He sits forward. “We can both do better, kiddo. Truth is, you’ve been great around here. Got the place running smooth. Customers love you. Everybody’s always going on about what a charming young woman you turned out to be.”
I grin. “I clean up nice when I want to.”
“So.” Dad gets up and comes around the desk. “I’ll get out of your hair. Consider this your first official reprimand, kiddo.” He pats me on the head and strolls out.
Oddly, I think I kind of enjoyed that, talking with my father like adults. I appreciate that he respected me enough to tell me I messed up without beating me over the head about one mistake. And I’m thrilled that he thinks I’m doing well here. When I agreed to run the office, I was terrified I’d screw it up, drive the whole thing into the ground, and leave Dad bankrupt and broken. Instead, it turns out I might actually be good at this stuff.
For once, I’m not a total disaster.
CHAPTER 15
EVAN
I used to enjoy being alone on a jobsite, hanging drywall or pouring in a driveway. Give me a list and eight hours, and I’d have that shit knocked out no problem. I always work faster by myself, especially when I don’t have to listen to some asshole’s radio or him telling me about his sick pet fish or whatever. Today is different. I’ve been at the West house all morning installing new kitchen cabinets, but it’s taking me twice as long as it should. These cabinet doors don’t want to level out. I keep dropping stuff. At one point, I damn near ran a drill over my finger.
It’s been days of unanswered texts since Gen ran off from our spot. My calls are going straight to voicemail. It’s maddening. She just drops all those truth bombs and accusations in my lap and then ghosts me? She barely gave me a chance to respond.
Then again, what the hell could I even say? Apparently, I hadn’t been that off-base when I blamed myself for running her out of town. Randall set the ball in motion, but I kicked the damn thing in the net. Goal! Gen’s gone!
I was a wake-up call for her. Christ. My hungover, passed-out self drove the girl I love more than anything else in this world right out of my life.
Damned if that doesn’t rip apart my insides.
I fight the pain tightening my throat, my hand once again squeezing the drill a little too hard. Fuck. I’m going to get myself killed on this job if I don’t start focusing.
But no, I refuse to take all the blame. Since when did I become the root of all her problems? Seems like a convenient excuse to avoid dealing with her own baggage. I might have been a delinquent for most of my life, but at least I’m not trying to lay that blame on everyone else.
“Hey, man.” Gen’s youngest brother Craig strolls into the kitchen wearing a T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts. He gives me a nod as he grabs a soda from the fridge. “Thirsty?”
I’d love a beer, but I accept the soda anyway. “Thanks.” I might as well take a break, seeing as how I’ve entirely lost track of what I was doing anyway.
“How’s it going in here?” he asks after scanning the dust-covered disaster that is the half-demolished kitchen. He takes a seat at the kitchen table that now sits under a drop cloth and my toolboxes.
“Slow,” I reply honestly. “But I’ll get it done.” Or Levi will have my ass. “You ready to get the hell out of here?”
Craig shrugs, sipping his soda. “I guess. It’s weird thinking this won’t be our house the next time I come home from college.”
He falls quiet, examining the writing on the side of his can. He was always a quiet kid. Four years younger than Gen and a total mama’s boy, which, despite making her resentful, also made Gen especially protective of him.
I lean against the counter. “What are you up to this summer? Any big plans?”
He evades the question, staring down at the table for a beat. Then his attention wanders the room, his shoulders hunched like a kid in the back of the classroom who doesn’t want to get called on. “You’ll think it’s dumb,” he finally answers.
“What is it?” I say. “Spit it out.”
Reluctant, he sighs. “Jay and I signed up to do the Big Brothers program. Mentoring kids and whatever. So, yeah.”
Why am I not surprised? Those two were always the Boy Scouts of the family. While Gen and her two oldest brothers were out raising hell and being a bad influence on Billy, Jay and Craig were doing their homework and cleaning their rooms. I guess when you have six kids, some of them are bound to turn out straight-edge.
“That’s cool,” I tell him. “You like it so far?”
He nods shyly. “It feels good, like, when my Little Brother looks forward to hanging out. He doesn’t have a lot of friends, so when we get to go do stuff, it’s a big deal for him.”
Craig’s the right type for that sort of thing. A little dorky and soft, but a nice kid. And, most importantly, smart and responsible. Leave me with a kid for ten minutes and they would probably catch fire somehow. Which gets me thinking again about Gen and our conversation on the beach about family and children. I guess she isn’t wrong that if I ever had a family, I’d have to at least learn how not to kill my kid. I don’t have a clue how my parents kept Cooper and me from drowning in the bathtub. Those two could barely stand up straight after ten a.m.
“She’s not coming back as long as you’re still here,” Craig says.
I frown. “Huh?”
“My sister. She left early this morning so she wouldn’t run into you, and she won’t come home until she knows you’re gone.” He pauses knowingly. “If you were thinking of waiting for her.”
Damn. Somehow, it’s even colder coming from this kid. “She told you that?”
He shrugs. “You guys fighting?”
“I’m not.” I wish I could make her understand she can have me however she wants. Whatever she needs from me, I’ll do it.
“You know, I always kind of looked up to you when I was a kid.”
Craig’s words catch me off guard. “Oh yeah?”
“Not so much anymore.”
Ouch. The kid’s full of bullets today. “This unfiltered honesty thing gets a lot less cute when you’re old enough to get your ass kicked,” I remind him.
He has the decency to blush. “Sorry.”
“So what’s changed, huh?”
He considers the question for several seconds. Then, with a look of pity that would knock other men out cold, he says, “The bad boy thing gets old.”
Well, shit.
It’s not every day I get dressed down by a Boy Scout.
Later that night, I hit up one of the usual haunts for a few drinks with Tate, Wyatt, and the guys. After a couple rounds of beers, we drift over to the pool tables and indulge in our favorite pastime: hustling tourists. Eventually they catch on to us, so we start playing for fun. We split into teams, me and Tate versus Wyatt and Jordy. The cash we’d just squeezed out of the tourists sits in a neat pile at the corner of the table. Winners take all.
From the next table, a cute blonde in a pink sundress watches me, while her boyfriend, I presume, is completely oblivious as he stalks around the table sinking shots. I might have been able to work up some enthusiasm about the scenario if Genevieve West didn’t have my head in a vise. But since she came back to the Bay, I’ve had zero interest in hookups with other women. Just one.