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24
Cole
Driving up to the retail warehouse, I shift into park and watch Lyla grab my coffee with hers and climb down from my jacked-up Nissan Titan. When I get down and around the truck, I stop dead in my tracks next to her, our coffee and cups spilled at her feet.
The outside wall to the shop has the words “Time’s up” spray painted in red and the two large newly painted white entrance doors are nothing but shards and splinters on the ground. We cautiously step into the warehouse where everything seems to be trashed. By the looks of things whoever was here took all my heavy-duty tools and slammed them into everything we were working on or had finished. Everywhere we look is rubble or pieces of wood. All our hard work is destroyed, and by the look on my girl’s face, she knows exactly who did it and why. Tears fill her eyes as she circles the open space.
“Holy shit. Why would he do this, Cole? Why not just shoot me while leaving, or run my car off the road, or better yet why the fuck can’t he just find Howard and leave me alone?”
She’s shaking at this point, and I pull her into my arms. Before I can say anything reassuring, I hear voices that can only belong to Sam and Elliott. I turn us toward the door, but she quickly pushes out of my arms and wipes her eyes, putting on the fake brave and confident persona she’s so good at.
“Hey, guys, I didn’t expect you. It seems someone has vandalized the shop, but I assure you we can get everything back on track.”
Even her beautiful beaming smile can’t help the frowns from deepening on the owners’ faces.
“Lyla, we’ve been here for hours, honey, and the police have come and gone. We were alerted late last night by our security system that there was a break-in. Unfortunately, there will be an investigation because of the writing on the wall outside. This is going to set us back, dear. I’m afraid we have to let you go. At least until the case is closed and we’re allowed to be on the property again. As it is, we have to ask you to leave. We only came back to board up the door.”
“Oh my gosh, you guys, I’m so sorry.”
I stop her by putting my arm around her shoulders before she says anymore. I don’t want to get the police involved now that I’ve hired Roger. If I get my way, these crooks won’t walk again, let alone serve time for mere vandalism. They will be going to prison or the grave after a thorough and well-deserved beating.
“Sam, Elliott, we are both so sorry to see this travesty. Please let us help board up the doors, and did they reset the security cameras for you? Did they have any leads on who could have done this?”
I’m fishing but they don’t know that. Lyla does and she looks up at me with a menacing expression and a million questions in her eyes. I just kiss her forehead as our soon-to-be former clients thank us and head for the door.
“I’m afraid the police were more than useless, but the security system caught the man on camera. The company said they would turn it in to the police and couldn’t tell us anymore.”
Interesting. I board the door and Lyla nails it. We make sure both are secure and say our goodbyes. I give Elliott my card in case they need anything. Even if it’s not work-related, I assure them we would appreciate them letting us know what they hear from the police. They promised we would be the first to know and apologized to Lyla.
They saw her passion for this project and see how hurt she is seeing it destroyed. She’s lost so much in such a little time, but she’s been holding it together and thriving on this project.
I’m lost in thought and don’t know what to say on the drive home. She’s quiet too, and I can see the guilt she feels from here. I reach for my phone and set up speech text so she can hear every word to Roger. I get his reply as I’m pulling into the garage.
Roger: I’m on it. I’ll have the video footage by tonight. Should also let you know I found Howard’s girlfriend. Address is Chicago, on my way there now.
I read it to her, and we head upstairs. She goes straight to our room, but I head to my office. I investigate the security system company a bit online and after a few calls I’m put in touch with sales who is dumb enough to brag to me which employee sent the videos from the warehouse to the police and the name of the officers on the case. I send it all to Roger and lean backm taking a deep breath.
I’m lost as to how I can make Lyla feel better right now. This just sucks, and nothing I say will make it better. I send a message to Marcus, hoping he’ll answer but don’t hold my breath. I order lunch from her favorite burger shack and serve it to her in bed. I may not know what to say, but I can show her I am still here for her. It’s a comfortable silence as we eat, and I think it’s the right move when she gives me a small smile and thanks. I take everything to the kitchen and go back to my office. I check in with my crews around town and check my email.
Moretti International Trading is looking for a quote on not one but three locations for remodel or demo rebuilds. San Diego is a big city full of everyone wanting to do business, but three buildings is still a lot. I forward the email to Jack and ask what dates and locations we have available. This project is huge and might be just the thing Lyla needs to get out there and get busy again. I spend the next four hours researching locations and talking back and forth with a crew that’s available. Finally, I send a quote to the client and cross my fingers that they take it.
The days gone before I know it and I am surprised to find Lyla in the kitchen making dinner. She’s listening to AFI’s “Miss Murder” when I seat myself at the island and start singing along with her. She turns, surprised, but genuinely smiles at me, then grabs two wine glasses but before she pours, she laughs and grabs the whiskey instead. Most nights we don’t drink but more often than not go for red wine. Every time we have whiskey, it has meaning behind it. A reminder of our beginning and how far we’ve come together through everything and everyone against us.
We continue to sing the next song together, Snow Patrol’s “Chasing Cars,” as she plates a mouthwatering pork chop, green beans, and creamy mac and cheese. Talk about amazing comfort food; this would blow anything my grandma ever made out of the water.
“I saw Snow Patrol in concert once,” I say tiptoeing on something gentle that has nothing to do with today.
“Oh yeah? I’m assuming a girlfriend dragged you out to see them.”
“No, my sister actually.” I laugh, happy she’s going with it.
“Ah, I knew it. I knew you weren’t the type to go sway to those emo beats,” she says with a wink as she comes to sit next to me with her plate. I grab her drink and set it by her plate next to me.
“What was your all-time favorite concert?” I ask as she digs into her first bite of pork chop, moaning around the fork. I follow her lead and my eyebrows hit my forehead.
“Wow,” I mumble around my bite.
I look to her in appreciation, and she smiles with a mouth full while she nods in agreement. We dig into dinner for a while before she answers.
