Then Nix nodded, his expression shifting into a small smile. “Sure,” he said. “That sounds good.”
“Cool,” I said. Admittedly, friendship wasn’t what I wanted. But it was better than nothing—better than having Nix avoid me completely.
“I really need to get back,” I said. “I was actually early today, so I think I’m still technically on time for my shift.”
“Sure,” Nix said. “Uh. Text me about tonight?”
We exchanged numbers, and then with a slightly awkward little smile, Nix wished me well and walked back toward the parking lot and the clubhouse. I watched the retreating shape of his back for a moment, wondering what the fuck had just happened. One minute I’d been seething with anger, ready to peel out of the parking lot and top speeds just to get away, and the next I was leaning against a tree letting Nix soothingly talk me off a ledge.
How the hell did he manage that? Usually when people had the misfortune of trying to talk to me when I was angry, they were driven away by the barbs I couldn’t seem to hold back. But Nix had just let me vent, explained the club’s thinking, and then agreed to have dinner—as friends—even though I’d (yet again!) been rude to him. Suddenly I had the strange desire to prove myself. I wanted to show Nix that there was more to me than my mood swings—that I had more control than that, was a better person than that. That I could be worthwhile company, too. Even if sometimes it didn’t feel that way.
With a sigh, I started back to the jobsite. To my relief, Mal and Joker had both left, leaving Brennan alone there. When I approached, he glanced up, and his expression was serious. Was he angry or disappointed? The fact that I couldn’t tell made my stomach twist with despair—I used to be able to read Brennan like a book. Maybe we really were drifting apart.
He glanced up at me as he continued putting together the saw table we’d be using today. “So you didn’t deck Nix, I guess?”
I tried not to roll my eyes. “No. I just needed a little, uh, fresh air,” I said, as if the jobsite itself wasn’t outside.
“You’re still mad, though,” Brennan said. “Joker will be back in a few minutes to start chaperoning for the day.”
I grimaced. “That’s fine.”
Brennan’s eyes widened, as if he were surprised I wasn’t pushing back more.
“Nix explained the reasoning to me a little better,” I said. “I mean—don’t get me wrong, I still think it’s ridiculous and unfair. But apparently this is just how clubs work. And I don’t like it, but I don’t want to screw up this job anymore.”
Brennan nodded and his shoulders slumped with relief. “Great,” he said. “We really need the rest of this gig to go smoothly.”
“I know that,” I said. “But—it’s not just about the job, you know.”
“What do you mean?” Brennan asked.
“I just—” I sucked my teeth, suddenly lost for words. I didn’t know how to explain how hurt I was without sounding… needy. “I don’t want you to pick the club over our business, you know? Over—over our friendship.”
Brennan stopped what he was doing and stood up straight. “You think I’m choosing the client over you?”
“Or Joker,” I admitted. “I don’t blame you, I know you guys went through some shit and I want you to be happy—”
“Dawson,” Brennan said seriously. “This isn’t about choosing sides.”
I wanted to push back, stomp my feet and say of course it is, but that’d only make me seem even more pathetic. I balled my hands into fists at my sides and sighed. “Kinda feels like it,” I admitted.
“The whole thing at Ballast really shocked me,” Brennan admitted. “Scared me, honestly. You didn’t use to get so belligerent.”
“What are you saying?” I didn’t like where this was going—not at all.
“I mean, you can’t tell me you haven’t been drinking more,” Brennan said. “More of it, and more often. And it’s starting to worry me. I don’t like the chaperone thing, either—you know it’s going to complicate this job—but this should be a wake-up call, right? That you need to pump the brakes a little?”
He looked almost hopeful, like he thought I was going to nod and suddenly agree that I was just a stupid drunk who deserved to be babysat when I hadn’t ever let booze effect my work. And that’d still be the case, if the club didn’t have such crazy rules they didn’t even tell us about before enforcing.
I was so fucking exhausted from defending myself. The last thing I wanted to do right now was stand here and prove to Brennan that I wasn’t some deadbeat like my mom—he should know that already. I just wanted to get through this workday.
“It’s fine,” I said. “Nix and I talked through it. No hard feelings. He’s actually getting dinner with me tonight.”
“What?” Brennan said with a start. “You mean—”
“As friends,” I clarified, the same way I’d clarified to Nix himself. Now it was my turn to pinch the bridge of my nose. “Shouldn’t you be happy that I’m smoothing things over with him?” I asked, looking up with a carefully teasing smile.
“I don’t know if that’s the way you should be doing it,” Brennan said with a knowing half-smile.
“Seriously,” I said. “Nothing’s happening. Relax.”
“Hey, guys,” Joker called as he strode toward the jobsite. “Brought coffees.”
Brennan’s face lit up, as if he hadn’t seen Joker literally ten minutes ago. He took the coffee from Joker’s hand then thanked him with a kiss, and I snorted with teasing disdain as I turned my attention back to the work at hand.
At least I had dinner to look forward to. Even if nothing happened between Nix and me, having him as a chaperone would be a hell of a lot better than having to deal with heart-eyes Brennan all day until these cabins were done.
Usually once I got into the rhythm of work, all the other circling, anxious thoughts flew from my mind, leaving me settled and focused. Today, though, at every break or pause, Nix popped into my mind. His warm voice, his smile, the way he peered at me over his glasses. The anticipation of his undivided attention at dinner...
I’d never admit it to Brennan, but this might be more of a problem than I’d anticipated after all.
6
Nix
I took one final look in the mirror. I wasn’t dressed nicely, exactly—just jeans and a button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled to my forearms—but it was a little neater than the usual riding pants and t-shirt uniform. I cleaned my glasses lenses, put them back on, and then rubbed my hand over my hair with a sigh.
This was stupid. I didn’t need to be worrying about how I looked. As friends, Dawson had clarified, as if I were crazy for thinking otherwise.
I descended the stairs of the Crew Motel, checking my watch.
And of course, Tru wolf-whistled immediately. He was upside-down on the couch, feet over the back, in the middle of playing some shooting game with Eli. He stopped paying attention in order to leer at me, and on-screen his character was immediately killed. He didn’t seem to notice.