Page 21 of Catching Sparks

I roll my lips, swallowing a harsh laugh. “Do you have my departure marked on a calendar, Brody?”

“Sure as shit do. In every damn room in my house. My phone too.”

“I’m flattered,” I deadpan.

“I wouldn’t be.” He tucks the rag away and grips the neckline of his T-shirt, using it to wipe the smear of oil from his chin. “Is it safe to assume you’ve never been inside a shop like this before?”

“Yes.”

I can’t say that I’ve ever craved the feeling of grease beneath my nails or the scent of exhaust lingering on my clothes. There were always people to pay to do these things for me. And I’ve surely never been on a ranch before this one. This is the closest I’ve ever been to a tractor. I wasn’t missing much.

Brody nods, searching the shop for something. “Some ground rules, then. First, stay out of the way. Think of this place as my equivalent to one of your board meetings. I’m the boss here. I tell you what to do, and you do it. No questions asked.”

“Last time I checked, you almost always ask questions in my meetings.”

A hint of a smile. “Fair enough. What I mean is that you’re here to work. So, do exactly that. I don’t know what you did to my grandmother to have her demandin’ you be switched here instead of whatever my grandfather had planned for you, but try not to let her down, yeah? She stuck her neck out for you.”

“I never asked her to do that.” It probably only made Wade hate me more despite her good intentions.

“’Course you didn’t. She did it because she sees somethin’ in you. That’s just how we work around here. Stick your back out for me, and I’ll stick mine out for you. Get it?”

My initial reaction is appreciation for that quality. It’s rare where I’m from. My second, however, is caution. Nothing good ever comes from placing that heavy of a trust in someone else’s hands.

“I’ll watch my own back. It will be simpler that way,” I tell him, disliking the feeling in my gut that screams in outrage at the dismissal. Like I’ve spat on a chance for something good.

Brody brushes off the rejection, as if he never truly meant the words in the first place. “Fair enough. You can start with sweeping.”

I keep my expression blank. “Sweeping?”

“You do know how to sweep, right? Or would you prefer to play in a hay pile again?”

“Where’s the broom?” I ask tightly.

“Front of the shop. You won’t miss it. Once you’ve finished, I’ll have something else for you to do.”

“Great.”

Brody grins wickedly. “I think this is the start of an excellent working relationship, Garry.”

“Whatever you say.”

I don’t bother telling him not to call me that before beginning to look for this fucking broom, leaving him standing there watching and judging. He can have the last word this time. I’ll ensure that I have the next once I get him back in the studio.

9

GARRISON

By Friday, I’ve grown calluses on my palms from holding a broom and mop. Sweeping a muggy shop all day every day may be worse than having my skin burn from flying pieces of hay. Brody knows that’s exactly how I’m feeling, I’m sure of it. That’s the only reason why he’s forcing me to continue doing such minuscule, pointless tasks.

It’s a miracle that I’ve managed to keep my mouth shut about how unimpressed I am with this arrangement. Maybe I just know that he’s waiting for it and that if I erupt the way he expects me to, there’s something far worse waiting for me outside this shop.

Johnny, the kid with the overly stimulating personality, is lingering in the shop this afternoon, bumbling on about joining Brody and his friends at Peakside tonight. The supposed bar is the only one in Cherry Peak, which is not so surprising. It’s more shocking that they have a bar to begin with, considering their lack of most other places I would consider a necessity. A car wash, for example.

The pile of dust and dirt I’ve swept before me blows half across the shop when one of the open sliding doors bangs and rattles and begins lowering to the ground. My eye twitches at the mess, my grip on the handle of the broom turning punishing.

“Are you coming out with us tonight?” Johnny asks, and it takes a beat to realize he’s speaking to me.

“No.” The word is a slap across the room.

---