Page 91 of The Older Brother
“Hey, are you—” I step around the corner to find the familiar trailer bed with my vehicle clamped down for the long ride back to Rowan’s garage. I walk along the length and then there he is, leaning against his Camaro, parked where my car spent the night.
I drop my backpack to the ground and say fuck it to my shoes and feet, kicking them off so I can sprint to him. He catches my full force leap into his arms, and my lips begin kissing his neck upon impact. I don’t even care that he’s salty.
“We couldn’t even make it three full days,” he chuckles.
“Hey, I think this counts as four,” I contend.
He quirks a brow, and I shake my head and wave him off.
“Whatever. Now kiss me.”
His hands slide up my head and into my wet hair, tangling into the strands as he spins until I’m sitting on the hood of his car. It’s my favorite place to be, and I nearly forget where we are when he bends me back just enough to drop kisses down my throat.
“How would Megan feel if you maybe slept somewhere else tonight?” He bites the center of my shirt, well . . .hisshirt.
“I don’t think Megan is sleeping there tonight. She met a guy. So, she’ll feel just fine,” I say, pulling his waist snug against mine. I feel him hard between my legs and briefly flirtwith the idea of reckless behavior. There are cameras literally everywhere, though, and I really do like this captain gig.
“Then the lodge awaits, my captain,” he says, taking my hand and helping me back to the ground. He gathers my tossed shoes and slips them back on my feet, then hands me his keys.
“Oh, I don’t drive her. That’syourbaby,” I say, promptly giving them back. But before I can, Rowan wraps his hand around mine, forcing the keys into my palm. His gaze holds onto mine for a few seconds as I mentally work through this gesture, at first tilting my head then nearly tearing up when he nods.
“Rowan, I can’t take your car,” I protest, though not very hard. I want to take this car. I fucking love this car.
“It’s yours now,” he says, stunning me. I thought he was letting me borrow her, not keep her as my own.
“Rowan, I don’t know. Isn’t this your most favorite thing?” I lean against the driver’s side door as he rests his hands on either side of me and leans in close, dusting my lips with his before pulling back just enough to meet my gaze.
“It was. But I have a new favorite thing now. And it isn’t even close.”
Epilogue
Four Years Later
It feelslike I’m always signing important shit in diners. I’m not sure what it is about these places, this one in particular, but it’s my business office of choice, I guess.
Dante’s Diner in Flagstaff is where I signed on to break free of my father and the lies I’d been carrying for years, so it seemed fitting to be the place where I plan to put down roots.Realroots.
“What do you think? You ready for this?” Mig signs his portion of the contract, then passes it to me. I sign without hesitation.
“Hell yeah, I’m ready.” I push the done deal across the table to the broker and the notary, then fall back against the orange vinyl booth with a massive exhale.
Four years ago, Mig, Jersey and I were treading water to keep our garage open. We were working our asses off, me often twenty-four-seven. It never felt like we were going to make it to that magical plateau where we could close on the weekends and pay ourselves real salaries. But it turns out when the love of your life is two hours away and busy, you find ways to fill the time.I filled it with business outreach. My dad might be a criminal, but he had a good nose for business. The legitimate ones he invested in all had something special. Our garage had that, too. I knew it. So, I sucked up my pride and made some amends with my brother. Turns out Caleb is kind of the shit at investing—legitimate investing. He found us some partners who not only loved our brand but wanted to see it flourish. Better yet, being that they were in the high-end auction world and traveling most weeks, they wanted to remain hands-off and simply reap the rewards of our connection.
We own the Phoenix shop outright now. Every brick paid for. Every repair on us, too, but we have the contingency funds to pay for things. Contingency funds . . . ha! That’s something Caleb got me on board with. And now we’re expanding up north, near the university where my girl is planning to coach next season.
Turns out this town is full of rich people with massive garages, and people like that want their toys to run well, and they want to swap them out often.
“Mr. Anderson, here are your keys,” our broker says.
I hold them in my palm, letting the weight sink in before curling my fingers around them.
“Thank you,” I utter, shaking with my other hand.
Mig and I follow the real-estate guys out of the diner, and I walk Mig to his new truck. He’s a solid friend and gave me his old one for a dollar. We wrapped them both in the business branding, so I’m advertising while driving around.
“I’m gonna take off and get back before rush hour.” Mig grasps my hand, and we give each other a bro hug. “I’ll head up next weekend, and we can start the demo and get with the contractor, yeah?”
“Sounds good, man. And hey, thank you.” My friend’s gaze settles on mine for a moment, a hint of surprise in his expression. Being grateful is something I’ve worked hard on overthe last four years, and I think it still shocks him when I show my feelings.
