Page 43 of Busted Dreams

Not so much.

He constantly asked questions and pulled me away from what I was doing. This week alone, I’d stayed two hours extra each night, cutting into the time I normally set aside for the band or Astrid. Something had to give soon.

Maybe he’d get tired of trying to be a bigshot businessman—which Tippy’s was not glamorous by any means—and head back to school. He had been working on his master’s degree but decided to take a year off.

Lucky me.

“Sure.” I wiped my hands on an old rag and tossed it on the hood. Wiping my face clear of any irritation, I turned to him with a smile. “What’s up?”

Brady was a short guy, barely topping five foot four, with mousy brown hair and circular Harry Potter looking glasses. How was he the product of Dale, the rugged mountain man of an owner? He had hands the size of mallets and all the delicacy of a stampede of bison. His wife, Maggie, was the same, only a female version. Then came Brady, the comic book kid who didn’t know anything about how to change a fucking tire.

“I’ve been working on some big deals, and one of them is very promising. Del’s Fiber Optics is willing to give us a job if we can guarantee we can complete all of their routine maintenances and oil changes on Saturday. I need you to be here.”

Just like that, my poor mood got worse. I already knew how this conversation was going to go.

“I can’t, Brady. I’m sorry. I requested Saturday off for a reason, and I’ve already been given the day off.” Holding his stare long enough for him to know I was serious, I unzipped my jumpsuit a few inches to cool down, then I started to turn back to my work, picking up my rag.

“But, you can’t.” He took several rushed steps forward, clutching his tattered receipt book like it was going to change my mind. “This is really important, Beck. I need you to be here. This is what I need to start making a difference at Tippy’s.”

Sighing, I turned back around. “Dude, I’m sorry. But this isn’t about you. I can’t be here.”

“You can be here or be fired.” The little shit lifted his chin indignantly.

Without meaning to, my shoulders shrugged up to my ears and my chest expanded. It was like I was bowing up, preparing for a fight. One this ridiculous little bastard wouldn’t win.

“You don’t want to do that,” I said softly.

“Oh? And why not.” Was it just me, or did his voice get more nasally with each word?

“Because, I’ve been like a son to your dad. Here when you haven’t been, working when you were off doing whatever the fuck it was you were doing. I’ve been his one steady employee. If you fire me, I’ll make sure to tell Dale exactly why and how you act here in the shop.” Like an entitled little shit. I clenched my work rag tight in my hand. If it had some weight to it, I might have been tempted to launch it at his dick.

He scoffed. “I’m his son. He wouldn’t take your word over mine.”

Taking a deliberate breath to calm down, I shrugged. “Fine. Do it your way. I still stand by what I said.” The heat of his stare burned the back of my head for about ten minutes as I finished up the current job. Taking a glance at the clock, I cleaned up my station and slipped out of my jumpsuit. It was barely lunchtime, but that was enough of this place for the day. I had extra hours from staying late in the beginning of the week anyway.

Who the hell did he think he was? Trying to walk all over people, just at a halfcocked attempt at maybe being successful? Damn. If he had been the owner all these years, I damn sure wouldn’t have stayed here.

Brady retreated to the office by the time I left, his beady little eyes glaring at me. I sent him a two-fingered wave as I pulled on my sunglasses and strutted out.

Yes. I motherfucking strutted out.

Once I was in Cherry, I stroked a loving hand over the dashboard. She was like a balm to anger, something I’d worked so hard on and made beautiful instead of destroyed.

I was supposed to meet the band tonight, but I thought I’d rather hang out with Astrid. Maybe we could figure out what to post for our second video. My phone went off just as I was starting Cherry up.

Opening the message, I read it before pulling out.

Rhys: Meeting? Just us?

It was sent to me and Thatcher. Weird.

Me: I want to hang out with Astrid tonight, so depending on how long, that’s kind of counterproductive.

And I hadn’t even been able to pick her up this morning. There had been too many cars on the schedule today.

Thatcher: My life is completely flipped upside down right now but sure, why not.

Rhys: Thatch, your place? Beck, it won’t take long.

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