“Coocky Bear, what a nice surprise. Didn’t think you’d be up so early,” he says in a happier than normal voice.
“The element of surprise is always nice. What’s up?”
“Kim and I would like to know if you can come over for dinner tonight. Mom and Dad will be here. We have some big news.”
“What time do you need me there?”
“Eightish? Yeah, eight.”
“Okay, I will be over. I have a few things I need to take care of beforehand.” I reply, taking my food out of the microwave. Steam rolls effortlessly off the food, feeding my sense a warm aroma of eggs, sausage, and butter. I sigh into the first bite, satisfied with how well Medila cooks.
“Sounds good.”
We hang up, and I finish my food. I decide I won’t be going into work today. No. Instead, I will take a nice drive to the other side of town and see what Mister Duclos is up to. Taking a quick shower, I dress casually in an Addidas tracksuit, all black, with a pair of white sneakers. I will show Micah I can be normal, and nice. I cringe at that thought, but if I can fake my way into his head, then I will be able to get what I want. I tell Medila to lock up when she leaves and head out. Getting into my Porsche, I drive off, feeling a new sense of determination. There is no way Micah can refuse to see me. Not if I can charm him and come bearing a peace offering. I believe it will work, but there is no telling until I get there.
Traffic is backed up bumper to bumper with people trying their hardest to get to work on time. These are the people that irk me. All the last minute assholes who only give part of themselves to work. The ones who want everything but do nothing to get it. These are the people I enjoy walking all over because they deserve it. This world is full of sharks like me, and if you choose to be a minnow, then I am going to eat you whole without even flinching. Turning on the radio, I wait for the music to boom through my speakers. Sam Smith’s soulful voice meets my ears as Too Good at Goodbyes comes on, and I relax, refusing to let this traffic get to me. While waiting, I open my email again, looking at one of the pictures of Micah. He is bent over, muscled stretched and flexing, trying to loosen something with a wrench. His arms and torso are covered in grease smears.
“Mister Duclos likes to get dirty,” I mutter. Well, Micah, so do I.
***
I sit in traffic for about an hour before finally losing my shit, screaming and honking at people. When everyone finally starts moving, my anger slowly subsides. One day this world will have smarter people in it. One damn day. Pulling onto Micah’s road, I cautiously drive towards his home. I don’t want to show up if someone is there. Especially if someone from work is there. Even though I give no fucks about what people think, I don’t need people talking because then Bob would be all over my ass, and it would turn into a shit storm of me telling him he is fired and him telling me I am full of myself. Been there, done that. Not doing it again. When I see that his driveway is bare, only housing his car, I pull in. Collecting myself, I step out of my car, walk up to the front door, and knock.
Shuffling comes from the other side of the door before it opens. My mouth forms an O when Micah looks down at me, soaking wet and in a towel. Fuck me.
“Jesus.” He says, rolling his gorgeous eyes. What do you want, Cora?”
“I came by to make amends. Wanted to say sorry for whatever it was that made you quit, and I was going to offer you your job back. No one knows you quit.” I reply. I’m not exactly lying, but I’m not exactly being truthful either.
“What makes you think I want to come back?”
“Well, because you have a Ducati that needs fixing and bills to pay. I’ll throw in my long-time mechanic, Brady. He designed the interior of my car. Great guy.”
“You’re so full of yourself, Cora.” His face is blank and emotionless. I can’t tell if he is thinking it over or if he is about to—SLAM!
He just slammed the door in my face. HE JUST SLAMMED THE FUCKING DOOR IN MY FACE! Breathe, Cora. Just let it out, breathe. Letting out a deep breath, I knock. “Micah?”
I’m met with silence. Shaking my head, I walk back to my car. Silence can be very violent, and I am as deadly as they come. He thinks he knows me. But he is so fucking wrong. And I am going to show him just how hard I play.
Chapter Fourteen
Micah
You can only push a man so far before he snaps flat in half. Not every man cracks the same way or in identical places. Like a vase falling from a marble countertop to a granite floor, you can never really predict the way a person will crumble. And, once the jug is broken, there isn’t a shot you’re gonna glue that thing back together unchanged. Sure, you can give it a shot. It might not even leak. Throw a coat of polyurethane on it and turn the chipped side to the back wall. Might look okay on the outside—I’ll give you that. Still, you always know it’s a damaged fucking container—flawed, imperfect, and just not right. Push ups: Ten.
That’s me. Plain fucked up. I’ve got no issue admitting that. And I’ll tell ya what. Looking back, would I do it differently? Fuck no. I’m not the type of guy to chase regret. If throwing a resignation slip on an over-priced table bought strictly for looks is a mistake, well, I’ll take it. Think of it as just another leak in my pot. I don’t claim to be perfect. Frankly, I never have. Unlike those who use Botox, I’m not afraid to admit my flaws. I know I’m broken. I didn’t fall off a counter. I fell off a ten-story building. I didn’t crumble. I shattered. And that super glue? Well guess what? It just came loose. Again.
I never asked for shit. Instead, I tried to glue my broken pieces back together myself. I put in the time, hours, and hard work. I’m not saying it wasn’t ugly. It was. The truth, if anyone had cared to ask, is I’m a fucking fake to think I could live in a corporate world with two faces of evil. It’s not who I am and never was.
Here is what I know: I’m good with my hands. If I’d had it my way, I’d have gone to mechanic school and spent my career rebuilding engines out of a garage where the dress code consisted of torn up jeans and a T-shirt. But it didn’t work out for me. I was too busy trying to save my family from another financial disaster. I was too busy working on a degree and trying to figure out how the hell I’d make a life for Sabrina. Shit—trying to save her. Epic fail. Since then, nothing has really mattered. Not a damn thing. Twenty.
But guess what? All is not lost. I’ve learned a shit ton about myself during my time at Graham Incorporated. Through Boss Lady, I’ve learned that you can’t buy happiness. Tell yourself you’re better than others because you work out with the best trainer in town. Fine. You’ll walk out of that gym or living room with the perfect body, but then what? You’ll still fill your lungs with smoke and veins with drugs on a long-term suicide plan. Why? Because you’re miserable. I get it. I’m unhappy, too. I’m working on that.
I played a part in the stupid rat race. I threw away all those hours chasing the all mighty dollar and some kind of success I probably never had the ability to obtain. I sat in the lunchroom and listened to Derek and Bob as they ran through names of the new intern crops and laughed along. I went to holiday parties with the hottest ass in town. I did this because I thought I was buying myself a one-way ticket to fixing everyone’s problems and forgetting my own. Somehow, I lied to myself that my success could be theirs, too. I was dead fucking wrong. There’s only one way to save the world, and it starts with the mirror.
Staying at Graham Incorporated as some sort of living shield or target wouldn’t have helped Laura. Laura will be the next toy used and spit back out. Like a used Kleenex, Miss Thing will toss the black-eyed girl with the soul of a lamb into some metal garbage can. Then, she’ll call in the maintenance crew and tell them it’s time to take the trash out. I know. I’ve watched her do it again and again. But she isn’t alone, either. What makes me a shit person is I didn’t think to stop her. And I allowed it to happen. Hell, I even played a part. That won’t be happening anymore. Thirty.
Working at Graham as mere eye candy for the town’s most c
onceited whore also taught me that you can’t fight other people’s battles for them. Laura will see, eventually, that the money isn’t worth it. Frankly, if she doesn’t, she’s not the girl for me. I’m too old to be the dude teaching lessons to those who haven’t learned because they haven’t lived enough to know better. Money does not buy happiness or even love. It buys ego. Who wants that? Not me. I want a peer. An equal. A partner. Laura’s either it or she’s not.
Will I keep an eye on her? Of course. I can’t help it. It’s in my blood. I won’t do it for her. She’s made a pact with the devil for reasons I know too well. They are the same motivations that brought me to Satan’s playground. I’m not sure what else could be the allure. It sure as shit isn’t working for a woman who can’t be bothered to care what’s going on with anyone but herself.
It’s easy to say now, looking back from the day that I walked out. It wasn’t always so obvious in the beginning, though. I remind myself that I was just like Laura once—another intern brainwashed on the power and bullshit promises of a slave driver like Cora. I get that, too. I wanted to believe hard work and sacrifice pays off. And, if I didn’t respect Laura the way I do, I’d also feel sorry for her. But I don’t. She doesn’t need pity. She’s got this. Forty. …Only ten more. One hand. You’ve got this. One fucking hand, Mike.
I learned a long time ago that a meek voice and jumbled words don’t mean a person is weak. This is a woman who had the guts to walk out on a man who beat her like a day job. In the time I’ve had off since leaving Graham, you bet your ass, I’ve done my research. Laura is not the frail, scared intern that Cora sees her as. And when shit hits the fan, I’m putting my money on her. I’ve always favored the underdog.
Besides, she’s doing it for her daughter. She has to be. There’s something about a parent’s love that just can’t be bartered with. Even with my own wack-job mother, there were times when I saw that line crossed and the death stare on her face. The way she’d grab our hands told us and everyone around not to fuck with us—Ride or die, sweetheart. Piss a mother off and you are playing with an enemy far fiercer than any evil twat who spends Friday afternoons on Botox binges or playing puppeteer to minions scurrying to clean her spotless house just because she can.
Laura will be fine. She’s a mother. I’m sure that’s taught her a lot. Wisdom comes with time and experience. It’s what gives me hope for her, in spite of her age or even being a bought but not paid PA to a monster. Don’t matter now. Technically, she’s not my problem and never was. Right now, where I’m finally feeling like I’ve got a shot at fixing a few of my own leaks, I need to focus on me and forget the bullshit promises Cora likely made. It’s what Sabrina would want, what I promised her, and who I plan to be. Enough is just enough. And fifty. Fuck yes. …Goals.
I wipe the sweat off my forehead and rise from the basement floor. I ignore the burn as I step over the puddles that leave evidence of the day’s chest and shoulder workout. Pain is proof of gain. Without it, you can’t grow. Yesterday, I canceled my gym membership. Soon, I won’t be able to afford it and there’s no way I’m making that commute just to work out on cheap equipment when I can do it from home after shifts at Paul’s Auto Parts.
Since the day I walked off that thankless job, I’ve kept myself busy. The epoxy I plan to mend myself with has no room for the rearview mirrors, the karaoke bar or bullshit one night stands. I’m over it. If I want my life back, I need to stick to my core: family, fucked up or not.
I’ve visit Mom and Dad and even take their trash to the dump. Right about now, my mother would nominate me for the Son of the Year Award. I’ve told her not to get used to it. But it’s nice not listening to her bitch about my father for once. It won’t last. I’m aware of that. You can’t fake who you are forever. Mom will come to take my helpfulness for granted the same way Cora does when people jump simply because she’s snapped her fingers. Not this guy. Not anymore.
With no gym, no pussy, no job, and no bar, I thought I’d get bored fast. It’s been the opposite. Between fixing up the house and landing an entry-level job with Paul at an auto parts place, my days are filled from 6 a.m. until well past dark. I’ve always been one to like a routine, so I’ve even set a schedule. I don’t rest until nine.
When I do take breaks, I make myself stare at her in the mirror. I stare at her for at least ten minutes—twenty on leg days—before I allow myself the mercy to put a shirt on. It’s helping. It’s getting easier to look at her. Once I can stomach it, I’ll go see Danny again to have him put the details in. That fucking sparkle. Meantime, at least my back’s not so itchy. Hey, it’s progress.
Physically, I’m getting stronger, too. Part of it is diet, of course. Without work, I have more time for prepping meals and counting grams. It’s nice to feel the muscles cooperating as I up my work-outs. It’s not that I’ve ever allowed myself to get out of shape. I’ve always gone to the gym. But now, on a 220-gram protein diet—a gram per pound of body mass—I’m making gains quickly. I’m working out six days a week, Sundays off, and hoping to put on ten pounds while ditching fat within six months.
Mom, who still talks about the year I won the state championship title for throwing discus, asks constantly what’s brought all this on. She asks with squinty eyes, like she truly is concerned I might turn into my father and can’t keep a job, or, a juicier option, if I was hiding another girl from the family. The reality is, I’ve never quit a thing in my life and have no use for women without a shot at Laura. Still, I get why this is scary to her. I’m scared, too. I try to explain it to her. She isn’t hearing the truth. For the first time in my life, I’m merely doing something for myself. I’m done being picked last or even first for the team for all the wrong reasons.
With my soul dying all these years at Graham and with Cora and her neutered brother, I was only lying to myself. No car, better house, or bike is ever worth selling out the guy my high school friends knew only as “Mike.” Ordinary Mike. Just the guy from down the road with the ability to ride through any parking lot after dark and dodge stolen Driver’s Ed cones. For some fucked reason, that guy Mike died the day he stepped into Graham as a lowly intern and introduced himself as Micah. Who was he kidding? Well. His broken self for starters.
I grab a rag to mop up the sweat, soaking in the freedom that comes with slamming that paint-chipped door. When I’m done, I march up the stairs, to my room and to that stupid mirror. Just ten minutes. Ten minutes more. You promised her. A hero sticks to his word.
Chapter Fifteen
Her eyes got to me the moment she was born. They were blue, like all baby’s eyes are, but turned fast. What got me was how big and round they were. Perfect circle-shaped holes to another universe. Nothing around me mattered. I wanted to climb into them and see the world the way she saw it and to ask her questions only an infant, unjaded yet by an evil world, might know. Is there a God? What is he about? Why are some people so unlucky? How did we get here?
Those eyes—like puzzle pieces to every how and why. I used to stare at them all the time. When I fed her, when I gave her baths, and as I dried her hair. She watched me like I was the most important person in the world. I’m just an ordinary guy. I don’t even know what I’m doing here. She looked right back, allowing me to see that feisty side I loved so much and offering the dare to be something better than where I’d come from. At times, it felt like we were playing a simple game of “don’t blink.” Sabrina always won. Yet, somehow, I knew, her daddy was her hero.
Now, I’m the one who won’t blink. I want to. I’m human. But I’m stronger now. I need to be. I’m no longer living for my own legacy. My ego’s been buried since high school. And so, I don’t allow the broken parts to cut more than they already do. I stare at her face, scarred into my back, and don’t bother asking questions ink can’t answer anyway. Just being with her is hard enough, knowing we’ll never be together again. There is no God. He wouldn’t have allowed this. There is no afterlife. It’s a loss like no other. Yet, somehow, in all
of this, it is Sabrina and those eyes being with me forever now that helps. It’s the only thing.
“Will you take me home?”
Jesus.
I jump from my usual spot in the mirror, banging my knee into the bedpost. Grabbing my phone from the edge of the bed, and seeing “Paul,” I answer on the first ring.
“Hey dude, what’s up?”
“Not much. Hayden and Spaz are hoping to hang out. Suggested your place. What do you think?”
The idea of spending a night with Spaz—a guy I graduated with more than a decade ago, is not necessarily my idea of a great time. But saying “no” to Paul, the same person who just hooked me up with a job that will get me closer to bikes, isn’t an option either.
“Sure. I don’t have anything better to do.” I tell myself it might be nice. I haven’t seen the old crew in years and none of them is dumb enough to bring up the names Sabrina or even Heather.
“Cool. We can pick up beer.”
“What time?”
“Say nine?”
“All right. Like I said, I don’t have much else to do.”
“Yeah. For now. Monday’s coming quick. You all set?”
I want to laugh, wondering exactly what he thinks I should be planning to start an auto parts manager’s job on Monday. Is he serious? Immediately, I tell myself to shut up and stop acting like Botox. The reality is the guy is doing me a favor. I can’t say Cora’s offer wasn’t at least a little tempting. After being shot down by Brady for an apprenticeship as a mechanic at his shop, beggars can’t be choosers. It’s not Paul’s fault how shit went down. He couldn’t have stopped it if he tried. And, like we talked about, the parts job will lead to finance soon enough. Meantime, I can finish off the bike.
“All set how?”
“I don’t know. Ready to go back to work?”
“Yeah. I need to get out of this house. Spending too much thinking and need the money.”
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