Page 5 of To Belong Together
“Billed out fourteen hours today. You?” Sam’s voice registered a little too high for his bulky stature.
She’d billed out nothing. The engine job John Kennedy interrupted would take another day, but only if things progressed smoothly and her cousins stopped sending her out on test drives.
She checked the clock in the corner of the computer screen. Four thirty. She’d stay to make headway on the engine, but Sam and Roy usually left around this time.
“If I weren’t doing all the hard work,” she said, “you wouldn’t be free to do the gravy.”
Sam sneered. “You’d never hack it if this place weren’t run by family.”
“I did fine before I came here.” For five whole, heavenly years, until dementia had forced Dad into early retirement. The doctor predicted he only had a couple of years left. She wouldn’t spend them hours away, so she’d moved back and taken her father’s former place at the shop.
“Your manager babied you.” Sam’s condescending glance pointed out her biggest flaw without lifting a finger.
She was a woman, so she couldn’t possibly be a good technician.
God, why does it have to be this way?
If He hadn’t answered any of the times she’d asked before, He wouldn’t suddenly speak today.
Her order placed, she rose from the desk. “I’m good at my job.”
“Not what the numbers say.” Sam disappeared into the hall.
This was why she’d declined coffee with John. History told her his interest wouldn’t last, and dating a customer would render her more of a misfit.
She didn’t need a coffee date nearly as badly as she needed to prove she belonged.
2
John spent his day in the studio at Gannon’s house. As the band wrapped up, their manager called about the latest demo they’d sent and digressed to his favorite topic—his hopes for Awestruck’s next contract.
“We’ll be set for life.” Tim’s promise rang from Gannon’s phone, which they had on speaker. “Our kids will be set for life. And their kids.”
They’d achieved that years ago, and what was the point of earning enough to support generations to come if John never had any children?
From a man seated in a studio lush with every mark of success he’d prayed for back during Awestruck’s lean years, gratitude would be more appropriate than longing.
Externals aside, John had made a difference in the world. Awestruck was a mainstream rock band, but as believers, he and Gannon had always sought to use their platform to reach audiences others couldn’t. Until recently, that had been enough.
Gannon ended the call and pocketed the phone. “What do you think Tim will do if he’s wrong?”
“About how much we’ll bring in with the contract?” Philip laughed. “Quit, probably.”
John rubbed his neck, then dropped his hand to his lap. “He wouldn’t. Awestruck is family. Even to Tim.”
Not the blood-related type, but still.
“Family’s not forever.” Philip slid to his feet. The widower kept his back turned as he shut off his amp, ducking the sympathetic looks from the couch.
John’s self-pity slammed into a wall of conviction. He shouldn’t feel sorry for himself for the state of his love life when he couldn’t imagine Philip’s pain.
Gannon glanced at John, looking for guidance, but Philip didn’t appear to want a pep talk, and John wasn’t qualified to give one.
He returned to Gannon’s question. “Tim would sulk, check his bank accounts, and get over it.” Awestruck made him enough, even without another windfall.
With a soft laugh of agreement, Gannon stood. He glanced at Philip again, then opened the studio door.
John stepped through. “The better question is, what will he do if he’s right?”
