Repaired

by Melissa Collins

  Paulie scrubbed a napkin over his face before locking his hands together in front of him. After a loud huff, he said, “Okay, then what can you tell me, Liam? That is your name, right?”

  “It is,” I replied quickly. And it was. Maybe not entirely, but partly, and that would have to be good enough for now. Sighing, I took a sip of my Coke, and said, “I can’t tell you much.”

  His face twisted into a look of confusion and concern.

  Holding up my hand to keep him from saying whatever was on the tip of his tongue, I interrupted him. “Listen, Paulie. I’m a hard worker and a fast learner. I love cars and I need this job more than anything. I promise not to be late and I’ll even stay after hours. Give me two weeks and if it’s not working out for you, you can let me go, but please, give me this chance.”

  I held my breath waiting for him to respond. I’d poured more sincerity into those words than any I’d ever spoken. That was because they were true. I needed this job more than anything. If he didn’t give it to me, I only had two choices.

  Go back.

  Or starve.

  Both had a similarly grave fate.

  Neither options were appealing.

  At that point, I’d lick his oil-covered work boots, begging him to let me keep the job he’d so freely offered before. But luckily for me, he had no such task in mind.

  “You’re eighteen, right?” he asked, a hint of tolerance in his words. His question told me that if I was eighteen, the job was mine, but if I lied to him, I’d find myself back out on my ass.

  “No, I’m not.” There was no room for fucking up at this point. If he refused me the job because I lied, I’d have no one to blame but myself. But if he kept it from me for his own reasons, then at least I could place the blame on him.

  Honesty it was, then.

  “I’m seventeen. Won’t be eighteen for another ten months.” Pausing, I looked up at the ceiling, hoping it would offer me some kind of strength to get through the rest of what I had to say. “Look, I have no ID. I can’t give you any references, and I won’t be able to fill out any paperwork for you. If you let me work for you, it’ll have to be off the books.”

  He hung his head, letting his shoulders round into a frustrated slump. Running his fingers through his hair, he pulled hard on the ends as he digested what I’d told him. Opening and closing his mouth a few times, it looked as if he couldn’t settle on what to say. In the end, he’d settled on, “Why?”

  “I can’t tell you why,” I deflected. “But I promise from here on out, I’ll be honest with you.”

  “No more stealing,” he directed pointedly and I nodded. I’d have no reason for it if I had a steady stream of income.

  After a few more minutes of silence, broken up only by the sound of Paulie angrily chewing on the rest of his meal, he finally said, “There are probably a hundred reasons why I shouldn’t hire you. I’m risking my ass on this, you know?”

  Afraid my words would somehow fuck things up, I nodded again and sat there, anxiously awaiting his final response.

  He said nothing more as we finished the last few bites of our food. The waitress dropped our check on the table and he covered it with two twenties, giving her a rather generous tip from what I could see of the bill.

  Generosity.

  Who knew such a thing existed.

  I sure as hell hadn’t seen much proof of it in my seventeen years.

  And if someone would have told me it came in the form of a gruff and angry giant of a shop owner, with grease on his clothes and grime under his nails, I never would have believed them.

  But there I was, standing in a diner parking lot, bathed in the hot pink florescent lights adorning the side of the building, praying for Paulie’s generosity to take pity on me.

  He reached into his back pocket once more, pulling out his wallet again. “Here,” he said, handing me a few bills. “Be at the shop at eight tomorrow morning. Get some bagels for me and the guys on your way, okay?”

  “Yes, sir,” I answered excitedly.

  Maybe it was a test to see if I could be trusted. Maybe it was his way of ensuring I’d have breakfast in the morning. Maybe he’d only wanted me to run an errand so he wouldn’t have to.

  One way or the other, I wasn’t going to screw it up.

  I’d fight tooth and nail to keep the job.

  It was my chance to start over.

  In a matter of a few hours, I’d been given the opportunity to create a new life, to forget about the nightmare I’d been living in for so long.

  With Paulie’s money crumpled in my pocket, I watched him pull out of the lot and into traffic. A million crazy thoughts raced through my head—all of them exciting and vibrant.

  An odd bubble of some foreign emotion filled my chest. Disconcerting at first, I couldn’t exactly figure out what it was.

  It wasn’t until I was about three blocks away from the diner, the neon lights fading away as the subtle sparkle of the stars took over that I realized what it was.

  Hope.

  “All right, that should wrap things up for today,” O’Neil called out, tapping a stack of folders on the desk. To be honest, I had no idea what was wrapping up exactly. I’d been so tuned out through the entire meeting that it’d really only been a stroke of luck that I’d heard his final words.

  In no real rush to get out of the office for the night, I’d already mentally prepared myself to stay late in order to make preparations for a case starting next week. It was perhaps the most prestigious case the firm had handled to date—a billionaire media mogul and his socialite wife. Well, soon to be ex-wife. After clearing out of the glass-walled meeting room, the ten lawyers, who comprised O’Neil and Ryan¸ all meandered back to their offices, getting lost in casual conversations about what bar they’d go to for drinks. The one thing I’d discovered since working here was that it didn’t matter what night it was. Drinks were always on the agenda. Using my upcoming case as a convenient excuse, I’d been able to deflect the invitation. My only plans for the night involved a drink with a man who was more interested in me than I was in him.

  Fun, right?

  “Any calls, Serena?” I asked as I approached her desk. She already had the stack of messages and a handful of envelopes ready for me, rendering my question useless. Serena was the epitome of organization. It’d taken me three temps, all of whom were massive flirts, before I’d found her. She defined professionalism and had been with another legal firm for fifteen years before taking time off to care for her dying husband. When he’d passed, her job had been filled. Luck had certainly been on my side the day her application crossed my desk. In her late forties, she was as sharp as a tack and kept me on my toes. Her short black hair was always flopping in her eyes, something that endeared her to me. The fact that she reminded me of the quintessential mother—not an ounce like my own—didn’t hurt either. She was sweet and kind, but could spit nails when necessary.

  “Here you are,” she said, handing me everything. “I’ve cleared your calendar for tomorrow afternoon as well,” she announced proudly. Distracted, I offered a quick nod as I walked through the doorway of my office. Taking a moment to appreciate my name shining brightly back at me from the door, I became lost to my own thoughts.

  There was a part of me that wanted to add Partner to the tag as well, but since my last name was on the building itself, it seemed a bit redundant. Besides, I was sure my father would have something to say about it. Probably something along the lines of how the title had really been his and I’d simply inherited it.

  Flopping back into my chair, I let out a long sigh, hoping the frustrations of the day would go away. My father wasn’t an easy person to get along with at Sunday dinner, forget about dealing with him in high stress—not to mention high finance—situations. Even though I knew my shit, he never seemed to trust my judgment. Nine times out of ten, I’d make a suggestion and he’d shoot it down, poking holes at it from every angle. Then five minutes later, he’d propose a strikingly simila
r solution, tweaking it the tiniest bit, yet taking full responsibility for it. No one would say anything. He was the most senior member of the firm and he’d built the entire office from the ground up. I was only here because I was his son—a fact he reminded me of frequently.

  Despite graduating at the top of my class from Columbia Law School, he’d always made me feel as if I’d never be good enough for this place, for him. He’d even gone so far as to take responsibility for my degree. Law was in my blood; it was something I’d genetically inherited from him, at least that was his take on it. So if it hadn’t been for him, I’d never have the passion for law that I do. I couldn’t fault him for that, but studying my ass off, becoming the best of the best, those accomplishments were solely mine. Well, in my mind at least. Of course he’d said since he’d paid for my education it was something he did for me.

  On good days, I’d reached my boiling point with him and his little digs at me, but I could usually last until closing time. He’d pretend as though no one else had noticed them, but I knew our colleagues simply ignored him to save face, and their jobs. Today, however, his snide remarks had a few others actually gasping in shock. I had no clue what I’d done to piss him off, but I didn’t care. Today, he’d pushed me past my limit before lunch. Although I’d been here physically, mentally, I’d shut down not long after arriving.

  While in my heart I’d hoped that his very obvious annoyance with me had nothing to do with the fact I was gay, my brain told me otherwise. Coming out to him and my mother when I was in college wasn’t easy, but it was something I’d had to do. It didn’t change who I was as far as I was concerned. I’d still wanted to study law, to make a difference in the world. I never quite understood how who you loved made a difference in the person you were, but apparently, there were people out there far less open-minded than me.

  The young naïve boy I’d once been, hoped that my coming out wouldn’t change how my parents felt about me. And it hadn’t—at least where my mother was concerned. My father. Yeah, well, that was a different story. For all intents and purposes, he’d treated me pretty much the same as before he’d known I was gay. Distant and stoic were the two words I’d use most frequently to describe him. After finding out that his only son wouldn’t provide him with the legacy he’d hoped for, his attitude toward me turned downright arctic.

  He’d never admit the reason, but I knew it.

  I simply chose to ignore it.

  Most of the time, but at that moment, I had no such luck.

  Burying myself at work wasn’t the way to do it. That much I knew for certain. But it was the only way for me to prove myself to him. It was also the only way for me to avoid the emptiness that was waiting for me at home. So work it was

  “I’ll be heading home now, Mr. Ryan,” Serena said after softly tapping on the office door. “Unless there’s something else you need.” She removed her glasses, letting them hang around her neck on the delicate silver chain. Her eyes crinkled in concern as she watched me pinch the bridge of my nose.

  “No thank you, Serena. I’m all set for the evening,” I replied, my words a half-assed attempt at covering up my exhaustion.

  Returning my attention back to the computer, I finished going through some last minute emails. When my eyes settled on the last one in the queue, the subject practically screamed at me. My stomach twisted in knots. Meeting w/ Mr. Ryan, Sr. @ 9 a.m. The red exclamation point standing proudly next to those words was unnecessary really. Every email from your boss was always of high importance, but when your boss was also your asshole father, there was no low importance on any communication.

  “Fuck!” I blurted out. The bastard hadn’t even had the backbone to ask for my time in person. Slamming my fists down on the desk made my hours-old cup of coffee wobble, teetering precariously close to spilling over. Afraid it’d ruin the briefs I’d spent the last week reviewing, I reached for it quickly, hoping to steady it.

  No such luck.

  Again.

  The dark liquid splashed across the desk, covering everything in a mess of coffee and cream. “Ahh, shit!” Trying my best to recover what I could, I quickly grabbed the papers that hadn’t been completely ruined. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Just my fucking luck.”

  “Did you say something, Mr. Ryan?” Serena asked, peering her head around the corner of the doorway. With her bag slung over her shoulder, she looked tiny, weighed down.

  Knowing how much she hated my foul mouth, I answered her quickly. “No, Serena.”

  “Oh, good.” She snickered. “Must be my ears playing tricks on me,” she joked, waving a finger at me. Rolling my eyes at her ‘good manners are for everyone no matter how much money you make’ attitude, I shook the excess coffee from my hands. “Now, can I order you dinner before I leave?” Her voice morphed from mocking and stern to kind and motherly in a matter of seconds. It had taken me a few days to get used to her ways. There were often times my head spun, but Serena kept me on my toes. And despite her shortcomings in her objections to my language, I wouldn’t trade her for the world.

  “No dinner, thank you. But would you mind getting me another cup of coffee?” Waving my hand over my desk, I pointed to the mess over which I definitely was not cursing.

  “Sure thing.” She winked, laughing quietly to herself as she turned to walk toward the small kitchenette in the center aisle of the cubicles. When she returned five minutes later, I’d somehow managed to clean up my desk and salvage most of my paperwork. The few sheets that had bared the brunt of the damage were carefully laid out on the spare table.

  “Thank you.” Pulling the cup of coffee up to my nose, I inhaled the rich fullness of the brew. “You’re a lifesaver.”

  “I know. I know.” She waved away my praise. As she stepped out of the office again, she told me she’d see me on Monday, while reminding me that I ought to get out of the office at a reasonable hour and enjoy my weekend.

  Settling back in my chair, it took me a full five minutes to piece together that she’d told me to have a good weekend, yet today was Thursday. That’s when I noticed the hot pink Post-It note stuck to the top of my pile of mail.

  I’d most definitely forgotten, which pretty much sucked because my entire day on Friday was cleared so that I could lock myself in the office and finalize the papers for the upcoming Maxwell divorce. But locking myself away from everyone else always involved a gatekeeper, a role which Serena filled perfectly.

  Pushing back from my desk with more effort than I really needed to use, sent my second cup of coffee tumbling over the edge, straight onto my lap.

  “You motherfucking asshole,” I cursed, leaping out of my chair. Well, I guessed the saving grace this time around was that I hadn’t ruined anymore of my papers.

  My pants, on the other hand, were a completely different story.

  Might as well cut my losses and head home for the night.

  There was no need to even bother with my briefcase since I’d be here again bright and early tomorrow. Sliding open the top drawer, I pulled out my keys and headed for the parking lot.

  Maybe a drive would help calm my nerves. It would definitely help me blow off some steam. It was early spring on the south shore of Long Island. Some nights, there was still a brittle chill in the air, but it was slowly starting to turn warm. Luckily for me, tonight was one such night. A slight breeze ran through my hair, blowing it in every direction. On a deep inhale, I chose to let the day go, preferring the open road before me as a means of settling my frayed edges.

  Clicking the keyless entry on the fob, the lights on my BMW flickered. The leather seat was cool against the back of my legs, a welcome contrast to the scalding cup of coffee heating the front of them. In a matter of minutes, I was speeding along the highway. With the windows down, the cool breeze washed away my shitty day. It wasn’t long before the curves of the overpass next to the courthouse met me.

  Shit, had I really driven that far?

  The scary part was when I sat down in the car, I
didn’t even have a destination in mind. It was as if my brain was somehow preprogrammed to take me to this place.

  Shaking my head and laughing at my own stupidity, I took my eyes off the road for less than two seconds. Just long enough for me to miss the gigantic pothole spanning nearly half the road.

  “Holy fuck,” I cursed as the car careened to the side. There was a loud pop as I skidded along the curb of the overpass. Recovering as quickly as possible kept me from damaging the body, but it did nothing to save the tire.

  Pulling over to the side of the road, I switched on the hazards. After catching my breath, I ran my hands through my hair, pulling hard on the ends, reveling in the sharp spike of pain shooting through my scalp.

  “You have to be fucking kidding me” I growled, slamming my fists against the steering wheel. When I finally calmed myself down, I stepped out of the car to inspect the damage. It wasn’t good. You’d think with the amount you pay for a top of the line BMW—with run-flat tires, no less—that you’d be able to survive a run-in with a pothole with minimal damage.

  All in all, I knew one thing for certain—today was most definitely not my day.

  Having driven down this part of Main Street a million times, I knew there was a repair shop less than a quarter mile away. With any luck, I’d be able to have my car repaired and be on my way.

  Chuckling to myself, I figured things probably wouldn’t be that easy.

  Because if there was one thing I didn’t have on my side, it was luck.

  “I’m out for the night,” Paulie announced from the grimy red door separating the office from the bays.

  “That woman’s got you on a short leash, huh? Not even six o’clock and you’re already outta here,” I joked, tossing a greasy cloth in his direction. “And you’ve only been married, like what, eight months? Can’t imagine what it’ll be like in a few years. She’ll probably have your balls bronzed and set on the mantle.”