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“No. Probably because you pissed someone off,” he said.
“Not my fault people wanna talk and I don’t.”
“That’s the thing. You have to talk. If they want you to talk, then talk. If you don’t wanna talk, then get yourself an off-grid house and live alone.”
“You know I can’t do that until the job’s finished.”
“I hear you loud and clear. But you’ll be moving in another month if you don’t clean your act up,” he said.
“What the hell do you expect me to do?” I asked.
“Get a part-time job. Trim up that beard. You look homeless.”
“I am homeless.”
“You’re renting a house.
“Not what I meant,” I said flatly.
“Graham, I know you’re still hurting.”
“You have no fucking idea what I am right now.”
“Hey, I’m not here to harass you. But if you want this to work, you have to suck it the fuck up. You have to blend in. Get a job. Interact with people. Give them a reason not to think you’re a piece of shit they should be digging into,” he said.
I clenched my jaw as I looked around the diner, taking in the way people were darting their gazes back to their plates. I hated it, but I knew Daniel was right. I’d be forced out of this small town in Oregon before I could plant roots again if I gave people a reason to talk. But there wasn't much business around here that didn’t require interaction with people.
Except for mechanic work.
But I wasn’t sure if I could stomach that.
It made me think of Kason every time I worked on my truck.
“They got a mechanic shop around here?” Daniel asked.
“I hate that you can do that,” I said, cringing at how well my friend knew me.
“It’s the only other skill you’ve got. Unless you wanna open up a martial arts studio or something.”
“Or a gym.”
Daniel grinned at me, and I shook my head. I didn’t smile nowadays. I couldn’t. But Daniel got me close sometimes. I stared out the window as our waitress approached us and gave her my order so I could get the hell out of there.
“How’s the new place?” he asked.
“We’re really gonna do this?” I asked.
“Yep. How’s the new house?”
“Decent enough. The owners have already informed me they would be willing to do a ‘rent to own’ situation,” I said.
“See? Something to work toward.”
“I’m not planting roots here.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“Why should I?” I countered.
