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“Thanks, man. That sounds great.”
“Be careful driving home. It will be dark soon.”
He rolls his eyes like he did when he was a child. “I will, Dad,” he jokes, grabbing his coat and keys.
He’s too young for the weight he carries so visibly on his shoulders. I’m not his father, but he’s nine years younger than me, and when our father couldn’t be bothered to stick around for longer than five minutes, and our mother was too busy shooting up into bruises my father left her, I felt protective over him and Jaxson. I did my best for them until Skip and his wife took us in after our mother died. But I can’t take his pain away. I’m not a father. It drove them crazy when I tried to act like one over the years, but I still don’t know what he’s going through.
They had Evie young, they married young, yet they’re going through more than some couples do in a lifetime.
And I’ve yet to see them without a smile.
It’s cruel.
If I could take a fraction of his pain, I would lay myself down and volunteer, but I can’t. And that realization goes down like a lead balloon.
Another problem for tomorrow.
“Logan!” Jaxson shouts from the front of the shop.
There he is.
Even from this distance, I can see that his eyes are glossy and sweat is forming across his brow. He’s drunk. I don’t even want to know how. There wasn’t any alcohol here today. Fuck, I hope it’s just alcohol. “Me and the guys are playing a set down in Frankie’s Bar. Everyone’s comin’. You in?”
“Since when are you playing in Frankie’s?”
“Since five minutes ago. He would be an idiot to refuse the Savage Saints our last small gig before we go global.”
Cocky little shit, but there’s a dull throb blooming behind my eyes, and I’m in no mood to argue with him.
“Sure,” I agree with a sigh.
“Bring the leggy blonde, won’t you?” he says with a sly smirk.
“Bethany Rose.”
He looks around like I’m speaking to someone else. “Who?”
“Her fucking name, Jaxson. Her name is Bethany Rose. Don’t make me beat some respect into you.”
He scoffs. “Like you’re one to talk.”
This time when he disappears, he doesn’t come back.
Jaw tight with tension, I walk to my office and stand still at the doorway. She doesn’t notice me yet, and I can’t help but take in her effortless beauty and the way she bites her lip in concentration. All those problems for tomorrow are quickly forgotten.
She has this way of brightening up a room, even one filled with ink and needles.
As I approach her, she finally looks up and gives me a warm, slightly embarrassed smile.
“I don’t have my usual photo editing software, so I had to make do with the basics.”
I lean over the desk, pressing my hands on the cool surface, as I study the photos she’s captured. Just like the ones in the album she showed me earlier, she has a keen eye for detail.
“These are incredible.”
She doesn’t fight the grin. “Thanks. I really enjoyed it.”
Realizing I’m probably too close and one sniff of hair away from becoming a creep, I take a step back. She’s stirring something in me, and I don’t like it. She’s younger, and I’m sure we come from different worlds.
