I just can't find the courage to go looking for more rejection.
It makes me surly at work. Well, more so than usual. I'm not typically a jokey sort of boss. I get shit done and expect my guys to work hard. I'm not their friend, I'm their boss. Bear is an exception to that rule, which is how he gets away with calling me out.
We’re sitting on my tailgate at the yard—Crowe Construction and Demolition HQ—sipping from sweating water bottles while the crews clean and put away tools, sweep out equipment trailers, and clock out for the day.
"You know I got respect for you, Felix," Bear says in his bone-rattlingly deep voice, “but you need to figure your shit out."
I press the cold bottle to my forehead—it's a hot day. "What shit?"
He gestures at me vaguely with his bottle. "You've been kind of a dick the last couple weeks, boss."
I glance at him. "I'm always kind of a dick."
He shakes his head. "Nah. You're firm but fair. You work hard, lead by example, and don’t tolerate bullshit or laziness. Whatever's going on with you, it's different."
"Different how?" I know he's right, but I need details.
Bear huffs. "Snappin' at people, man. Like earlier this mornin', Larsen and Martinez were fucking around and you ripped 'em a new asshole."
"They were fucking around."
"They were moving shingles up to the roof, and the guys on the roof weren't ready for more yet. They were just fuckin' with each other. You know damn well Larsen and Martinez are solid, Felix. They get their shit done, and they don’t’ fuck around unless they know they're good to kill a minute or two."
I growl, realizing that he's right. "Fuck."
"And yesterday, you almost made Trent quit on the spot."
I pinch the bridge of my nose, remembering with brutal clarity what he's referring to. "Yeah, I guess I owe him an apology, huh?"
Bear slugs back the last of his water, crumples the thin plastic bottle into a tiny wad, and screws the top on to keep it compressed. "Larsen and Martinez have been with you for long enough to know that wasn’t you, so they're good. But Trent is new, and this is his first real full-time job."
I tip my head back and hiss. "Fuck."
He pats me on the shoulder, which feels sort of like being hit with a jackhammer, albeit gently. "I smoothed it over with him. But you oughta talk to him. And more than anything, figure your shit out."
I wait, but no questions are forthcoming. "Figured you'd ask."
He shrugs a massive shoulder. “Ain’t my business, Boss. I'm your friend, I hope you know that. You wanna talk about it, I'm here. But I ain't the type to push."
"It's just…personal shit. And I don't know what to do."
He just eyes me sidelong, allowing a long, leading silence. Naturally, I fill it.
"Girl troubles."
He snorts. "Ain't it always?"
"I can't get her out of my head."
"But?"
"She doesn't wanna give me the time of day, man. She's…she's hurting, somehow. I can tell. And I’m…I ain't the one to fix her, Bear. I got my own shit."
"Speaking from experience, Boss, a lot of the time, women don't want you to actually fix anything." He runs his long, braided red beard through his fist.
"What do you mean?" I ask.
He tips his head to one side. "Well, like the other day. Noelle was all in a tizzy about something that happened at work. She got into some stupid tiff with one of the other stylists and she came home all bent out of shape and pissed off and ranting about it."
