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Wade’s eyebrows popped up. “So you were in a great mood this morning when you got out of the truck, and I asked you if you felt okay?”
Instead of answering, I gave him a level look.
Wade leaned into Greer, his unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth. “He told me to fuck off.”
Greer nodded. “That does sound like him.”
“When someone asks you if you feel okay, it means you look like shit, and they don’t want to say that part out loud. I didn’t sleep well. That’s all.”
They all ignored me.
Cameron lifted a finger in the air. “He also scared the shit out of one of the new guys when he yelled at them for doing something the wrong way.”
“He was doing it wrong,” I said incredulously. “If I hadn’t stopped him, we would’ve wasted a couple of hours redoing it.”
Greer sighed, patting me on the shoulder in a condescending way I didn’t really appreciate. “You know, I have learned a lot about dealing with children and their emotions since I’ve become stepmother to the most perfect child on the planet.”
I pushed my tongue against the inside of my cheek and wondered how they’d react if I just walked off the site and didn’t come back for a week. Maybe a month.
Greer continued talking, oblivious to my internal musings. “We tell Olive that it’s okay to have big feelings—to be frustrated or angry or worried, whatever it might be—but we have to let those feelings out in a way where you don’t lash out at the people around you.” She batted her eyelashes. “Should I set up a feelings corner at the jobsite, Ian?”
“Fuck. Off.”
She patted my arm condescendingly. “Mmm-kay. Let me know if you change your mind.”
Greer and Wade walked off to another room to discuss something about closet placement before we began framing the interior of the bedrooms. The new guy skirted past us—the one I’d barked at earlier—and he gave me a quick, nervous look.
Cameron’s eyes were boring into the side of my face, and I nodded at the newbie, offering a curt, “Sorry about earlier, kid.”
“Uh, sure. Thanks. N-no problem.” And he hurried off.
I cut my gaze to Cameron. “Where do you keep finding these children? That kid can’t be older than sixteen.”
Cameron smiled. “He’s eighteen. His dad’s one of the painters we work with, and he wanted a trade that wasn’t working with his old man. Not everyone wants to do what we did with Dad.”
My hands slowed as I marked up the piece of wood. I blinked, double-checking the measurement again before I cut. Dad was a firm jobsite manager, but he never embarrassed anyone. I blew out a slow breath. “No, I suppose not. He was a good fucking teacher, wasn’t he?”
My brother and I shared a look. Eventually, he nodded, and his eyes were slightly red when he did. “The best.”
“Don’t you fucking cry,” I warned him. “Then Greer really will make a feelings corner.”
Cameron snorted. “No shit.” He started to walk away but then paused. “You are okay, though, right? Everything was good at dinner at Mom’s the other night. But you’ve seemed a little on edge since then.”
I clenched my jaw tight and slid my safety glasses down. “Fine. It’s like I said, I didn’t sleep well last night. That’s all.”
Cameron didn’t believe me, and if I were him, I wouldn’t have believed me either.
I found myself existing in this odd little space the past few days. Things Harlow said to me kept looping around and around in my head, things I felt that whole week kept looping around and around too. It wasn’t like me to overthink things. I was generally a filter-free kinda guy. Said what was on my mind before I had a chance to realize it might not be a good idea. Let my gut instinct about any given situation be the guideposts of who I trusted and who I shared things with, what decisions I made.
But lately, that gut instinct seemed to be at odds with the things I’d always thought to be true.
With instinct at the wheel, I caught myself noticing more and more. A tap had been opened, and there seemed to be no closing it.
The evening we hugged on my mom’s porch, I noticed the way Harlow smelled and how it felt to hold her for a bit longer than a friendly hug. It was affection without strings or expectations, and that was new.
Noticing the short shorts she’d probably always slept in, but they just seemed … shorter than before. Her legs had always been long for her height, and when she shuffled through the kitchen to make Sage’s breakfast in the mornings, they were just there. Long and bare and golden and not covered at all by the sleep shorts.
I noticed her when she worked. The way her brow furrowed when she typed particularly fast, oblivious to the world with her big headphones over her ears.
