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Too fucking late.
Worry compounded on top of worry for him and my sister. Instead of holing up like Dad, Amelia was running around but not going anywhere. I hurried down the stairs just as she was coming in. She stopped short when she saw me.
“Oh. Hi.”
“Who was that?”
She immediately rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry about it.”
I caught her arm before she could head upstairs. “Hey. Talk to me. I just want to know he’s a good guy.”
She snorted. “No, he’s a serial killer. Dad got to you, didn’t he? Told you all kinds of shit about Kyle?”
“I don’t want to hear it from Dad. I’m asking you.”
Amelia’s hard expression softened for a second, as if she felt the distance between us and hated it just as much as I did. Then she hardened again.
“Who I date is none of your business.” She yanked her arm out of my grip and stomped up the stairs. “Go home, River. You don’t live here anymore, remember?”
Her door slammed. I scrubbed both hands over my face and sagged against the wall in the entry where Holden and I had once kissed. We’d mauled each other’s mouths until I couldn’t think or breathe and didn’t want to so long as I had him…
But that was a million years ago. Another life.
I went out, back to my little place that was dark and empty.
The next morning, I was at the shop with Julio and three other guys, a new team I’d hired as both the car restoration and the general repair business grew. Dad didn’t show up though he was on the schedule.
Julio gave me a commiserating smile. “He’ll snap back.”
“When? It’s been three years.”
“When he’s ready. How you doing? You look tired.”
“I’m fine.”
“You say that every time I ask.”
I mustered a smile. “Then stop asking.”
“No can do, boss. You’ve been working to the bone, after-hours, weekends…”
“Dad’s not showing up. Someone’s got to be here.”
“You’re always here. In the four years I’ve worked with you, you’ve never taken a day off.”
Not true. I flew to Paris. To Holden…
I pushed the thought away, but it stabbed me in the heart anyway.
Julio frowned. “I’m just saying, I’m here, bro. If you ever need some time off, take it.”
“Thanks, man. I will.”
I was lying and we both knew it. There was nothing left for me but the work.
Julio went to handle a customer who’d driven up and I went to assess a full body panel fitment for a ’67 Mustang GT500, when a familiar voice sounded from behind.
“Yo, Whitmore.”
