Page 47 of Breakdown
This time, however, the look was only because Nik seemed to be searching for the right words to say. He knew Peter wasn’t going to like it. “Perhaps we could bring the Camaro home to work on.”
“The doctor said you should rest,” Peter said automatically, talking around a mouthful of chicken. He’d actually done a decent job cooking it tonight.
“Peter, I have been doing nothing but rest for three weeks. Please. I need to dosomething.” He looked adorably surly and just a little bit desperate, and it made something shake loose inside of Peter. “I am losing my mind here without some sort of distraction.”
Sex had been off the menu too, Peter perhaps unreasonably paranoid that he’d re-bruise Nik’s brain.
“What’d you have in mind?” To Peter’s horror the question came out husky and low, and a little bit desperate himself.
“Not that,” Nik said, wincing. “At least not yet.”
“I wasn’t suggesting...just, for the car, I mean—”
Nik cut him off with a deep laugh, warm and rich, covering Peter’s hand with his own. “Of course.”
It made Peter smile in spite of himself. “I respect that you’re healing.”
“I know. You have been very respectful,” Nik agreed morosely.
Peter reached over, pressing smooth circles into the nape of Nik’s neck. Nik moaned aloud, leaning into his touch, and Peter folded like an honest poker player with a bad hand. “Okay, I’ll bring home the car. Just promise me you won’t overdo it.”
Which was all well and good. Peter just hadn’t accounted for the actual business of walking back into the garage to get it.
The place had been cleaned, by the cops or the insurance company or maybe by the final act of Liv’s exhaustive end-game planning, Peter wasn’t sure. The whole thing looked as pristine as the day Peter showed up for his first shift: the gasoline smell gone, the rollup door and workbench replaced, the duct tape residue scraped from the chairs, the glass swept away and the oil and blood scrubbed from the floors until they were antiseptic and shining. If you didn’t know it, you’d almost never guess that anything happened at all.
The Camaro gave it away, though. Like Peter, it still bore the scars from that night, the passenger side door deeply gouged, the front headlight badly smashed. His father’s body was still here as well, not literally, of course, but Erik Bauer still haunted this place, mute and accusatory. He still saw him when he closed his eyes, his brain replaying the scene on loop as if to confirm it had really happened. No matter how clean the place was, Peter knew the exact spot on the waiting room floor, could feel the last vestiges of his father’s presence in the still, thick air.
It didn’t consume him the way he thought it would. Because there was also the spot where Nik spun him like Ginger-fucking-Rodgers around the oil pits, and the bay where Nik would sometimes lean over pretending to check his work but really just bringing their bodies closer for a moment in the middle of a hectic day, and the counter where Nik whispered countless times that he loved him while Peter sorted the invoices.
There was so much good here, and Erik Bauer didn’t have the power to chase the good things away from Peter’s life anymore.
His phone rang, startling him out of his reverie. He didn’t recognize the number, but that had been par for the course the last few weeks. At Peter’s request, their provider had redirected the calls from the shop to his personal cell, a decision he quickly came to regret. He’d had to explain at least two dozen times that they were at least another week from opening. Renovations. Not a total lie.
He wondered how many of their regulars had driven by the dark shell of the place and how many had seen it in the papers. It was up in the air whether this caller actually needed repairs or if they were just phoning out of morbid curiosity. They wouldn’t be the first. He had half a mind to let it go to voicemail.
Nik would have apologized to the customer for the inconvenience, recommended another quality shop if the repair couldn’t wait, been polite and cordial and everything Peter was naturally not.
So Peter figured he should try for that too. For the first time in his life, he was working without the safety-net of the family money. He was surprised by how light that revelation made him feel.
He put on his best customer service voice. “Petrakis Auto Repair.”
The business had always been in Nik’s name, Peter a silent partner for legality’s sake. He wondered if it was time to put himself up on the marquee. It wasn’t that he had any particular loyalty left to the Bauer name. If anything, it stood in exact opposition of what he was trying to achieve with his life now. It was probably for the best that the line ended with him.
Briefly, stupidly, he caught himself fantasizing about taking Nik’s name. Someday. If he asked. Not that they’d talked about it. He did kind of like that the alliteration of Peter Petrakis sounded like some budget superhero’s secret identity.
Now that everything was settled, it didn’t seem so farfetched, Peter as just another married, suburban stepdad. Peter was looking to spend the rest of his life in a lower gear.
“How can I help you,” he continued.
There was a short, weak, awkward laugh. Peter recognized it, and his heart nearly burst in two.
“Hey Chief.”
“Hey.” It was all Peter could manage, choking up almost immediately. He cleared his throat. “Good to hear your voice.” It had been touch and go. The doctors hadn’t been sure the kid was going to make it.
“Look, I’m sorry to bother you at work,” Jordan said. “And I know I’m in no place to ask you for another favor. Shit, I owe you enough already.”
Peter wasn’t sure that was true at all. “Spit it out, kid.” And then, because he was overcorrecting with brusqueness to hide the depth of his relief, he added, “It’s not a favour when it’s between friends.” Money, a job, a puppy; Peter was going to set Jordan up with anything he asked for and then some.
