Page 15 of Told You So
He drops his fork, the sound of it clanking through the dining room.
My mom clears her throat and takes a sip of water from her glass. Her kind, amber eyes meet mine, conveying something I can’t quite put my finger on in her silence.
My dad wipes his mouth with his napkin. “What do you want me to do, Nick? Things changed. This is real life, son, and a handout won’t get you anywhere.”
“I’m not asking for ahandout,” I grind out. “But it would be nice if you’d acknowledge that the past seven years of schooling—to be an accredited architect to work foryourfirm—was all for nothing.”
“I didn’t say you’d never work with me, Nick.”
“All right, you two,” my mom simpers. She offers me the bowl of roasted vegetables. “I hope you don’t think you’ve gotten out of eating your veggies. Plate up.” She nods to both me and my dad, and I grumble inwardly.
She nudges the bowl toward my dad. “Hutch—”
“I’ve got some work to do at the office,” he says, tossing his napkin onto his plate. “I need to get back.”
I gape at my mom. “What the hell?”
She shuts her eyes and rubs her temple.
Without another word, he grabs his wallet and keys from the entry table and shuts the door behind him.
I’m surprised my mom’s expression is so blasé as she leans back in her chair.
“What the hell just happened?”
“He’s had a rough couple weeks,” she says, though it’s half-hearted and she sounds exhausted. “Time for wine, yes?”
Four
Nick
Settling into my evening shift, I turn the classic rock up on the jukebox and survey the mess Brady left for me to deal with. I’m about to put a clean rack of pint glasses away in preparation for the after-work craze, when the door swings open and a familiar face comes into view.
“Oh boy, here comes trouble,” I mutter, just loud enough so Bobby can hear me.
“You know it,” he says, grinning from ear to ear. By the looks of it, Mac finally convinced him to fix his broken tooth, so other than a faded scar above his right eyebrow and the hidden tattoos beneath his work clothes, Bobbyalmostlooks like a clean shaven, blue-eyed pretty boy.
“What, no hockey practice today?” I ask, grabbing a clean pint glass.
Bobby shakes his head. “It’s off-season, which means I’m stuck with these jokers.” He nods to his sister and the rest of our friends trickling in behind him.
Mac bats playfully at Colton’s arm as the door shuts behind them, and when her eyes meet mine, I wink. “Sup, girl?”
“Hi, sweetness,” she says, flashing me her megawatt smile. Her high heels clack against the linoleum floor. “Thank God for you,” she says and leans over the bar to give me a peck on the cheek. As usual, she’s in her signature look: bright, curve hugging designer attire you’re more likely to see on a fancy lawyer, than an office manager at a mechanic shop. “These guys are driving me crazier than usual today.”
I raise an eyebrow and glance between them as everyone takes a seat at the bar. Reilly and Colton sit at the end, forming an L to face us.
“We’re drivingyoucrazy?” Reilly asks with an incredulous smile. “Us? These guys right here?” Mr. All-American motions between the three of them. It’s nice to see he’s officially claimed his spot back in the group after being gone for four years, deployed overseas. “You, my friend, are the dream crusher,” he tells her.
Mac scoffs. “I’m just trying to save Bobby money,” she says, exasperated, and looks at her brother as she peels off her blazer.
“Babe, so what if he wants to super-charge the Mustang,” Colton says. “What’s the big deal?”
I pour the gang their usual drinks, Black IPA for the guys and a cider for Mac, since Savannah introduced it to her a few months back.
“Thebig deal,” Mac says easily, “is everything that comes with it. Bigger fuel pump and injectors—more moneyanddistractions.” She looks pleadingly at Bobby. “I thought you were supposed to be focusing on the NHL this year, not cars. God knows you’ve had plenty of time to play with hoses and fan belts your entire life. Hockey is what you’ve been working towards. It’s finally your chance to take the next step. Why add all of this to your plate?”
“Because it’s fun.” Reilly smirks, but Mac isn’t amused, and I get the impression her frown isn’t about souped-up hot rods, but something else entirely.
