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Maverick: He threatened to come down here and take a shit on my desk. How the hell do you get them to change their minds so easily?
Me: I'm charming as fuck.
Maverick: I've seen you puke in your own lap.
Me: That was the lemon potato's fault
Maverick: Pretty sure it was the nine shots of ouzo
Me: No way. It was the potatoes. That's all I tasted coming up. The lemon wasn't as enjoyable the second time.
Maverick: No, I guess it wouldn't be. I'll send Lou down to deliver the check and change the locks. Should be there in an hour.
Me: Tks
"They're sending the check. Should be here soon. You can give the keys to him too."
"It's not going to bounce, is it?"
I wink, "Nah. We're good for it." I move to the door of his grimy office and pull it open. The familiar sounds of a garage filling the air. "This isn't my place, so feel free to tell me to fuck off, but I've done hundreds of these deals. And I've met a few guys that looked a little like you. Like they spent too much time in a bottle. It usually goes one of two ways. The smart ones, they get some help. They quit the booze. Some of them buy a boat and go adventuring. Some pay off their mortgage and spend all day tinkering with their own project cars. The others though..." I trail off, watching him carefully. A guarded look comes over his face. He knows what I'm going to say, but I say it anyway.
"The other guys? The ones that took their check and partied it away? Too many of them are in the ground."
I learned a long time ago that I can't make people want to get better. But I also can't say nothing. I have to try. And some people take it better than others.
"My life is none of your damned business. Why don't you get the fuck out. It's still my shop until I get that check."
He didn't take it that well. I don't argue, giving him a quick nod before I exit. I don't need to argue with him, or tell him he's wrong. There's no winning in this fight. None. So I let him have the last word.
I hop into my Ford Raptor, wishing spring wasn't so far away. I miss my bike. I miss the freedom of riding. But if I have to be stuck in a box, at least it's a nice box. The skies are gray, a heavy weight pressing down on me. I hate the cold. I hate clouds. I am a man built for sunny skies and warm beaches.
We should take a vacation. A few days somewhere warm, and everything will look brighter. I dial Declan, the bluetooth connecting the call, as I head away from our newest garage.
"I'm at the toy store," he says as soon as he picks up.
"I'm on my way," I mutter as I change lanes, excitement coursing through my veins, weaving across three lanes to get to the turning lane. "Give me ten."
I make it in eight, pulling into the back of the parking lot and jogging to the door. I pick up speed at the end, intercepting a young dark-haired woman pushing a stroller, and holding the hand of a little girl. I pull open the door with a big smile and a bow, making the woman grin and blush. I wink at the little girl, a little younger than my brother's little nugget, and she giggles.
Maybe I don't need the sun and the beach. Maybe I just need to stand here all day and open doors for beautiful little girls. It's not like I need a real job. I would be the best toy store doorman in the history of the world.
I prowl the perimeter aisles of the store, stopping to look at a few displays of slime, science kits, and dolls, but eventually track down Declan. I stop next to him and slap him on the shoulder. "We need more babies."
Declan grunts. "Agreed. Mia needs buddies." His voice is distant as he stares at the largest display of NERF guns I've ever seen. I stare at all of them as I pull the wrapper off my sensory putty. I can't pass it up. Doesn't matter where I am, I see one of these tins and I have to buy it. I peel it out of the tin and squeeze it between my fingers, twisting and pressing it mindlessly.
"So," I ask, staring at one particularly huge gun. "You guys want to go to the beach for a few days?"
Declan turns to me, stepping closer to let a little dude kneeling on a skateboard roll past. "Where? Never mind, it doesn't matter. We could use a break. Cara works too damned hard. Miami? We can get a house right on the beach."
"Perfect." I try not to, but I can't stop myself from asking. "Think Bree might want to come?"
Little lines of worry appear between his eyebrows. "That's a good idea. She..." He trails off, and I'm desperate to know what he was going to say. In negotiations, there's power in being the quiet one. In giving people room to think and to wonder why you aren't talking. There's power in being the cool one.
"She...is she okay?" I can't be the cool one when it comes to her. I just can't. If I had a tail, it would wag every time I even think about her. And when I'm with her? Other parts of me wag. But it doesn't matter. I'm not going there. She's family. And you shouldn't fuck with family. Literally.
Ok, I just made that weird.
"She says she's fine. But I don't know. Cara doesn't seem convinced. She gets really quiet sometimes. She watches her, and I see the worry in her."
