Sounded like a good idea. Poor Roxy really did need it. “Got a color in mind?”
She smiled and I immediately knew. “Purple. Duh.”
I returned the smile. “I believe I can do that. It suits her. Matter of fact, I could probably get started on that this weekend.”
“Oh, I’m not trying to rush you,” she quickly said. “Just whenever you can fit it into your schedule. I know you’ve got a lot of jobs.”
Honey, yours would be at the top of my list every time.
“No, it’s no big deal,” I told her. “I just got a new airbrush gun in that I want to try out, so this would be the perfect time to work on her. Roxy and I’ll geek it out this weekend with my gun and some Metallica. We’ll have a blast.”
She stared at me for several seconds in silence and I so badly wanted to ask what she was thinking. Before I got the chance, though, she nodded and smiled. “Whatever you say, Picasso.”
She took off toward her rental car and once again, I was captivated by the movement of her ass. “Picasso?” I called out to her. “I know you can do better than that.”
She looked over her shoulder, a sly look in her eyes. It was almost as if she were daring me to run after her, which I would gladly have done if I didn’t have a shop full of dickheads watching us.
“I thought it was cute!” she yelled back. “Take care of my girl, Cruz.”
I stood there and watched her drive away again like the idiot I was. The second she was out of the parking lot, I heard Jimmy’s voice behind me.
“Yep, it’s official. He’s completely pussy-whipped. What is it? The 14th? Who had the 14th? Alright, Grady wins the pot!” There was grumbling from the rest of the guys and I whipped around, glowering at every single one of the bastards as they handed Grady their money.
Jimmy didn’t look affected by the daggers I was shooting at him. “What? We also have one on how long it will take you to get her name tattooed on your body. That’s a big one so don’t let me down, buddy.”
The whole shop erupted in laughter as I walked off to light a cigarette, throwing the finger at them over my shoulder.
Bunch. Of. Assholes.
Chapter Six
Sage
“Because this is Mr. Stanton’s first offense, I’m willing to be lenient,” the judge announced. “Therefore, he will only have to complete 250 hours of community service.” He looked over the rim of his glasses and eyed my fifteen-year-old client, Jamal. “I’m giving you a chance to make better choices, young man. If I see you in here again, I won’t be so generous next time.”
Jamal’s lawyer and I thanked him and made our way out of the courtroom as the next case was called. His lawyer had another hearing in a few minutes, so she took off the second we were outside, leaving the two of us alone.
“Can I take this thing off now?” Jamal complained, reaching for his neck tie. “It’s choking the life out of me.”
“You’re lucky that I’m not choking the life out of you,” I growled. “Tagging a building, Jamal? Really? Since when did you become a stereotype?”
He huffed. “Since when did you become a racist?”
I rolled my eyes, knowing he wasn’t being serious. He and I just went back and forth all the time. It was how we communicated. “Throwing out the race card so soon? I’m disappointed. You’re smarter than that. I got to say, I expected more from this conversation.”
We started walking through War Memorial Plaza since my car was parked on the other side, a couple of blocks down Lexington Avenue.
“Yeah, well, I barely even sprayed it,” he retorted. “The cop only arrested me because he saw that I was black, so what would you call it?”
I laughed mirthlessly. “He arrested you because you were committing a crime, genius. Come on, you’re my best kid. You never get into trouble, and I hardly ever have to worry about you. What’s going on?”
Jamal was an extremely intelligent kid and always did well in school, despite the shit storm his personal life had been for the past four years. He never acted out, so this whole graffiti routine was new and very uncharacteristic of him.
He shrugged, not meeting my eyes. “I don’t know. I just wanted to try it once.”
I gave him a look. “You know I’m not going to buy that.”
“Maybe I was sick of being the good guy all the time. Maybe for once, I didn’t want to do what I was told.”
I made a buzzer noise in my throat. “Nope. Try again.”
Jamal sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Then, I don’t know what to tell you, Sage. You’ve got the psychology degree, so you tell me what’s going on.”
I shook my head at him, maintaining my ground. “That’s not how this works and you know it. You’ve never had a problem talking to me before. Most of the time, I can’t get you to stop.” He chuckled at that, and I knew I was getting somewhere. I added in a gentler voice, “I can’t help you out if you don’t open up, Jamal.”
It took him a minute or so, but he eventually threw his hands up in surrender. “You want to know what it is?” I raised my eyebrow in expectation. “I’m bored, Sage.”
I stopped walking, making him halt in front of me. “Bored…” I repeated slowly. “You tagged a building because you’re bored.”
“Yes!” His lips were pursed, his movements frustrated. “School doesn’t do it for me. I get my homework done in like ten minutes every night. And I love the Turners, but there’s not a whole lot to do at the house anymore except watch TV. I need something else to do.”
I was such a moron. This poor kid needed an outlet of some kind as most do, especially the more intelligent ones who find most activities for kids their age mundane. It wasn’t a good excuse to graffiti public property. But if getting him involved in something meant that he would stay out of trouble, I would foot the bill myself for classes or programs or whatever he wanted.
“Okay. That I’ll believe.” His eyes snapped to mine in shock. “I get it. Everyone needs a hobby of sorts. So, what interests you?”
He shoved his hands in his pants pockets, rocking back and forth on his feet. “I don’t know. Everything at school is too easy, even math. I don’t enjoy any of it.”
Well, putting him into advanced courses sure wouldn’t be more fun for him then. “What about a sport?”
He made a face and shook his head. “Nah, not really my thing. Plus, half the athletes at my school are assholes.”
“Language,” I chided. I racked my brain, thinking of other options. “What about becoming a tutor?”
He threw his head back and laughed. “Yeah, right. I’d much rather do the community service over that.”
“Well, how about you throw out some suggestions then.”
He was quiet for a second and then replied, “Honestly, I liked those art classes you got me into at the community center last year. I pretty much mastered all the techniques they taught so it kind of dragged there at the end. But I liked working on the mural we painted on the side of the building.”
Hearing that, the graffiti thing suddenly made sense. “Okay. So, let’s explore the art angle. You know that my brother is a tattoo artist. Maybe he could use an apprentice.”
“I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t really like small, intricate designs. I’m not good with that much detail.” He spread his arms out to the side. “I like drawing and painting bigger things, if that makes sense. Like on a bigger scale. Buildings or walls or—”
Light bulb. “Or cars?”
He looked at me, considering. “Maybe. Not something I’ve ever tried. Could be fun, though.”
I smiled, an idea forming in my head. “I’ve got a friend who does custom design work on cars and motorcycles. Maybe I could talk to him about you coming around and doing some work for him.”
For the first time in the whole conversation, Jamal’s face brightened. “That sounds cool. You’d ask him for me?”
“As long as you don’t pull any more graffiti stunts, yes,
I’ll ask him.”
He gave me the Boy Scout’s salute. “Scout’s honor. I’ll officially retire my spray cans.”
I smiled and threw an arm over his shoulder as we began walking again. “Good. He’s the one working on my car for me, so if he agrees, you can let me know what you think.”
“Roxanne’s in the shop?”
I sighed. “Yep. I’m driving a Chevy Malibu for now.”
He scoffed. “Lame. You need to get Frank to lend you the Nova.”
“Don’t I know it. Now, prove to me how sorry you are for dragging my butt down here today and buy me some lunch.”
He laughed quietly and then said in a subdued voice, “Thanks, Sage.”
I gave his shoulder a good squeeze at the same time my heart tightened in my chest. These were the moments that I worked for. This was why I did what I did.
“Anytime, kid.”
##
The next day was Saturday, and I was painfully aware the entire day that Mason was supposed to be working on my car at the shop. I did everything I could think of to distract myself from that fact. I cleaned my entire house, though that didn’t take long seeing as it was the size of a pillbox. I went grocery shopping, I mowed my lawn, and I even did some extra paperwork. But by that afternoon, I still had Mason on the brain and everything inside me wanted to drive over to his shop under the guise of seeing how the paint job was going.
The truth was that I just wanted to see him, talk to him. Get to know him better because I liked everything I’d learned about him up to that point. I was able to talk myself out of it at the last minute, however, and decided to drive over to my parents’ house instead to see if my dad would let me borrow the Nova.
Frank and Constance Mitchell were, in my opinion, the model couple by which all other foster parents should be measured. They were the most kind-hearted, respectable people I knew, and I had been extremely lucky to land them as my foster family when I was thirteen. They were the type that a kid wanted to stay with and in mine and Pierce’s cases, we had stayed around the area, so the Mitchells were all too happy to more or less adopt us into their permanent family. They still took in a kid every now and then, but they were getting older and just couldn’t keep up as well with them anymore.
To Pierce and I, they were our parents and they never treated us as anything other than their children. We celebrated holidays and birthdays with them, and when either of us had news to share, they were the first people we called. Hell, when I’d been dealing with the legal issues with my first foster father, Roy, Frank had been there every emotional step of the way. My lawyer even had to hold him back once from beating the living shit of out Roy.
I was still angry at the lawyer for stopping him.
I pulled in the driveway and walked around back to Frank’s garage where you could always find him tinkering around with either one of his cars or one of his woodworking projects. Today, it looked like he was attempting to build a rocking chair.
“Finish the coffee table already?” I asked, leaning against the door frame.
His eyes shot up to mine and he smiled. “That was two weeks ago. Where have you been?”
“Out of the loop, it would seem. I still haven’t gotten my end tables, you know.”
He grunted as he finished hammering a nail into the wood. “When the woman stops bugging me with all the projects she has with this house, then I’ll get started on yours.”
I laughed, knowing exactly how persistent Connie Mitchell could be. “You going to need the Nova for anything in the next few weeks?”
“No, I don’t think so.” He glanced up. “Needing to borrow it?”
“Yeah. Roxanne had a busted camshaft so I’m having a guy re-build the engine. And I’m finally getting that paint job done that I want.”
His forehead creased in concern. “You trust this guy with that?”
I nodded. I didn’t have a doubt in my mind that Mason would do an amazing job and I’d only just met him. “Definitely. He knows his stuff. You should see the GTO he restored. It’s basically your dream car.”
His face softened in approval, his features transforming to intrigue. “You don’t say. I might have to look him up myself.”
I looked over at the house and back at him. “Tell me Connie has some homemade iced tea in there.”
He grinned, the love for his wife so evident. “She does. Grab a glass for me too, would you?”
Sometimes I slipped up and called Frank “Dad” when I wasn’t thinking about it. He was the only father I’d ever known so it was understandable, and he had assured me time and again that it was fine. But as much as I loved Connie, I had never been able to call her “Mom.” The difference was that I actually had a mother once, one who I remembered and loved. She was taken from me much too soon, but I carried her memory around with me everywhere.
I hated that her face wasn’t as vivid in my mind as it used to be, and I couldn’t recall exactly how her voice sounded. But I knew that she had loved me with her entire soul and she would forever remain in my heart. I also knew that Connie completely understood that and never took offense to it.
I didn’t see Connie when I entered the kitchen, so I poured out some tea and re-joined Frank outside where he sat on the back patio. “Thank you, dear.”
I luxuriated in the calmness of the setting sun, twilight having taken over the evening sky. “So, how’s the business doing?” I asked.
“Good,” he answered. “Our first quarter this year was the highest it’s ever been, so I’m happy at the moment.”
He owned a successful trucking company that operated throughout the entire Southeast. It had actually been a big part of my teenage years. He used to always like taking Pierce and I to the shops, introducing us to the drivers and showing us the ropes. He even used to throw barbecues at the house when we were younger and invite a lot of his employees in the Baltimore area. It created a pretty tight-knit group with all of us, made it feel like family.
Then, I met my ex-husband Scott and all of that changed. Because Scott was learning to take over for Frank when he retired. The business was how I had met him in the first place. Scott was in charge of the leasing department and when Frank had introduced us years ago, we’d immediately hit it off.
And after we divorced five years ago, nothing was ever the same again.
“We just signed on a huge lease customer too,” he continued. “Scott had been working on them for almost four months before they caved.” He winced and looked at me apologetically. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring him up.”
I patted his knee, loving that he cared. “It’s okay. You can talk about him.” I laughed. “He works for you after all, so it’s not like it can always be avoided. Five years has been long enough.”
He put his hand over mine. “I just hate that it’s always there as a reminder for you. I don’t want that to always be a thorn in your side. There’s just nothing I can really do about it.”
“Dad,” I said sternly, forcing him to meet my eyes, “you don’t have to do anything about it. He’s a hard worker and he’s the best choice to leave the company to. You know the break-up was mutual. There’s no lingering resentment between us. There’s no ill will there. We both wish each other the best.”
“Yes, but I introduced you,” he argued softly. “I’ll always feel guilty for pushing you at each other. I encouraged it from the beginning, and you were both just too young. I mean, sometimes I feel like I should hate the man but I don’t. I can’t.”
I chuckled. “And you have no reason to hate him. He didn’t break my heart. We just…weren’t meant for each other. I loved him so there’s no reason for you to feel guilty. Love isn’t something that you regret. It was just that our love wasn’t the type that was going to stand the test of time and we both finally realized it. I would never want your relationship with him to be affected by what happened between us, so stop putting all that on yourself.”
I’d always known that he wanted things to work
out between me and Scott, and he’d been crushed when it ended. Even Pierce had liked the two of us together, so it had been a hard transition for everyone. It wasn’t as if he had cheated on me or left me at the altar or something. There were just things on my end that he couldn’t deal with, and there were things that I needed from him that he wasn’t going to ever give me.
It boiled down to not knowing ourselves well enough when we got married. And by the time we had learned everything, the differences between us were undeniable. Hardly anyone knew who they truly were at twenty years old, and the time for figuring that out was not after you married someone.
I’d never told anyone except Pierce, but I was more upset about the things I learned about myself during the marriage, rather than the break-up itself. In Scott’s truthfulness, he’d revealed some things to me—about me—that would forever stay with me. It hurt to admit those things, but I was grateful for his honesty. Needless to say, a lot of self-reflection had taken place after we divorced.
“I just don’t want you to think that that’s all there is for you.” My eyes filled with questions and he went on to explain. “I don’t want you to be afraid to try marriage again just because it didn’t work out the first time. You have so much to give someone, Sage. You deserve to have a happy, fulfilling life, and the guy out there who’s meant for you deserves to have some of your goodness. Denying your own happiness means denying his too.”
I wiped away the stray tears that had escaped the corners of my eyes, laughing at myself. “I swear, I see some pretty heartbreaking stuff at work almost every day and I don’t tear up. But you can draw water from the driest desert every time.”
He laughed, finally putting the smile back on his face. “It’s what made Connie fall in love with me in the first place.”
“The fact that you could make her cry?”
He nodded his head. “She always said that if a man can say sweet enough things to draw that kind of emotion out of a woman, he was worth keeping around.”
“And here I always thought it was the car that had attracted her.”
The Art of Sage (Cruz Brothers #2) Page 7