Page 32 of Indigo Sky

“What are you talking about?”

“I dunno,” Joe said, now seeming to wish he’d never said anything at all. “She told me he’d follow her around. Say nasty stuff behind her back. That kinda thing.”

“And this was before or after the dance?” I asked, as if it made any difference.

Joe twisted his lips and picked at the label on his beer bottle. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I just know he was kinda … not the nicest guy to her. But, I mean, he wasneverthe nicest guy, so …”

“He had a shitty time at home,” I offered like a weak consolation prize. “His mom was pretty awful, and her boyfriend wasn’t much better.”

Joe nodded. “Yeah, I kinda figured there was something going on. He grew up without a dad for a long time—I knew that much—and that’s rough. But … I don’t know, Revan. Does a shitty childhood give someone the right to be a shitty person?”

***

Joe and I shot the shit for an hour or two after that. As it turned out, we had way more in common than I’d have thought we would—you know, with him being married with kids and all—and we agreed it’d be nice to get together again soon. We exchanged numbers and went our separate ways with me feeling better than I had before.

I realized I’d been right about spending time with someone else, someonedifferent. It had been refreshing, but it had also been a bit of an eye-opener.

Joe thought Nate was a shitty person, and even though I probably should’ve agreed, I didn’t.

Nate was damaged from years of abuse. He was hurt. He didn’t know how the fuck to care for someone, and he didn’t know how to show someone that he did. But he wasn’t a shitty person for it. He was just … broken. And maybe that meant he was too far gone to be fixed—I didn’t know—but maybe that was also what had drawn him to auto repair in the first place. Maybe it was the idea of taking something beaten up, dirty, ugly, and in disrepair and making it better, making itwork. Making it look like something it could’ve been had it been cared for.

So, I went home and found him asleep on the couch. He woke up, told me he’d left some pizza in the fridge for me, then headed to bed. And I forgave him—again—because, in his own fucked-up way, I knew he cared about me, and someone in this hell hole of a planet had to care for him.

CHAPTER EIGHT

It had been a slow day at the shop. Nate had even taken half the day off because, one, it was the day after his birthday and he was hungover. And, two, we’d had a total of two cars to look at since opening.

The last one came in with an issue with the Check Engine light. Thing wouldn’t go off, no matter how many times the guy had come in to get his car looked at. Nate had been the one to handle him the three other times he’d brought his car down, but on this particular day, Donny—Roy’s son—was still working on the other job of the day, so I was able to take a crack at it.

And I got it to turn off.

Nate walked in just as the guy was about to sing my praises and kiss my ass.

Okay, maybe an exaggeration, but he was really happy. Fuckin' elated even.

“That other guy who works here, the moron with the buzz cut …”

Nate stood at the guy’s back, cocked his head, and crossed his arms over his chest as the dude continued to shit-talk.

“He looked at this thing three times—threetimes!” He smacked his hand against the counter for emphasis. “And the jackass couldn’t figure the damn thing out. And you!” He thrust his hand toward me, standing on the other side of the counteracross from him. “You have one fuckin’ eye, and you managed to see the problem before that idiot did! How the fuck does he have a job here anyway? Huh, Roy? Kid doesn’t know his ass from his elbow—"

“Thatkid,” Nate said, interrupting in a dark, menacing tone, “couldn’t get any fuckin' work done with you hanging over his damn shoulder, trying to do his job for him.”

He brushed past the guy, making sure to bump his shoulder against his. He looked directly at me and asked, “So, what the hell did you do to it?”

I shrugged like I was a clueless moron, but said, “I tightened the gas cap.”

Nate swiveled quickly to look at the portly guy. “You kept pointing fingers at me, saying I was the one who fucked your car up, andyouweren’t even tightening the fucking gas cap?”

Roy sighed like he didn't have the patience to deal with this shit. “All right, Nathan. Go clock in and get to work.”

Nate stared the guy down for two seconds longer than was comfortable. I was on edge, ready to lunge over the counter if my quick-tempered friend decided to pummel the dude. Luckily, I didn't have to. Nate blew out a breath into the dude’s round red face and turned on his heel, barreling toward the break room.

“Hotheaded asshole,” the guy muttered under his breath. “Entitled piece of shit. Roy, I’d look at the type of trash you have working here if I were you.”

Roy released a tight breath as he stood from his chair and flattened his hands on the counter. “Don’t worry about paying today, Bill. All right? We’re all good. You have a good day.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that. I wasn’t planning on paying a goddamn penny today,” the guy said, already headed toward the door. “Fuckin’ gas cap …”

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