Page 29 of Outcast
I flicked my tongue over the scabbed cut in the corner of my mouth, then scraped a hand along my stubble, exhaling roughly.
“I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m just tired.”
“Come on. What’s up?”
I shook my head. “Just a shitty day at work. You know how much I hate giving out bad news.”
“Yeah. It’s the worst part of the job for you. You hate disappointing people.” He tilted his head. “Which I guess is why this Allison thing bugs you so much, huh?”
I smiled wryly. “Kinda, yeah. It makes me feel like a spineless douche. Like if I could just tell them all to fuck off, I could live my life, but…” I sighed. “Well, you know my parents deserve some happiness.”
“It’s not your job to give it to them.”
I nodded along, agreeing in theory. The problem was, my brother was gone, and I was the only one who could give them anything now.
If I threw their hopes back in their faces, how damn selfish would I be?
CHAPTERSEVEN
Gray
“Oh, what the fuck?”Holden growled, phone receiver held to his ear.
I paused as I slid the invoice from the latest tow and repair into his inbox. “Something wrong?”
He hesitated, his jaw working. “Maybe. I don’t know.” He stabbed the speaker button, and a message played out loud.
“Hello, this is Emory Gold with Gold Community Bank.”
My heart jolted at Emory’s voice on my brother’s phone. Why was he calling here? Was he looking for me?
Emory’s message continued. “I was hoping to talk to you about something.” He cleared his throat, sounding a little nervous. “We need to discuss your loan paperwork at your earliest convenience. Thank you.”
Click.
So, it wasn’t about me, then. I wouldn’t have minded a call from the gorgeous man, but I should have known better. We lived in two different worlds.
Highlighted by the fact he was calling about a loan—which apparently we owed him.
“Why didn’t you tell me the business was in debt?” I demanded. “I thought shit was just a little tight around here.”
“Because I don’t know anything about a loan,” he said shortly. “But I’m gonna damn sure find out.”
He punched in the number for the bank, reaching a friendly teller named Janine, who patched us through to Emory’s line.
“You’ve reached Emory Gold.”
Damn. Hearing him on the message was one thing, but hearing him now—knowing he was right there on the end of the line—raised goose bumps on my skin. I could almost taste him on my tongue.
“Emory, it’s Holden Cross.” There was a brief pause, and Holden added, “With Forrester Auto.”
A lot of folks in town forgot that our last names weren’t actually Forrester. We were foster kids, all with different names, which was part of the reason we’d created thecodeamongst ourselves.
I didn’t have the tattoo my brothers did. I’d left before they’d decided to ink it onto their skin. Hell, for all I knew, maybe I was the reason they’d renewed that vow.
But we’d written it in a notebook and all signed our names, like it was an official document or some shit. Just dumb kids looking for a way to make a family.
“Of course I know your name,” Emory said, sounding a little flustered. “I have it right here in the paperwork.”
