Shane turned to meet his father head-on. Charles Griffin stood with his back to the hallway, looking as polished as if he’d walked out the door for a business lunch at Del Frisco’s. The perfectly knotted silk tie seemed so out of place under the circumstances that Shane had to fight the urge to cough up a bitter laugh.
“I’m surprised you’re here,” Shane said, measuring his father’s stance with careful eyes.
“Is that because of my relationship with him or you?” his father returned coolly.
God damn, he should’ve figured it would go this way right out of the gate.
“I’m not the one who’s sick,” Shane volleyed, hoping his father would bite. He didn’t want to talk about himself, but hell if he was going to back down, either.
His father nodded, a smooth stroke of his elegantly graying dark head. “Have they told you anything?”
Relief swirled in Shane’s chest at the successful diversion, though he knew it wouldn’t last. “Grady’s headed up to the ICU. They won’t really know the extent of the damage until he’s had an MRI. For now, the doc wants him to rest while they monitor him.” Shane knew his father would double-check every detail with the doctor anyway, but he wished there was more to tell. At least that way, they’d be talking about Grady and not him. Not that it probably mattered.
“He’s a tough old man,” his father said, and for a minute Shane wondered if it was meant to be reassuring rather than just a statement of fact.
But his father was a statement-of-fact kind of guy, the cold bastard, and Shane felt the resentment well up within him.
“How would you know? You’ve seen him what? Four times in twenty years? Last time this happened, you were all set to just let him rehab with strangers and watch the business he loved fall to pieces,” he bit out, each word laced with accusation.
His father was unruffled. “You’re upset.”
Damn, the man was such a manipulator! Anything he didn’t want to discuss got conveniently swept under the rug without a second thought. Well screw that. Shane had plenty to say.
“And you’re not upset enough,” he hissed, floodgates he’d locked bursting open as he took an angry step closer. “That’s your father up there, and you could give a rat’s ass. Just like last time.”
His father’s gray eyes flared, his mouth pulling into a thin slash. “Don’t think for a second that I don’t remember where I came from and who raised me. As a matter of fact, you might do well to remember that on your end, son. You and I have unfinished business, don’t we?”
Shit. Shit.
“My business with you is done,” Shane said flatly, knowing the blanket statement wouldn’t hold.
His father sneered. “Your business with me never really got started, did it? You’re into me for a lot of money, Shane.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the law school loans you’re two months behind on paying. You see, I had a nice, long conversation with the senior loan officer when she called the firm looking for you the other day. It seems you had two work numbers listed on your account, and she was covering all the bases to try and get you to pay up.”
“I talked to a loan officer last week,” Shane ground out, on the defensive as his father moved toward him. “My debt is to them, not you. Plus, I’m paying it.”
The older man lifted a cold brow. “Not fast enough, according to them, but don’t worry about being in the hole. I paid your loan off four days ago. You owe me that money now, and I want it the right way.”
Panic clutched at Shane’s gut with iron fingers, and he heard a small gasp behind him, but it sounded very far away. “You paid off my loan?”
His father’s smile was more of a grimace. “I didn’t want to have to do it like this, but you gave me little choice. You went through three years of law school at Princeton, passed the goddamn bar, and for what? To piss it away.”
“I tried,” Shane argued, although his voice didn’t want to cooperate fully. “I put in time at the firm.”
“And those two years were just enough time for everyone to expect great things from you before you disappeared.” His father paced around Shane slowly, his unforgiving stare forcing its way under his skin. “I’m done watching you fool around out here in God’s country, son. Playtime’s over. You need to get your ass back to Philadelphia to start putting your credentials to work.”
Shane cranked his hands into fists so hard that he knew they should hurt, but he didn’t feel a thing other than the sudden, blinding rage that kicked his mouth into gear. “It must piss you off beyond measure that with all your money and power, you can’t buy me,” he said, calm despite his shredded nerves and the adrenaline pinging over them.
His father narrowed his eyes at Shane, but whether it was in defense or anger, Shane couldn’t tell. He forced out a contemptuous smile of his own and continued, undaunted.
“The irony is priceless, really. Your only son was born and bred to take over your prestigious law firm, only he’d rather be a shop jockey like your old man, working on cars instead of court cases.” Momentum coursed through Shane so hard that he felt almost dizzy with it, but he refused to stand down.
“You need to come back to the city, son,” his father said without moving. “And do what’s right.”
All that was left of Shane’s restraint unraveled like a hot, angry thread. “I am doing what’s right. If it takes me the rest of my goddamn life, I’ll pay back your fucking money, but I’ll do it as a mechanic, not an attorney, because that’s who I am. And speaking of who I am, don’t call me ‘son.’ I’m not coming back to the city—not ever—so don’t go holding your breath for that one.”
The silence between them felt like fog, cold and thick, and it stretched around them in a haze of tension until Shane’s father broke it.
“Do you feel better? Now that you got that out of your system?”
No, Shane wanted to scream, but instead he stood silent, anchored to his spot on the ugly floor tiles. His pride wouldn’t let him drop his father’s gaze, although the emotions banked in the man’s gray eyes made Shane want to look away.
His father’s expression was as blank as his stare. “I don’t either. Go get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning, son.”
Bellamy lost count of how many times she’d been emotionally sucker punched in the last twenty-four hours. Jackson, having sensed something wrong when Shane and Bellamy failed to appear outside the ER to go home, had come inside just in time to hear the entire exchange between Shane and his father. The ride back up the mountain had been full of stiff, uncomfortable silence that crashed against Bellamy’s ears, clotting her already muddled thoughts as they dropped off Jackson and Shane pulled up to the cabin and wordlessly got out of the truck.
Twelve hours ago, she’d have been more likely to believe that Shane was the man in the moon than the son of Philadelphia’s most high-powered attorney, with his name all but stamped on the letterhead right next to dear old dad’s. He was a mechanic with a simple life—hell, he was the one encouraging her to be true to herself.
Just went to show how gullible she was. Right about now, Shane might as well be the man in the moon for all she knew him.
“You should get some rest,” Bellamy said, her voice stilted, as she raked a hand through the snarl of curls around her face. Holding out for much longer wasn’t going to be an option for her, and she’d be goddamned if her pride would let Shane see her cry.
“I wanted to tell you,” Shane said, although his hollow tone suggested otherwise. “But it’s complicated. Obviously.”
Bellamy’s eyes fell on the sink full of dirty dishes, the now-cold, murky water a stark contrast to what had happened in front of it just a handful of hours before. She felt her composure snap and start to unravel, and she pinned him with an angry stare.
“How do you figure lying to be any less complicated?” she asked, cursing the honesty as it rolled off her tongue.
He flinched, but st
ill didn’t look at her. “I didn’t mean for it to happen this way.”
“Did you mean any of it, period?”
Shane’s eyes flashed to hers, wide and roiling with emotion. “Yes,” he protested, but she barreled on, realization thick in her chest.
“God, it all makes perfect sense now! No wonder you hated me at first. I’m a city girl, head to toe, from my freaking Ivy League degree to my cute little sports car you keep turning your nose up at. I’m like the ultimate reminder of everything you can’t stand. And here I was, buying into all of your crap about being true to myself, taking these huge risks and letting you encourage me to change when you just didn’t want to see your past every time you turned around. Jesus!”
“None of that is crap, Bellamy! It’s why I’m here. I left my father’s law firm because I hated it. You left your job because you hated it. I’m with you even though you come from the city. You can’t be any more true to yourself than that!” he exploded, bracing himself against the short stretch of kitchen counter.
If Shane thought she was going to go the shrinking violet route at a little yelling, he had the wrong girl. Bellamy’s pulse hammered through her, ushering out her anger. “Yeah, you were so true to yourself that you lied through your teeth to me about who you were! I don’t even know you, Shane. I don’t know anything about you!”
He winced. “Okay, fine. So I let you believe some things about me that weren’t necessarily true, and yes, I kept some things from you. But you know exactly who I am. I never flat-out lied to you.”
Bellamy’s heart bottomed out as her next words tumbled from her lips.
“But you never told me the truth, either. You were never going to come see me in the city, were you?”
Please, God. Please let him say yes. Please . . .
Shane exhaled as if she’d punched him in the stomach, and the tears that had been threatening her with their presence rimmed her eyes, ready to fall.
“No. I wasn’t.”
A traitorous sob worked its way up from her chest, and Bellamy used every ounce of her willpower to swallow it whole. Shane had intended to let her walk out the door with her head full of delusions. She’d believed him, thought she was in love with him, for God’s sake, and the whole thing had been a total farce, based on a man who didn’t exist.
And didn’t that just make her the biggest jerk on the face of the planet.
“I see. Well, then, I think it’s time for us to end this little charade, don’t you?”
“God damn it, Bellamy, you don’t understand—”
Everything that was left of her resolve crashed down around her. “Really?” she snapped, her nerves beyond frayed. “Then explain it to me, Shane. Explain how you lying to me every step of the way should make me trust you.”
“It’s . . . it’s complicated . . .” he stammered, pulling his arms over his chest in a tight fold.
“Yeah, you said that.” Her chest fluttered with adrenaline and sadness and something else that she couldn’t quite pin with a name. The silence between them was covered in nails, and Bellamy stood, stock-still on the scuffed floorboards, torn between hating Shane for playing her for a fool and wanting him to grab her and hold her and tell her the whole thing was a big misunderstanding.
Or was it more like a big mistake?
A muscle ticked beneath the stubble on Shane’s jaw. “I just . . . I need to get out of here. I feel like I can’t even think.”
All the breath in Bellamy’s body left her in a soundless rush, sucked out into the cold air with finality. “Don’t let me stop you.”
“I’m sorry,” Shane whispered as he made his way to the door. “I really am. It’s not you.”
Bellamy cursed his name until the sound of his truck faded into the deep folds of night. Only then did she sit down on the floor and start to cry.
Shane autopiloted his way to the garage, thoughts pressing against the sides of his skull like a nasty hangover. Getting elbow-deep in a car was his only hope of getting his head semi-straight, and he was suddenly grateful for the pain-in-the-ass job of replacing a tranny. He stood in the frame of the side door for a minute, the cold wind and dark night conspiring against him at his back. His heart twisted in his chest as he flicked the fluorescent lights on, and all of the night’s events threatened to flash back over him in vivid detail, making his stomach churn with bitterness and bile.
The cordless phone, still flashing a dull green in a pile of socket wrenches on the floor, snapped Shane’s glazed-over stare back into focus. Grady must have dropped it there after he’d called 911. He should put it back on the hook, in case anyone tried to call the garage. Yeah. It wouldn’t do to leave it off the hook like that.
Having that one small purpose steeled Shane’s nerves, forcing his boots to move over the buffed concrete floor toward the lift. Okay. He could do this. He could figure out a way to deal with his father, to help Grady get better, to fix everything. After all, fixing things was what he did.
Who the hell was he fooling?
“Shane?” The sound of Jackson’s voice rattled through Shane’s thoughts, and he swung around, blinking.
“Jackson? What are you doing here?”
His friend’s sheepish smile looked faded and tired. “Too jacked up to sleep. I thought a drive might clear my head; plus I figured someone should come out here and make sure everything was locked up.” Jackson shut the side door behind him and stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“Thanks.” Shane picked up a socket wrench from the cold concrete. “I’m going to stick around, finish up with this tranny.”
“You’re gonna need some decent muscle to mate that thing to the bell housing, you know,” Jackson said, pulling his coat off to toss it on the workbench.
“Yeah. It’s not for the faint of heart.”
“Lucky for you I know just the guy to help you out. Hand me that input shaft, would you?”
Shane stopped, overwhelmed again by everything flying around in his mind. “Thanks, man.”
Jackson lowered his arms from the Miata’s undercarriage. “You want to talk about it?”
He meant to say no. He meant to just work on the car, get his mind good and straight, and come up with all the answers. But instead, when Shane opened his mouth, the whole story came bubbling up.
“When I was a kid, my parents would host these fancy parties in the city for Philadelphia’s up-and-coming socialites. They were no place for me and my sister, so we’d come up here to spend long weekends with Grady and my grandmother, Ella. We thought it was the coolest thing in the world to come play in the garage bays, eat homemade chocolate chip cookies and stay up past our bedtime to look at the stars. I used to peek under the hood of every car that came into this place, and Grady helped me memorize the makes and models while Ella played with my sister in the fields out back.”
Jackson’s brow twitched in thought. “I don’t remember Grady ever being married.”
Shane exhaled on a small, sad smile. “You moved here when you were eleven, right?”
Jackson nodded, and Shane went on. “She died the summer I was nine, and my sister and I never came back. By the time I was old enough to realize it wasn’t Grady’s grief so much as my father’s strained relationship with the old man that kept us away from Pine Mountain, I was in middle school.” Shane shook his head at the fogged-over memory of it. “For a couple of years, Grady came up to the city to visit at Christmastime, but my dad was always conveniently in court on those days. After a while, the visits just stopped. I didn’t see Grady at all when I was a teenager.” The guilt that threaded around the words hung in the air like a heavy aftertaste.
“So then you just went to college and law school? How’d you end up back here from there?” Jackson asked.
The smile that crossed Shane’s lips grew a little bigger, and he tipped his head toward the Mustang. “On an impulse, I bought the car the summer after I graduated from college. It pissed my father off something fierce, which was half the rea
son I did it. But in the end, I’d earned the money for it by grunting it out at the firm, so there was nothing he could do about it.”
Recognition flickered in Jackson’s eyes, and Shane could see him starting to fit the pieces together as he finished.
“So I kept the car at a hole in the wall garage outside of Princeton, fixing it up whenever I could, but I didn’t know my ass from my elbow and I got in way over my head. I called Grady up, just for a pointer or two, and you know what he did? He showed up in Princeton three hours later.”
Jackson chuckled. “That sounds like something Grady would do.”
Shane shifted his weight, squinting through the harsh fluorescent glare of the garage. “We never talked about the ten years we spent apart, not that weekend or any of the others when he came to Princeton to help me with the car, but it always ate at me that I wasn’t there for him when I should’ve been. Even when I graduated and passed the bar, I still stayed close with him, even though my father never knew it.”
“And that’s why you came last year.”
He nodded, a single dip of his rough chin. “Yup. It was a no-brainer. I couldn’t let Grady lose his business, not when he loved it so much. My father scoffed at the idea, even though he begrudgingly agreed to let me have the time off. We both thought it would be temporary, but as soon as I spent one day back here, I knew I wouldn’t ever go back to the city.”
Jackson cleared his throat and looked at his boots. “So, uh, will you now?”
Shane’s heart sped up in his chest. “No. Nothing’s changed. I meant what I said in that hospital. This is who I am. I belong here.”
“And what about Bellamy?”
The sound of her name jolted through Shane, and he instinctively reached up for the bell housing on her transmission, itching to keep his hands busy so his brain would slow down. “I don’t know.”
Seeming to sense that Shane was nearing the end of his rope, Jackson backed off. “Right. Let me grab a rubber mallet. We’re going to have to pound the hell out of this input shaft to get it back in there right.”
Turn Up the Heat Page 25