by Rae, Harloe
“Why not?”
“I have more important things to focus on.”
She makes a circular motion with her hand. “Such as?”
“My daughter, first and foremost.”
Her brows lower. “Millie is preoccupied with being a first grader.”
I frown at her easy explanation. “She needs my full attention.”
“Are you worried about her?”
“Always,” I respond without hesitation.
“Why? Isn’t she enjoying school?”
I lift a single shoulder. “She seems to be adjusting well. Her teacher has sent me a few emails, though. Millie’s lack of communication is raising some red flags. Several staff members have noticed. She’s resistant to speaking with just about everyone, even the girls she’s friends with.”
Deep grooves cut across her forehead. “Ah, shoot. I’m sorry, Keegan. Is there something we can do?”
My exhale is long, drawn out on purpose. I’m stalling. This topic is always difficult to breach. “There are special services she might qualify for. She would have to go through an evaluation. I’m not ready to cross that bridge yet.”
Josey nods. “You were a shy kid, right?”
I laugh, as if the opposite could be true. “Uh, yeah. It’s safe to say she inherited the quiet traits from me.”
She rests a palm over my fidgeting hand. “Then don’t fret yet. Millie will find her stride and blossom.”
The tension pulsing in my temple eases slightly. “That’s what I keep hoping for.”
“Great. In the meantime, you can cut loose a bit.” She winks at me. “A little static between the sheets.”
I rub my temples. “No. Just no, Joe.”
“What’s your next excuse?”
She earns another glare for this relentless badgering. “The last thing I need is another careless man to stomp all over my newly erected life. I made a promise to myself, and Millie, that I wouldn’t make careless choices again. When I’m ready to try again, it will be for serious.”
She garbles out a laugh. I cock a brow, waiting for the joke. Her jaw pops open. “Oh, wow. You’ve been out of the game too long. Come on, girl. You said erected.”
I give her an eye roll that any diva princess would envy. “How old are you again?”
“Where’d my fun-loving friend disappear to? I want her to speak up. She would laugh with me about stupid innuendos.”
“She’s been kicked one too many times, I’m afraid.” An all-too-familiar ache spreads through my chest. I don’t bother trying to rub the sting away.
Josey sits forward. “I’m sorry, I truly am. But meeting up for a casual meal or night out won’t hurt. Keke needs her groove back.”
Another round of churning twists my belly. “Honestly, I’m fine.”
“That isn’t good enough.”
I’m three seconds away from banging my head on the table. Just before I take action, a lightbulb moment flickers on in my brain. “Before I even entertain the idea of dating, Millie needs a dog.”
My friend crosses her arms and assesses me with an all-knowing look. “Are you really comparing finding a decent man to getting a family pet?”
“The responsibility of it all? Yes.”
“It’s official. You’re being ridiculous.”
“Me? This is all your doing.”
“Because I care about you and the cobwebs sprouting down below.”
The laugh bubbling out of me shakes my entire frame. “You’re taking things to a whole new level.”
“Extreme measures are necessary at this point, Keke. There’s nothing wrong with bumping a few uglies to soothe an ache. Or scratch that hard-to-reach itch. Even the best vibrator can’t stroke all those hidden spots.”
A burst of heat singes up my neck. I glance around the bustling bistro. The patrons of Steeped are getting quite the earful, thanks to my nosy bestie. “Will you turn the inappropriate badgering down a notch?”
Her eyes dart from one wall to another. “No one cares about your vibrator, Keke. And if they do, it’s only because they’re in the same boat.”
I hold up a palm, halting her never-ending line of suggestions. “Why the desperate need to pair me off all of a sudden?”
Ruby splotches stain her freckled cheeks. Thanks to a pale complexion, my bestie can’t tell a lie. I refer to this blatant tell as her Pinocchio bluff. “I met a guy who’s perfect for you.”
I bury my face between my palms. “And the plot thickens.”
“He’s really sweet and hard working. I checked into his status—totally single and ready to mingle.”
“Thanks for the report, but I’m not interested.”
“How about looking at his picture? He’s so dreamy.”
“This guy sounds perfect.”
“That’s what I was getting at,” she sings.
“Why don’t you focus this energy on making him your Mr. Happily Ever After?” I wince, immediately realizing that I’m an inch away from striking a nerve. A knot forms in my chest while I reach for her hand. “Sorry, Joe.”
She shrugs, averting her gaze. “It’s okay.”
I shake my head. “But it’s not. That was very insensitive of me.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m happy to have all of the attention on you at the moment.” Her smile droops, and I want to dump this entire conversation into the trash. Josey has struggled with finding the beauty within herself since middle school. As a teenager battling with her weight, she fell into the arms of too many bad choices. One asshole after another threatened to tarnish her sparkle. Thank the good Lord she chose to use their mean-spirited targeting to build herself up. After embracing her curvaceous figure, the true Josey was able to emerge and prosper. She’s more confident and boldly aware of her assets these days, but the right man still hasn’t snatched her up.
Regardless of what happened in the past, my friend remains optimistic. Bless her hopeless, romantic heart for always finding a silver lining. She’s the sounding board for true love and happily ever after. It’s too bad she can’t find her own fairy tale. If that were the case, her relentless interest in my dating life could catch a break.
After another tense beat, her smile returns tenfold. “Maybe I should start a dating app for single folks in Wyoming.”
“There are already plenty of those available.”
She wiggles her eyebrows. “Been looking?”
I scoff. “Not at all.”
“Hey, you can tell me. No judgment.”
“Trust me, you’d be the first to know.”
Her mouth forms a flat line. “You’re no fun.”
“I prefer being safe and boring.”
“That’s not going on your dating profile.”
“Mostly because I won’t have one.”
“Not if I have anything to do with it.”
“Starting an account without my permission? Pretty sure that’s against the rules.”
Josey cackles. “This will be my site. I’ll be the one making rules.”
Going on about some fake creation is exactly why we’re friends. I give her a genuine smile. “You’re one heck of a spokesperson for online dating, that’s for sure.”
“And you’re being sarcastic.”
“Not sure how else to be in a situation like this.”
“Feisty is better than indifference. I accept your sass.”
I quirk a brow. “Not sure you have a choice.”
“Even better. Keep going.”
“You’re a distraction. We’re supposed to be working.” I jostle my mouse to wake up the computer screen.
“Oh, please. Our jobs aren’t going anywhere.”
“For now, and only because we’ve been busting our humps.”
Josey snorts. “Demand for freelance graphic design is booming, babe. And the glory of being our own bosses is we set the schedule. We can pick up projects whenever and stay remote. Did your office hours suddenly change?”
“No, everything is
falling into place. There’s a stability in our life that we haven’t had. Business is steady. We finally have our own house. And I’ll be able to buy a new car this year. All is going according to my re-do plan.”
“Aside from soothing your womanly cravings,” she mutters.
“We’ve been over this. I’m ready to talk about something—anything—else.”
“Just tell me you’ll think about it.”
Cue internal eye roll. “Okay, sure. I’ll consider your outrageous suggestion.”
“That’s all I ask.” She opens her laptop and immediately begins typing.
I squint at her. That was far too easy after the last thirty minutes of intense pressure. “You’re suddenly ready to be productive?”
“I’m satisfied.” Her smile grows. “For now.”
A low groan escapes me. “I need backup.”
“Oh, you’ll need a lot more than that.”
Healing Hug #3: To stop the rage that seems to never quit.
The setting sun glints off the Harley’s chrome fender in front of me. This is a mighty fine chopper, and even better after my custom modifications. I give a final twist to set the bolt, spinning the tire to triple-check alignment. Not a wobble in sight. A burst of warmth rushes over my skin that has nothing to do with the lingering heat.
The owner will cruise away from Iron Throttle as a happy customer. But Decker always does. Erik and Grady, too. We all grew up together in this small town, but can barely be considered acquaintances. If I was more socially inclined, we could probably be friends. I rarely leave my compound unless duty calls in one form or another. People call me reclusive, a loner, and they’re right. I’ve always kept to myself and prefer to be on my own. That didn’t stop Decker from being one of the first to take a chance on my garage. He’s been dropping off his hog for years without second guessing. Trusting another man with your bike is an honor that I don’t take lightly.
This is precisely why a job done well isn’t good enough. Everything has to be perfect.
I’ve spent years building a brand for myself that brings in consistent business. There isn’t much in my life that I can take pride in. This shop, my motorcycles, and the endless dedication I pour into every project are the foundation that I stand on. Not that I rely on a lot to keep me upright. Or have anything, for that matter. Fortunately, the general public of Silo Springs appreciates hard work and reliable service. My hands are never idle for long.
Gasoline and burning rubber saturate the air without fail. The aroma is a trademark for any garage worth its reputation. That scent clings to me deeper than the motor oil beneath my nails. A slight twitch teases the corners of my lips. I wouldn’t trade this for anything.
I spend a few extra moments polishing the already glossy paint. Black and silver gleam at me, the machine’s version of a salute. I’m sure Decker will grant me his version of the same for what I’ve done, but the satisfaction flows both ways. Not even a swanky corner office with the biggest window in Wyoming could replace this feeling. A balloon of pride swells inside of my chest for all that I’ve accomplished. Not many people are running their own successful business by the ripe age of twenty-six.
The sound of tires crunching over gravel has my gaze automatically lifting. A familiar red BMW pulls into my lot, popping that expanding bout of honor faster than a straight pin. Sludge fills my veins as I watch my father steer his beloved possession toward the garage. It’s been months since he’s paid me a visit, but I could’ve survived the rest of my days without a drop-in from the old man.
As if sensing my unease, Patch growls from her cushion in the corner. Malamutes are typically a docile, albeit anxious, breed. Really not much of a watch hound. But mine is more protective than the fiercest junkyard dog. If anyone dared to cross that invisible line, her canines would be hitting bone before they threw a punch.
Edward Doxe is a man with a mission, and today is no different. The slam of his car door crashes into the comforting sounds of clinking metal and classic rock that normally surround me here. I can almost see a storm swirling around his broad frame. He takes extra care to avoid the land mines of greasy puddles and scattered tools. Heaven forbid his spotless loafers get a scuff. I feel my muscles bunch in preparation for a fight, but getting physical has never been my dad’s style. Cutting me down with words is his specialty. There’s been a target on my forehead since I suffered from a temporary stutter in kindergarten. I’ve always been a bit different from other kids. Being too quiet and withdrawn made me the bane of his otherwise impeccable existence. Over the years, I’ve learned to slam down a wall of steel to avoid the blows. My armor isn’t bulletproof, though.
Patch rises in a protective stance, her eyes watching him like a hawk tracks a rabbit. A rumble of warning vibrates from her bulky form as she waits for my command. I give her a shrill whistle, swatting the air until she relents. She gives me a frustrated whine, but collapses into her bed.
“It’s disappointing to see you’re keeping that mangy mutt around.” He lifts a brow at my companion. She curls her upper lip, showing off a set of impressive weapons.
I rescued Patch from a kill shelter. Her reality was worse than grim when I found her. Feral and considered aggressive, she had never experienced kindness until I brought her home. Not much different from my own story. We’re kindred spirits, of sorts. “I’m grateful she tolerates me.”
My father crosses his arms. “She’s filthy, and probably has fleas.”
I don’t bother wasting energy responding to that. “Something I can help you with?”
“Sharron would like you to join us for dinner on Sunday.”
“And you couldn’t just call with the invite?”
“As if you’d answer,” he spits.
“For good reason,” I retort.
He stomps forward, narrowly missing a blob of grease on the concrete. I’m a little disappointed. “You’re such a little shit.”
I make a show of appraising my body. Nothing about me is small. Maybe I have him to thank for that. But my father will never hear me give him an ounce of credit. “Then why does your girlfriend want me around?”
“She’s trying to make us a family again.”
My responding chuckle is sharp enough to sting. “Good luck with that.”
“You need to show her respect. I’m planning to marry that woman.”
“Yeah? You’re a lucky man.” She’s after his money, no doubt. Why else would a bombshell thirty-something go after a man in his late fifties? Digging for gold.
“I’m glad you can be bothered to notice. She’s making me a better man.” He puffs out his barrel chest, as if that’s going to impress me.
“Highly doubtful,” I mutter.
His nostrils flare wide, the vision of a teapot billowing steam. “Remember who you’re talking to, son.”
“Gonna put me in my place?” I haven’t been intimidated by him since I hit puberty, and he knows it.
“Are you trying to force my hand?” My father paces in the far stall. His stride is stiff with the beginning stages of arthritis and pent-up aggression. He’s smart to remain a safe distance away from Patch. I won’t call her off a second time.
“Nah, I think we’re done.” I add an extra grunt, turning my glare toward the kaleidoscope of colors blasting across the horizon. Nothing beats the sunset from up here. A selling point for this plot of land—in addition to being off the beaten path—is the unobstructed view to the west. If I squint hard enough, a faint outline from the distant Rockies can be seen.
“You can’t get rid of me that easily.”
“No?” I pick up an oil-drenched socket set and begin scrubbing at the grime. A slither of glee tickles my spine when he glowers at me.
“Is being a grease monkey all that you aspire to be?”
I shrug off his thinly-veiled disgust. Opening Iron Throttle is the best decision I’ve made by a long shot. This place has kept me out of more trouble than I can count. I created this company from nothi
ng but a pile of dusty ground Silo Springs is known for. But this man will never accept my choice of profession. “I’m not going anywhere, least of all the corporate world.”
“Your brother wised up and left this line of work. I’m waiting for you to do the same.”
His mention of Grant is a purposeful blow. I almost stagger from the impact. Thinking about my brother in this context is the equivalent to drilling a hole through my heart. We were thick as thieves, quite literally, as kids and teens. He watched out for me when my self-preservation scraped bottom. I wasn’t ambitious enough to achieve more. Making friends and creating aspirations wasn’t something I forced myself into. Goals were a waste of effort. All that mattered was ditching the punishing dictatorship of my father. But Grant cared enough for both of us. Until the day it all crashed down.
After a near-fatal accident his senior year of high school, everything blew up in a pile of disintegrated dreams. Grant gave up his grease rag for a five-piece suit and dear old dad couldn’t be happier.
Fuck him for throwing that painful piece of history at me. I narrow my gaze, pinning him with the fire burning inside of me. “Heard from my mom lately?”
My father curls his hands into fists. “How dare you bring her up.”
That’s rich, coming from him. My mother is his biggest failure, and greatest point of weakness. Maybe the only one he’s somewhat willing to admit exists. I’d almost sympathize if he didn’t continue tossing Grant in my face. She’s the main reason his hate for me boils so hot. I rock back on my heels. “Seems only fair.”
“There’s zero comparison.”
He earns a low snort for that. “Mom cheated on you. Grant abandoned me. Pretty damn close, if you ask me.”
My dad points a blunt finger in my direction. “I sure as shit wasn’t looking for your opinion when I drove all the way to this sinkhole. You’re going nowhere fast, Crawford.”