Page 42 of The Bad Boy Rule

“Damnit, would you look at that… on time tonight.” Tommy whistles when I roll my bike into the open garage bay door at six thirty on the dot. “Must be my lucky night. Gonna buy me a lottery ticket when I leave here.”

I kick the stand out, propping it up as I turn to him with a smirk. “That would require you to actually leave, you know, old man?”

He waves an oil-smudged hand through the air at me, but I see the corners of his mouth curling beneath his long gray beard. “Who you callin’ old, boy? Remember who signs your paychecks, yeah?”

With class, hockey, the…arrangementwith Golden Girl, it’s been a while since I’ve been at Tommy’s, and I’ve missed the familiarity of the shop, the smells, the comfort of a place that’s become like a home to me. I even missed the old man.

I wouldn’t admit it out loud, but it’s the truth.

“Yeah, yeah. What do you need me working on tonight?” I ask as I grab my jumpsuit and bandana. I quickly suit up and walk over to where he’s sitting on his signature stool, the leatherbusted from hell and back on the seat that he refuses to part with.

That’s the thing about old men… they’re stuck in their ways. Nearly all of them.

“Got a couple oil changes, alternator replacement. Few things here and there,” he mutters, gaze moving up and down me. His bushy brows pinch together. “You getting enough sleep? Eating good? Lookin’ a little scrawny.”

I grin.

Yeah, right. I’m in the best physical shape of my life, despite the fact that I am, in fact, not getting enough sleep, but with everything I’ve got going on, it’s a miracle I get to sleep at all.

When I told Tyler earlier at practice that I had something to take care of, I meant work so I can somehow attempt to keep us from being evicted and fucking homeless.

“I think that’s just your bad eyes. You been wearing your reading glasses?” I shoot back, ducking when he throws an old rag at me.

“You know damn good and well I don’t need those things. I can see just fine. It’s those damn little bitty words—they just seem to get smaller and smaller the longer I stare at the stupid paper.”

I roll my lips together to bite back a chuckle.

“Whatever you say, old man.” My palm curves around his shoulder when I brush by, giving it a squeeze.

I always said if I ever went pro, ever got a contract that paid money that I’ve only ever dreamed of, that I’d set Tommy up for life. Try to repay him in some way for everything he’s done for me since I was a kid.

He saw potential in me when there was none to see. Yet somehow, he did. He believed in me and gave me something I’d never had before.

A dream. Hope for the future.

I grew up in a broken home, and when you grow up like that, you don’t have big dreams. Growing up, all I ever wanted was a house that no one could take away and a safe place to land.

But Tommy gave me something to look forward to. He gave me this shop and a family within the walls.

“When’s your first game? Me and Burl are going to be there.”

Grabbing the new oil filters from the shelf, I walk back over to him. “Friday. 7:00 p.m. You know I always leave tickets at the will call for you.”

He nods, affection flitting in his eyes.

It’s crazy to think that my entire college career is almost over, and my father hasn’t attended one of my hockey games. Not asinglefucking game. Yet Tommy makes every game that he can, without me ever asking.

It’s his way of showing me that he’s proud, and it means so fucking much to me. Everything.

“Hey, I wanted to ask… if you have some extra hours or things around the shop that you need done, I can pick up a few extra shifts this week and next.”

He cocks a brow. “You’ve got class and hockey. Why are you trying to take on more hours?”

I shrug, holding back the full truth. “Just could use the extra money.”

For a beat, he’s quiet, staring at me with a look of concern in his eyes.

Even though I trust Tommy more than anyone else in my life besides Ma, I still don’t want to burden him with my shit. I never have, and I’m not going to start now.

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