The instant he turns around, our eyes meet. His nose is pink, his brilliant blue eyes glisten from the cold, and white puffs of breath dissolve around his face. Then he frowns, or maybe it’s a scowl, ruining the picturesque moment, and I turn back to the door.
He’s been working with us since summer, and we haven’t made much headway in our work relationship. But, true to his word, he’s great at what he does. His pace is a little slow, but then again, he’s a perfectionist, and slow is better than sloppy.
“Hey, Mac,” Reilly says with an ease Colton and I will never share.
I smile at Reilly and blow him a kiss as I unlock the door.
My dad and Colton finish exchanging a few words and I motion them inside. Colton turns back to his bike, and I hold the door open for my dad as he passes. He stops, leans in, and kisses my cheek before he steps inside. I glance back at Reilly. “How’s Sam doing?”
He’s grinning, but the look in his soft blue eyes is thoughtful, genuine. “Sam’s doing really well, actually.” We both know what he means by that: she’s not cutting herself anymore, not lost in regret and sadness since her dad’s accident. Nick reports the same thing—though Nick doesn’t like me to worry, so I sometimes wonder what he keeps to himself. But I see the truth in Reilly’s eyes, and it’s because of him that Sam is going to stay better this time.
“Did I ever tell you you’re my hero?” I ask him, only semi-facetious as I wave him inside. It hurts my heart to imagine where Sam would be right now if he’d never come home—if he’d never fought for her, been patient, and, most importantly, stayed.
“And you’re Sam’s,” Reilly counters. “So we’re even.” He winks.
Oh, Sam. “Tell her I say hi and I miss her. My roof is getting mighty lonely.” Life has been so busy we haven’t had a girls’ night since the summer, which means no wine consumption, no stargazing on the roof while my dad and brother snore inside—a cacophony so loud the house nearly shakes.
“Will do.” Reilly smiles and ducks down like my father did to kiss my cheek in jest as he enters next. When you’ve known each other forever, you’re allowed to be cute like that. “Aww, you’re too sweet,” I say, a tad giddy. I’m not sure it’s possible for a girl not to swoon when a hunk of military, grade-A man flesh like Josh Reilly pecks her on the cheek, practically married and all in good fun or not.
Colton clears his throat and I look behind me. His helmet is under one arm—an arm half-covered in spiraling black tattoos hiding beneath his long sleeves—and his alarmingly blue eyes stare directly at me. Distant. Cold. Unwelcoming. My easiness fades.
“After you,” he says, controlled and stark as always. He reaches above me to hold the door open and nods me inside.
“Thanks.” I get a whiff of vanilla bean and coffee as I walk beneath his arm and into the office, though I try not to notice.
Since our awkward meeting months ago, all I’ve gleaned is that he’s private, his gaze can strip you bare and gut you with one piercing look, and he’s a fantastic mechanic. Well, there are other small things that make me feel like a stalker when I think about them too much, like the fact that he rides a really expensive Ducati, Limited Edition, and takes it to the same mechanic my dad takes his Harley; he rarely goes out for drinks after work with the guys; his listed address is a post office box; he’s not married—I’ve heard the guys ask him—and his emergency contacts are his cousin, Ben Hughes, and his friend, Kylie Sutterman, according to the employee file I created for him. He has no food allergies but is allergic to penicillin, and the shop he worked at in San Francisco was smaller and family owned, a lot like ours.
I crouch down by the front window and plug in the small Christmas tree situated there. From the corner of my eyes, I watch Colton head out to the shop, chiding myself for being equally annoyed and intrigued by him. When I realize I’m staring at him again, I tear my gaze away. Nope, not a stalker at all.
Two
Colton
Seven Years Ago
Sitting at the granite counter, in a kitchen as immaculate and perfectly staged as a cooking show vignette, I eat a late-night bowl of Captain Crunch—alone. Missing Kylie. Wondering what I’m doing with my life when I’m not with her.
In the year we’ve been together, she’s become my life and all that seems to make me happy anymore. Being here, in a quiet, grand, and spacious house that’s never felt much like home, is a constant reminder of how different I am from my family. It’s a constant reminder of how lucky I am to have her—the only person who’s ever accepted me for me.
After the sun had set beyond the bay and our date was over, I dropped Kylie off at home so she could study. Grades. Study groups. Red Bulls. That’s what her life consisted of when she wasn’t with me. But I wasn’t ready to come home. Instead, I’d gone to Malcom’s shop to finish installing the seats in an old ’57 Cadillac Coupe DeVille he and I have been working on lately, at least between my classes and exams. For being the father of a high school friend who’s taken me in under his mechanically inclined wing, Malcom’s been more of a father figure than my own dad has ever really been.
As generally happens, I stayed later at the shop than I’d meant to, and before I knew it, the clock was striking midnight. I liked being there, though, in the silence, working without the echoing rattles and clanks that inundated the shop in the afternoons. It was easier to focus and lose myself in the task—taking nuts and bolts apart, pieces to a mechanical puzzle that intrigued me more than any of my father’s affidavits and client files he’s always trying to shove under my nose.
Nothing’s changed in twenty years—I didn’t want to be a lawyer when I was little and I still don’t. I have never had an interest in weighing in on the worth of another person’s life, let alone having them depend on me for their livelihood. Which is probably why I cringe a little every time Kylie’s mom jokes about blond-haired and blue-eyed grandchildren running around her house one day.
Engines, though, they’re easy. There’s always a direction to go and cut-and-dried answers to get you to the end result. You can either fix it or you can’t, and then you move on, unaffected.
When I hear my father’s office door creak open down the hall, I groan inwardly. If he’s been working all night, that means he’s on a big case, and he’s probably not in the best of moods.
He clears his throat and walks into the kitchen, surprised when he finds me sitting there, drinking the milk from my bowl.
Our eyes meet and his bushy, graying eyebrows draw together. “You’re home late for a school night,” he says, his tone disapproving as he takes in my street clothes. He steps past me, toward the fridge, and massages his lower back as he straightens a bit. Whether or not he admits it, he’s getting older and shouldn’t be hunched over paperwork all night. I’ve heard my mother tell him so a hundred times, and each time he pretends he doesn’t hear her.
“Yeah,” I say, a bit guarded. “I had something I wanted to finish at the shop.”
He pulls the milk out of the fridge, reaches into the cupboard for a glass, and fills it to the brim. “And Malcom’s okay with you working there so late? Seems to me he’d want you home, preparing for your finals next week instead of working at this ungodly hour. He has a son. He should know better.”
“He didn’t ask me to work tonight, I wanted to.” I scratch the side of my face, glance at the clock. Twelve fifty-five. “Don’t worry, I’ll pass my classes. I always do.”
My dad grunts dismissively. “Barely,” he mumbles.
Here we go. I drop my spoon into my empty bowl. The sound echoes through the kitchen.
“I’m not sure why I need to keep telling you this, Colton,” he says, “but if you don’t take your undergrad studies more seriously, you’re not going to get into a good law school—”
The wooden legs of my stool scrape against the hardwood floor as I push away from the counter and stand. “And I don’t know why I have to keep telling you that I don’t want to go to law school.” I walk over
to the sink and set my bowl in the ceramic basin with a clank. The sound reverberates through the cavernous room and I meet my dad’s hardened eyes.
He straightens infinitesimally and sits down at the opposite end of the counter. The distance between us only mirrors what our relationship has been like my entire life. Only now, when I really look at the creases around his eyes and the gray stubble covering his chin, I realize how much time has gone by and that our differences have and will always be a crater separating us.
“It’s like you’re doing this to test me, Colton,” he finally says. “To see how far I’ll let you take this whole self-exploration phase of yours. And my patience is beginning to thin.”
I lock my gaze with his, flashing him the most unyielding stare I can possibly manage, and I step up to the counter. “I’m not going to be a lawyer, Dad. I’m going to keep working in Malcom’s shop because that’s what I like doing. That’s what I want to do—build things and use my hands. I don’t want to be stuck in an office my whole life, like you.”
My dad’s fist comes down on the countertop, making the milk slosh back and forth in his glass. “And that would be so bad? Dammit, Colton. How can you not see that a future working on cars will get you nothing—you’ll go nowhere. Don’t you want to succeed in life? Don’t you want to be someone one day? Have money to provide for your family? What can you offer Kylie, or anyone else for that matter, if you’re some lube guy at the local mechanic’s shop when you have so much potential and opportunities you’re just throwing away?”
“Kylie doesn’t need me to be a lawyer, she wants me to be happy.”
He laughs. “Is that so?”
“Yeah, it is. She’s not with me because of your money.”
“What happens when she wants a family? You think she doesn’t care that you’ll have to scrimp and save to make ends meet?”
“Give me a break. You act like I’ll be a bum. And we’re not even thinking about kids right now,” I say evenly.
“Well, son, no matter how much you think you know about the world, you’re young and naïve if you think money doesn’t matter. And I hate to break it to you, but all women want kids.” His tone implies what I already know—they had me because my mom wanted a child; she’d needed one to fill the hole her husband couldn’t, and he gave her what she wanted. Only once. Anyone who knows Henry Colton Hughes knows that he’s a cold, meticulous, structured man who feels little when it comes to matters of the heart. That’s what makes him such a great lawyer.
“I’m sorry you didn’t have the son you wanted, one that cares about all of that, who has the capacity to pour their life into someone else’s, but I can’t. I don’t care how lucrative the business is—”
“You think everyone has a chance like this—to live a wealthy and successful life that’s practically handed over to them? This isn’t something you just throw away.”
“I don’t have to be a lawyer to be successful and it definitely won’t make me happy.” He doesn’t care about any of that, though. His empty, judging eyes tell me as much. “I get what you’re offering me, I do. But I’m sorry, I don’t want it.”
“I swear to God, it’s like you’re not even my son—”
“Something you tell me all the time,” I bite out. “Clearly I’ll never live up to your expectations, so stop asking me to! It’s insane. My mind will never change. I don’t want to be you.”
His gaze narrows. “Then I’m not sure why you’re still here, under my roof,” he says coolly, and my heartbeat stumbles. “Why are you even in school if you hate it so much? And you clearly don’t need my money—you act like you’re miserable and life is so hard and I’m so horrible. If you want to go off on your own, then do it. I’m tired of being disappointed.”
He snatches his glass, still half full, from the counter and strides out of the kitchen. When I hear his office door slam shut again, I let out an unexpected breath. Although I’m grateful this feels like it’s the last time we’ll ever have to have that conversation, it also feels like he punched me in the gut. I’ve always known I was a disappointment to him in many ways, but to hear him say it out loud . . . for him to brush his own son’s happiness aside so easily hurts more than any physical wound. It’s only now that I realize he’ll never come around to accepting me—ever.
Clenching my fists in resolve, I go to leave the kitchen, determined to be out of this house before the sun comes up. If he can disregard me so easily, then I don’t want to be here any more than he wants me to be.
My mom appears in the doorway, tightening her robe around her waist. The sullen expression on her face tells me she’s heard enough to know there’s no going back from this argument.
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
She doesn’t even argue. Instead, she lifts her chin. I know she understands, but her blue eyes fill with tears and my heart breaks a little.
Three
Colton
It’s a chilly night, but the cold air filling my lungs goes mostly unnoticed as I stare down at the tiny blue light, blinking on my phone. Standing outside Lick’s Bar, I begrudgingly listen to the message that’s been waiting for me all day. I know it’s not from him; he’d never call me.
Resigned, I lean against the side of the building and put my phone to my ear. I can only imagine what my mom is going to scold me about this time. Or maybe she’ll sound flippant and unconcerned like she sometimes does, regaling me with tales of the trips she’s been on lately and how jet-setting her life is.
But the moment I hear my mom’s voice, something inside me aches a little. “Colton, I’m just wondering why I haven’t heard from you in weeks. Well, I know why, but—” She sighs and her voice changes from tones of disquieted concern to frustration. “I’m assuming you’re still living in Saratoga Falls? Are you still going to physical therapy? Are you even alive? I’m worried about you.” She pauses and I sigh for her this time, a puff of visible air evaporating as quickly as it appeared. “I hope things with Kylie are getting worked out. I’d like to see you guys soon. Please, just . . . don’t forget about us. Your father asked about you the other day, you know? No matter what you think, we love you and we miss you. Just call me when you can, please.”
I’m a horrible son, and I know my mother doesn’t deserve my distance. I keep telling myself I have my own life I need to deal with and figure out before I can tackle my relationship with them, but if that were true, I know I wouldn’t feel so guilty.
I stare down at my phone, watching as the screen dims to black. The bar door squeaks open and a slim, dirt-covered construction worker strolls out, nodding at me in greeting as he steps past. I nod back, trying to ignore the restlessness that generally lingers after a call from my mom, and I head for the door. I can’t put this “celebratory” drink off much longer. The instant I step inside Lick’s, the warm scent of stale beer assails my nostrils. I hate the dingy smell of bars, but with all the guys’ giddy-ass grins, it’s easy enough to ignore.
“HEY!” they cheer in unison. With the exception of a couple of women at a table in the corner, the bar is pretty dead, though with the guys laughing and bantering, you’d never know it. I shake my head, laughing at their excitement, and walk over.
“The man of the hour,” Reilly says, holding up a half-empty pint.
Bobby grins and points to an empty stool beside him. “Reilly told me you finally fixed that POS, man. I can’t believe it. I thought for sure when I heard it was back that it was down for the count.”
I sit down with a shrug. “It wasn’t easy,” I say, thinking back on the past two weeks I’d been wracking my brain, trying to solve the broken-ass mechanical riddle parked in my stall.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Nick says from behind the bar and offers me his hand. I accept it with a nod. “What, is this, like, your second time in here now?”
“Yeah, I finally got a free night.”
“Good for you. Although I don’t even know what to pour you.”
I shru
g, the guys all smiling, waiting for me to say something. “Whatever IPA you got on tap is fine.”
“First drink’s on me,” Felix says as he steps out of the restrooms in the hallway. He pats my shoulder.
A pretty redhead comes out from the back of the bar, flashing Nick a secret smile before she grabs an empty crate and disappears again. I’ve seen them together before, so their flirting makes sense.
“I don’t think you get it,” Bobby says, angling to look at me. “Grayson’s been my dad’s customer for years. And when I say years, I mean like thirty years or something. I’ve known him all my life. His daughter is like the hottest chick in town.”
“With a reputation that precedes her,” Reilly mutters.
I nod a thank-you to Nick when a frosted pint glass appears in front of me.
“. . . and all my life,” Bobby continues, “he’s had that same POS Cadillac. Now, how long it’s been running and the fact that, yet again, it’s fixed and back on the road—”
“Which might not be a good thing,” Felix chimes in. I chuckle and take a gulp, enjoying the hoppy taste. It’s been a while since I had a good beer, and I lick the foam from my lips.
“—is a testament to your patience, dude.” Bobby’s hands fly up. “Even my dad’s given up on that thing—even though he’d never admit it. He always makes one of us work on it now.”
“What can I say,” I say, shrugging. “It’s probably just luck, but I do get cars—women, parents, life, not so much.” I’m surprised to hear myself admit that out loud.
“Hear, hear!” Felix hymns and we all clink our beers together, laughing.
Reilly takes a gulp from his glass and lets out a contented sigh. “So, did you go to automotive school or work on cars with your dad as a kid?”
Though Reilly’s question is innocent enough, my emotions still sit too close to the surface for me not to have a reaction. I shake my head. “No, my dad has never gotten his hands dirty in his life, actually. He hates that I’m a mechanic, which is probably why I’ve gotten so good at it.” The guys laugh at my joke, all but Reilly. I can’t tell if his expression is one of understanding or curiosity.
Saratoga Falls: The Complete Love Story Series Page 35