Page 34 of It's Always Us

I place a hand on my stomach and rest my head on my steering wheel. I went in, trying not to let past trauma predict my current ability, but I failed. My throat constricts with shame as the acid rides high, threatening to force itself out. I thought I was ready, but the minute I stepped into the classroom, every bit of my confidence quickly dwindled to nothing.

I crack a window, holding my elbows out to the sides, hoping the rush of cold air will wash away my dismay and the pool of sweat that’s collected in my pits. I inhale and push it out, trying to calm my body and mind.In and out.

I sit breathing, giving myself a few minutes.

When I know I won’t puke, I lift my head, turn the key, and my truck rumbles to life. I use the drive across town to ready myself to walk into the shop where Grandpa and Slade are waiting with expectation. They’re anticipating a certificate that’s supposed to give people written proof that I know what in the hell I’m doing. Neither of them will be disappointed, and both will be understanding, but I’m sick and tired of the sympathetic look on their faces.

I jam my truck into park and grab my stuff, already loathing the next however many minutes this will take.

I swing open the metal door and step into the familiar noise and smell, but today, it’s a swift kick to the last bit of my slowly dying self-esteem. I bypass the board to check what’s on the floor, heading back to the office to snatch a bottle of water, then into the tiny kitchen where I can make a piece of toast. Skipping breakfast wasn’t the best idea.

As I drop a slice of bread into the metal toaster, Slade’s large frame steps into the tight quarters.

“How’d it go?” He leans back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest.

Not wanting to talk about it or really talk at all, I focus on the bright orange bands warming my bread. “I left.”

He doesn’t say anything, and that’s almost worse. With my frustration and humiliation building, all I want is to be alone.

“You can try again,” his uncharacteristically soft tone jump kicks me in the throat. “Don’t give up. If you want it, you’ll do it.”

I scoff. “Yeah, right. Wanting has nothing to do with it.” The intense ache in my throat grows. I can’t do this. I can’t talk about this right now. Too many things are sitting on my chest, and the weight of it all is about to break me. “Look, can we not talk about it?”

“Sure. Don’t be hard on yourself.”

So easy for him to say. Someday, it’ll be him running this shop because he can actually do it, and be one more dream I have to kiss goodbye.

“We’ve got one needing new brake pads and rotors if you want it.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him do something with his arms, and then I catch sight of a flock of balloons. I suck in a breath, turning to see the guys shoved together in the doorway. Wind has a fist full of balloons, and Trig holds a large, rectangular box, both smiling ear-to-ear.

I can only stare at them as my double-reinforced safety system malfunctions, and tears form in my eyes without permission.

“We knew you’d kick ass, so we got you cake,” Carson says with a sly grin, beaming like a proud big brother.

My body is taken over by an inferno from within as my skin pricks with chills. I suddenly need air, but I can’t move.

I glance at the box with the plastic window, waves of pink icing showing through, and I swipe a single tear away. Someone clears their throat, and all four men begin to look uneasy, shifting their weight and scratching their necks.

“Oh, shit!” Carson’s head swivels as he searches the other men. “Darlin’, you can’t cry. Please. We don’t know how to fix that.”

“Shut it, Carson. You can’t fix untied shoelaces,” Slade jabs. “I bet your mama still ties your boots.”

The guys try to hold in their snickers, but it makes me smile just a little. I swipe at my nose as Slade glances in my direction while the others stand there wide-eyed. It’s possible their big feet are inching themselves backward.

Needing to put us all out of our misery, I step forward to peek at the white cake box in Trigger’s hands. Inside is a sheet cake with light pink and purple flowers, and ‘Goodbye Barbara’ written in dark purple script.

I stare at these rough and tough guys holding a cake for . . . Barbara. A laugh rams up my burning throat and bursts out. Their rugged, shocked expressions cause more tears to fill my eyes and trickle down my cheeks. There’s nothing but silence and my laughter as I bend at the waist, the pressure finally easing.

Somehow, these guys and Barbara’s misplaced cake lift my tired and worn heart off the dirty tile floor. “Please tell me you didn’t steal that cake,” I demand when I can finally meet their nervous smiles.

Wind hits Carson’s shoulder. “I didn’t know I had to order in advance, you jackasses. It’s all they had.” Carson’s cheeks turn a bit red with his confession.

Trig raises and lowers one shoulder. “Well, Barbara said ‘fuck off’ and left her cake, so it’s ours now.”

Laughter fills the small kitchen as Slade drops his heavy arm around my shoulders, hugging me to his side.

“You guys are the best,” I say, trying to hold back tears again when Grandpa squeezes into the room. One look at my face, and he knows. Trig hands me the cake, and I set it on the counter as each one lingers, expecting a large piece. I slice and hand them out, keeping my head down and on the task, wishing I deserved their confidence.

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