Chapter 2
Griffin
A few months later
“What do you mean he has to have a heart transplant? He had a few broken ribs, that’s it. They were supposed to heal on their own and then be done with.” The look of terror on my mother’s face while she shook in her seat as we were talking to Dr. Dunkin and his young colleague was a sight I would not soon forget. She looked so defeated, hiding under her lavender poncho. My father stood like a statue behind her. He had mastered the art of being stoic years ago. Frankly, he was an ass, but it was what it was. There sure as shit was no changing that man.
“As Rudy explained to you over the phone, the infection has spread to his heart, and unfortunately, there is little else we can do.” The young doctor hung her head as she put a kind hand on my shoulder. “You’re young and, for the most part, healthy—we will find you a donor, I am sure of it. Just have faith. You will get better.”
I knew she had no fucking clue if she was going to be able to help me, or if a donor organ would become available in time. Also, the icing on the shit cake sank in hard—for me to live, someone would have to die. How was that fair? In the wake of someone’s tragedy, I would find restoration. That just didn’t seem right to me at all. How could it?
“How long are people usually on the waiting list?” My father’s gruff voice bellowed through the small room.
Before Dr. Dunkin could answer, my brother burst into the room, completely out of breath.
“I got here as fast as I could.” Gavin’s face was red as he stood huffing and puffing in the doorway. He was dressed in sweats and stank to high heaven. It irked me that he was pulled out of practice because of me. I hated feeling like a burden.
“Mom, I told you not to call him,” I growled.
Our mother shrugged as Gavin took the seat next to me. “How could you expect her not to? We’re family, little bro.” The concern blanketing my entire family was started to choke me. One injury—a few broken ribs—had turned into an infection, which had turned into me needing a freaking heart from a dead guy at sixteen years old—this shit was fucking unbelievable.
My cold sweats were irritating the shit out of me, my mom’s blubbering was making me uncomfortable, and now I had my father’s look of disappointment and my brother’s unwavering support filling the rest of my tiny hospital room. It was all more than I could handle.
“Don’t you have practice to get back to?” I glared at my father. It wasn’t like I was a priority in his life. His team came first—it had since he was a player, and did even more so now that he was the coach.
Gavin shifted, looking over at me. “They can handle practice without us.”
My father grunted and I wanted to scream. After taking a slow breath, I muttered, “Thanks.” It was all I could think of to say. I wanted to be alone, but they needed to be with me, more to ease their own minds than to comfort me.
Olive
A few weeks later
My world stopped.
I couldn’t breathe.
How can this be happening?
I stood in the foyer of my home staring blankly at a police officer that was explaining an accident to my stepmother. He was talking about how an incident with a forklift at my father’s jobsite had him in critical care at Flushing Hospital.
I could hear them, could understand what the words they were saying meant, but I did not know how it could be real. There was no way my father was as badly injured as the officer was claiming. He was supposed to be taking me to work on my car at his garage in a few hours; how could he miss that? He never missed spending time with me. He would never be late.
Hilary, my stepmom, started talking to me, having to repeat herself a few times before her words actually registered in my brain. “Olive, grab your coat honey. Liv? We need to go to the hospital.”
I shook my head, frantically trying to clear the jumbled mess as best as I could. I felt tears rolling down my cheeks and neck, and my voice was weak when I responded. “Okay, be right down.”
I bolted up the stairs on shaking knees, trying to keep reality at bay. My father was fine. He had to be. There was nothing else that could make sense in this world.
***
Walking into Dad’s room where machines were breathing for him and keeping his heart beating felt like an out-of-body experience. I could have sworn it was a terrible dream I was going to wake up from as soon as my alarm clock sounded and saved me, but the blaring noise that soon broke through my consciousness was not the clock radio on my nightstand in my bedroom; it was an alarm sounding the end of my father’s life.
Nurses and doctors rushed in, a slow-motion blur as my stepmother screamed and I dropped to my knees.
“You need to let the doctors do their job. Please step outside.” A nurse was wrapping her arms around me, trying to get me to my feet, but it was futile. I wailed on the floor as they put paddles to my father’s chest.
Reluctantly, Hilary and I finally were forced into cold, plastic chairs in the hallway right outside of my father’s room. One of the doctors came out, melancholy drenched his features as he spoke to us. I was in a daze—barely able to wrap my head around what he was saying. Shocking my dad worked. They got a faint heartbeat, but it was obvious things weren’t going to be good. He was brain dead—at least that was what he explained to us.
“I’m so sorry.” The doctor’s head dropped, and I clung to Hilary as we both wept.
“There’s nothing that can be done?” she asked desperately, her voice cracking through the sobs.
“Unfortunately, his body is slowly shutting down, and there is no brain activity.”
The words were harsh and cold. My father was a great man—kind, caring, hardworking—and now he had been reduced to a corpse that was being mechanically kept alive for his organs to be harvested.
“Can we say goodbye?” I didn’t know what else to do, wanted to at least have a moment with him.
The doctor nodded and Hilary looked at me. “How about I go in first and then you can take as long as you need?”
With a tight hug, she left me in the corridor to watch as she cried at her husband’s bedside. Hilary was a great stepmom, loved me more than she had to and never treated me like I wasn’t her own daughter. I had never been more grateful for her than I was in that moment.
Once Hilary was finished, I took a seat next to my father’s side. “I am going to grab a cup of coffee,” my stepmom muttered as she exited the room.
We were alone, just like we had been for the first seven years of my life. I had always thought it would be my dad and me against the world forever. It’s crazy how fast things change.
“Daddy…” I sobbed as I spoke. “I love you. I will always be your little girl. You’re my hero, my rock, and now you will be my angel. Thank you for always being such a wonderful father.” And then I broke. I was uncontrollably crying and shuddering, holding on to his hand for dear life. I didn’t want the moment to end. I didn’t want to actually say goodbye.
Hilary’s faint voice came from the door. “Liv, it’s time.”
I stood, kissed my father’s cheek, and said, “This isn’t goodbye. This is see you later. I love you, Daddy.”
Chapter 3
Olive
Present day
“Hey, Liv!” I heard Shaw call through the open office door.
Wiping the grease from my hands, I trudged over to him. His grimy hand covered the receiver of the office phone while he whispered, “Hank Collins is calling again.”
I rolled my eyes, taking the cordless. “Hank? Now to what do I owe the pleasure of hearing your voice again today?” I cooed into the smelly plastic, trying to not sound annoyed that this particular customer was becoming a royal pain in my ass.
Hank cleared his throat loudly. “Just calling to check up on my tractor again. Been two whole days here, Liv, and you know what a farmer is without his damn tractor? This friggin’ hay ain’t going to bail itself.” The condescension that oozed fr
om his tone made me want to reach through the phone and strangle the life out of him.
I took a deep breath, counted to ten, then responded, “Now, Hank, we went over this just yesterday. The part isn’t coming in until tomorrow at the earliest. If you hadn’t ignored your regular servicing, we wouldn’t be looking at a cracked radiator, but I’m not pointing fingers. You know what a mechanic is without her parts?”
“Damn useless.” He snorted before making the most detestable spitting sound on the damn planet.
“You’re right on that one.” I sneered and spoke through gritted teeth. “Once it’s delivered, I will have that part in as fast as my fingers can go. Until then, you need to sit tight and deal with using one of the other three tractors on your farm. I am sure one of them can keep you busy while you wait.”
With a huff and a few choice words, he ended the call and I turned to Shaw. “Patience is a virtue that man will never master.”
I rubbed my temple and Shaw tossed my headache medicine over to me. I threw back my head, gulping down two pills and a bunch of water. Long days and nights with barely any sleep and countless hours spent under the hoods of vehicles were starting to catch up to me.
“I would have told him to go fuck himself. He is a patronizing prick that needs to stop calling.” Shaw spit into the paper cup on his desk as he started sifting through some of the paperwork he had been neglecting. “When are you going to bite the bullet and finally hire a damn secretary?”
I knew it had been time for far too long, but money was tight and we were getting by running the garage with just the two of us. “We’ve been over this. Can we not get into it again?”
Shaw and I had been friends ever since I could remember, and when we’d graduated from mechanic school together, it had been a no-brainer for him to come work for me when I turned my father’s workshop into an actual moneymaking automotive repair shop. He was the closest thing I had to family, and he knew how hard it would be for me to trust anyone else with my baby.
“All I am saying is that it would be damn nice to have someone else fielding the calls from our idiot customers and doing the ordering so we could do less of that bullshit and more of the actual work that pays the bills.”
Taking a seat, I threw my boots up onto my desk. “I’ll go over it with the accountant at the end of the month, happy?” The Copenhagen smile that spread across his face infuriated me. “But, I won’t hire anyone while you’re still chewing that nasty shit.”
He spit again. “Oh come on, Olive. It ain’t hurting nobody.”
“Your gums, teeth, and gut might have something different to say about that.”
Otis grunted from his large bed behind my chair. “See, even the dog agrees.” Patting my leg, I called my giant pup over to me. With a heave and a yawn, Otis moseyed over to me. For a guard dog, he was one lazy son-of-a-bitch when he wanted to be. He rested his oversized head on my thigh, and I scratched behind his cropped ear, making my big oaf of a dog melt like butter in my hand.
“Hello?” I heard someone call, and Otis started to growl.
“Hush, boy,” I whispered as Shaw went to greet the customer.
I pulled Otis’ Kong out of my desk drawer and tossed it to him before following Shaw into the bay.
“How can we help you, sir?” Shaw asked the older man who was glancing around the shop.
“I was told that Mic’s garage was the best shop in town, so here I am.”
I walked up to shake his hand. “You heard right. What can we do for you?”
“Where’s Mic?” the man asked, glancing from Shaw to me uneasily.
“Mic was my father.” I pointed to a picture of my dad and me working on a ’67 Shelby that was hanging not too far from us. “I’m Olive, and I run the place now. What seems to be the problem?”
With reluctance coating his features, the older man rubbed the back of his neck. “All right, then. I was passing through town on my way into the city when my car started sputtering on the highway. I was able to get to the gas station right off the exit before she completely shut down on me, and the tow truck driver suggested I bring it here.”
I glanced past the guy to see Larry unhitching the beat-up white sedan from his truck. “Thanks, Lar!” I called out. Larry Baxter was a friend from high school and had had the hots for me for far too long. I appreciated the referrals, but I didn’t know how I could convince him I didn’t want anything to do with his pit stains, potbelly, or awful breath.
“Don’t mention it, Liv! See ya later!”
“Shaw, why don’t you go check out this gentleman’s car while I call him a cab to take him up to Pete’s diner?”
“Aye, boss.” Shaw trotted over to the car with a clipboard at the ready.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name sir.” I started to usher him into the office.
“Henry Peeler.”
“It’s a pleasure Henry. Everyone calls me Liv.” I smiled as sweetly as I could.
We shook hands again. “Nice to meet you, young lady.”
“Henry, tell me, do you like milkshakes?”
He nodded.
“Well, Pete’s has the best damn strawberry milkshake in the whole area. My treat. I’ll have a car come get you and Pete will just put your order on my tab. How does that sound? You can relax, read the paper, or catch up on some phone calls while you enjoy a nice cold shake.”
“That does sound nice.” He finally started to smile.
After shipping Henry off to the diner up the road, I got the rundown from Shaw.
“I think it’s a fuse,” he said, holding the diagnostic computer up for me to see the readings.
“I think we might actually have it in storage. Thank God!”
Shaw laughed. “Not trying to keep more skeptical customers around to harass us?”
I shook my head violently. “Did you see how he looked at us?”
“Like we were too young to be running this joint by ourselves?”
“Bingo.” Otis trotted over to me with his leash in his mouth. “Guess it’s walk time.”
Shaw started to walk back over to our storage area. “I’ll get this all fixed up. Is his cell number written down on your desk?”
“You’re the best, and of course it is. Once we’re done, let’s get the heck out of here. It’s been a long-ass day and I need a beer.”
“Now you’re talking!”
Chapter 4
Olive
Bellying up to our usual barstools in Got the Shaft felt all too right. The best part about the pool hall—other than dollar PBR night—was that they let me bring Otis.
“Well, well, well, look what the cat brought in—a couple of grease monkeys.” Rhonda hurried out from behind the bar to wrap her arms around Shaw and me at the same time.
“Work’s been crazy.” Shaw huffed, taking off his coat.
“That’s no excuse to not come in and see me every once in a while.” Rhonda put my Jack and cream soda in front of me with a bowl of water for Otis.
“It feels good to be back in here.” I smiled at her before taking a sip of my sweet drink. Rhonda had worked at that bar since before I was old enough to even step foot in there. My father used to sneak me in after late nights of restoring old cars so I could watch him play pool. Some of my favorite memories were of sitting in the back corner, drinking cream soda floats while my father ran the tables all night.
“Liv! Sweetie! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Rhonda beamed down at me.
I ran up to hug her. She scooped me up and spun me around.
“Hey Rhonda.” My father took a seat at the bar. “How’s it going?”
Setting me down on the chair next to my father, Rhonda made her way back to her post behind the bar. “Same ol’ stuff, different day. The usual?”
“Jack on the rocks, love, and a Jack and cream soda for this little lady.”
“Dad! I’m only seven!” I exclaimed, giggling. I thought he was the funniest man on the planet.
He
grabbed my hand. “Oh, that’s right. Little girls don’t drink that nasty stuff. Hold the Jack, add ice cream.”
My dessert was delivered promptly, topped with whipped cream and two cherries. I was on cloud nine.
“How’s the girlfriend?” Rhonda asked my dad as I attempted to tie a cherry stem into a knot with my tongue.
“Not a girlfriend anymore.” My dad tried his best to tame the smile that was struggling to spread like wildfire across his scruffy face.
“Oh yeah?” Rhonda perked up a bit.
“I popped the question a few nights ago.” The excitement that laced my father’s declaration snuffed Rhonda’s out in a second.
I jumped a little in my seat. “We’re going to be a real family!” I shouted. I was so elated to have a stepmom. Even though I loved my dad to death, having a woman around the house was nice, and she made my dad so happy.
Rhonda’s features softened as she glanced between my dad and me. “That is so wonderful. Hilary is a lucky woman.”
“Ready to show these boys that a girl can hustle them?” Shaw asked, handing me a large shot of Fireball.
“You know it!” I slammed back the chilled liquid and walked over to an empty table.
We knew hustling pool wasn’t the most moral thing in the world, but whenever we found unsuspecting shmucks to work over, Shaw and I pulled in some extra cash.
“Rack ’em up, woman,” he called over to me while he eyed the racks for good sticks.
Shaw came back over to me, scoping out the twosome that was finishing a game next to us. He leaned back as the better looking of the two men bent over the table to line up a shot.
“Damn, that is an apple I’d love to take a bite out of,” Shaw whispered to me.
“Down boy. This ain’t the place to out yourself.”
Shaw wasn’t completely in the closet by any means, but he wasn’t prancing around with a rainbow on his shirt either. Living in a small farming community made it a little bit hard for Shaw to be completely comfortable in his skin. The pool hall was full of burly bikers and ignorant macho men who wouldn’t think twice about trying to kick a gay guy’s ass.
Low Blow (Shots On Goal Standalone Series Book 4) Page 2