’s all right. We got you, bro.” He rubs his hands together.
Smiles break out across the garage, except I feel like my head might actually explode. These Nosy Nancys need to stay the hell out of my business.
“And I’m supposed to take advice from you, Mr. Celibate-Cause-I’ve-Got-A-Plan?”
Shit . I just admitted they might be right .
He holds his arms out. “Hey, it’s not because I’m afraid. The time just isn’t right. I’m a patient man.”
I laugh this time, and it’s filled with sarcastic rage. I want to fire all of them and their satisfied faces.
“Text her,” Trig says, and it’s possible I growl. “Go on. Pull your phone out and send her a little something.” He waves his finger in front of me, and I have the urge to break it in two.
I glare at him as they all stare me down.
“It’s been five days. You’re behind. You’ve gotta break the ice,” Wind says, strolling closer.
“What are you doing? Keeping a schedule?” These idiots are ridiculous. “I’m not texting anyone.”
“Oh yes you are,” Carson says, sliding up next to me. “Because even if Sarah isn’t interested the slightest bit in your grouchy ass, this is practice. You need to get some game, bro. All this deadpan and sharp attitude won’t get you where you’re looking to go.”
“I’m not looking to go anywhere,” I grit through my teeth.
Wind snorts. “Slade.” He rests his hand on my shoulder, and I flick it off. His tone turns soft. “We saw you with that little boy. That’s the only direction to go. He needs you as much as you need them.”
That little observation hits a tender spot I’m desperate to ignore, slamming right into my pride of wanting to work this out on my own. My spine relaxes, succumbing to these morons and their wisdom.
“We talked about this. It’s time, man. We’re here to help,” Carson says.
“Just pull out your phone and message her.” Trig makes it sound so simple. “What can it hurt?”
My entire heart. It can hurt the whole damn thing. Permanently.
“There’s a time for fear, and there’s a time to grab it by the balls and choke that shit out. You don’t really want to be a lonely, miserable son of a bitch forever.” Carson nods. “Come on. Make a move.”
I inhale and let it out, thinking of all the times over the past few days when I almost did but didn’t.
My mind flashes to Sarah’s head on my chest, holding her close.
I want more of that. More moments around the dinner table.
I want to hear Frankie giggle and chase after Ollie at the park.
I want noise and laughter and fun. At least I want a chance of having something like it.
“And say what?” I grunt.
There’s silence as these dickheads think about it.
My shoulders fall, and I roll my eyes, turning for my office.
“Wait!” Carson stops me.
“Are they coming for Thanksgiving?” Wind scratches his beard. “I need to know what size turkey to buy.”
I turn, walking toward my office again, not wasting another second.
“Hold on.” Carson stops me. “That’s actually not a bad idea.”
Wind’s hands move to his hips as he smiles.
“It’s checking in with her without being overly eager or obvious. It lets her know you want her there and ensures she’s still coming,” Carson grins.
Trig runs a hand over his scruff. “Yeah, Carson’s right. You can’t go from borderline jerk to smooth operator overnight. We’ve got to ease into this.”
At least they understand I need baby steps. I need to tiptoe into whatever this might be until I figure out what I want it to be.
There are so many things I don’t know about Sarah, and that makes me nervous. But that’s what this is about—getting to know someone.
“She’s my neighbor. What if this goes bad?” It’s a thought I’ve had.
“You move.” Trig’s casual answers show his immaturity.
“It’ll be ok. We’re not going crazy here. Just message her and remind her that she’s still welcome. That’s step one.” Carson grips my shoulder, and I want to brush it off.
“What’s step two?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Wind rocks back. “We have to see how the holiday goes first.”
I retreat to my office.
“Where are you going?” Carson asks, but I don’t stop this time.
“To my office. I’m not messaging her with you all looking over my shoulder. ”
“You better do it,” Trig hollers. “Or we’ll find out.”
I slip my phone from my pocket and pull out my chair. On the worn fabric lies a book with a yellow Post-It.
Don’t trash this. It’s Millie’s. There’s good stuff in here. Read it.
I roll my eyes at the book title: Let Your Heart Beat Again.
I toss it on my desk rather than the trash and fall into my chair. I stare at my phone.
It’s just asking about Thanksgiving. I’m not committing to anything.
I tap out a message. Delete. Type. Delete. Type.
ME: Are you still able to come for Thanksgiving? Wind needs to know what size turkey to buy.
SARAH: Hi, Roary Pants.
My lips curl upward spontaneously—this woman and her need to set me off guard. I don’t respond, and after a minute, I see three dots.
SARAH: My best friend will be visiting. I don’t want to impose.
ME: You won’t.
Shit.
ME: I’ll count you all in.
SARAH: I take it back. I should’ve said, “Hi, Bossy Pants.”
SARAH: Do you ever not tell people what to do?
ME: No.
SARAH: Maybe you should try it.
SARAH: Think of it as an experiment.
I laugh, then hear a gasp. All three guys are peering in my doorway, but they run, letting out a whoop and a whistle.
“Get your asses to work, or you all are seriously fired.”
“Nah. You need us now more than ever. ”
I rest back in my chair. I don’t know what in the hell I’m doing, so they’re not wrong.
I just really need this not to ruin me like the last time I trusted someone enough to let them into my world. I more than let her into my world. I was building a life around her. That is, until she told me I shouldn’ t bother.