Page 60 of Stuck With You
“Another one bites the dust,” Trig sings, taking a drink from his water bottle.
“What’d you say to piss this one off?” Carson pulls the air hose around the front of a van.
I pick up the pens scattered over the floor, ignoring their comments.
“All right. That’s it.” It’s Wind’s voice this time, but in a dry-ass tone I’m not sure I’ve heard before.
I set the pens back on the counter, and Wind approaches with his hands on his hips.
“It’s been a week. One whole week of this. Any more of your passive aggressiveness, and I’m calling Alex.”
I lean against the counter, crossing one ankle over the other. If he thinks that’s a threat, he needs to think again. I wish Alex were here. We understand each other. There’s no need for talking when we want to keep it all locked up inside until we’re ready to face whatever it is. Plus, she’d have these cars moving in and out twice as fast.
“We can’t handle much more of this kind of environment. It’s hostile and unfit for constructive work. It’s mentally unhealthy conditions.”
I cock my head to the side. “Hostile?”
Trig screws the cap on his water bottle. “It’s worse than usual. I mean, we’re used to you barking orders and making demands, but this . . .” He swirls his bottle in a circle. “Mopey, calm, only moderately irritated state is alarming. We don’t know how to work like this.”
“It’s depressing to watch.” Wind scratches his neck. “Millie says you’re emotionally detaching.”
I hold very still, keeping the explosion of laughter that wants to tumble out along with a long string of foul words.
It’s been a week since I’ve seen Sarah, and, dammit, I can’t quit thinking about her. I miss our morning rides together, and I hate that. I want my mornings to go back to being routine and simple, where the only person I worry about is myself.
I might be a little quieter than usual. But I’m just keeping to myself and trying to figure out what to do about Sarah. Or really, the thoughts and feelings she’s stirring that I haven’t experienced in a very long time. Maybe ever. It’s itchy and uncomfortable, and I’m trying to block it all out because I know these morons will read into it and want to dissect every last detail. I’m not doing that. So, I’ve kept my mouth shut and worked, needing to drown it out.
Carson checks the pressure on a tire and stands. “It’s enough, man. We’re calling an intervention.”
“You are?” I scoff.
They stare at me.
“Yeah,” Carson confirms. “We’re finishing up here and going for beers. Any more of you like this,” he points the nozzle at me, “and we’ll be running for the door like that kid. It’s weird, and this shit has got to stop.”
Wind claps his hands together. “Let’s go. Wrap this up, so we can get Slade’s head out of his ass to see the sun is peeking out after years of darkness and shining too brightly for him to handle.”
“What the hell? I’m not a groundhog.”
Wind’s eyebrows shoot up, and his eyes widen as he turns away.
They work while I figure out how to avoid discussing anything with them.
An hour later, I climb out of my truck in Crusin’s parking lot because if I don’t, these ladies will show up at my house, which would be worse. Krissy would get involved, and Brandon would have his glass to the wall, listening to the absolute bullshit this little show-and-share will entail.
I just need to get in, drink my beer while I appease these dickheads, and get out. I don’t want to talk about feelings or depression or avoidance or any of the other big-ass words Millie is feeding Wind. I want to go home to my quiet house, where I don’t have to listen or think about anything. Mostly, the woman across the street who somehow wiggled her way right underneath my decorated skin.
I tug open the door, and the bar is quiet for a Friday night. I spot the table where my friends sit, already laughing and sipping from their bottles.
“Glad you showed. You knew if you didn’t, we’d find you.” Carson tips his bottle back, hiding a grin like he knows this is taking every bit of my limited patience.
I pull a stool out, and Wind hands me a beer from the bucket. “Here. This will help.”
I want to ask why he didn’t invite Millie to moderate story hour, but I don’t for fear he might actually say she’s coming. I like Millie. She’s nice and sweet, but I don’t need her nose in whatever will go down here tonight.
I rest my arms on the table and sip my beer. If these fools think I have anything to say, they’re wrong.
Carson sets his beer on the table. “Pull your phone out.”
