I lean my forehead against the door, not sure if I’m able to believe what he’s telling me. God, but I want to.
“Carter,” he says, his voice cracking. “Please don't tell me I'm too late. Please don't tell me that I ruined us. I just had to see the Pacific to understand that it was his ocean, not mine.”
The crushing weight on my chest releases, and I sag with relief. Turning around, I finally let my eyes meet his. I let out a dry laugh.
“Carter?”
I push my sunglasses back onto my head and point at the dark puffy bags under my eyes and then at the bags under his. “We both look like shit. Can we please never do this again?”
His head falls back for a brief moment, and he lets out a long breath, his shoulders dropping. He scrubs his hands over his eyes and starts walking toward me. He looks fucking exhausted, so I pick up the pace and meet him halfway. We practically crash into each other, a tangle of limbs and promises and kisses and tears. Pretty much the whole damn shop is gawking at us, but I couldn’t give a shit.
“You had better not be a fucking mirage, or I will besopissed,” I say, poking him in the chest with my finger.
He shakes his head. “I'm no mirage. I'm just yours.”
Epilogue
KNOX
On the long drive back from Los Angeles, I figured out what I wanted to do. I enjoy working with Sally, and I like the whole process of taking an old, rusted-out car and making it new again. I also figure it couldn't hurt to have some book smarts around the shop, so I’m taking online classes for a business degree.
While Galloway Auto has always been solid, it’s flourished ever since the shop started taking on body repair. The work is hard, satisfying, and dirty, and it’s followed by our nightly routine of dinner, homework, and blowjobs, with the occasional cooking show thrown in for good measure.
After one too many times getting caught on camera debasing each other in the stairwell, Carter and I agreed that we need a little separation between the shop and where we live. So, we bought a house out by Lake Bastrop and spent six months renovating it little by little. We moved in about a month ago, and I extended an invite to my mother and father.
To be honest, I’m still a little shocked they accepted.
Now they’re in our driveway, about to meet Carter for the first time. I offered to pick them up from the airport, but they insisted on getting a rideshare. Mom told me later that they had been inspired by my trying new things and felt like taking their first flights and their first Uber was something they could do for themselves.
I walk out onto the porch barefoot like always. Momma doesn’t even set down her bag before hugging me so tight I feel my ribs creak. And then there's my dad, looking uncomfortable. We shake hands, and it feels a little like progress.
He looks around our simple little house, nodding. “This is a nice place. I like it when the rafters are exposed like that. Makes it feel spacious.”
Dad never talks about it, but Momma once said that years of going down into the dark have made him claustrophobic, and he always appreciated places with high ceilings. After only a year down there, I know exactly how he feels.
“Carter apologizes for being late. Mrs. Comstock came in with a busted headlight, and she's on her way to a funeral, so he didn't want her driving without the full complement.”
“Honey, I'm home!” speaks the devil, using our common greeting.
“Hey, sweetie, come on in. Momma and Dad are here.”
He walks in through the garage entrance, looking like he spent a day under an engine. He gives an awkward wave. “I'm a mess. Let me take five minutes, scrub all of this grease off me, and then greet you like a human being. Promise. I hope you've made yourself at home.”
My mom spins around and looks at me with a raised brow. “I know you sent pictures, but they didn't do him any justice at all. He isreallygood-looking.”
“I said!” I say, laughing. “It's something about the grease. I don't know why, it just works for him.”
We laugh, and then I cringe a little when I remember my father is still in the room. I shift around and look up at him, realizing in that moment that I really can't do that anymore. That somehow in the last year, I've made up that final inch between the two of us. And now we see each other eye to eye.
He shrugs. “I wouldn't know. He's not my type.”
I know it's rude to gape at one's parents, but I could catch flies at that moment. I managed to forget that, before everything, my dad used to be funny. He takes me off guard, but I start laughing, and so does he. Not thinking too much about it, I stumble forward into his arms, still laughing. He hesitates but then wraps me up in the kind of hug I haven’t gotten from him since before Connor died.
“I'm sorry, son. I hope we can begin again.”
* * *
Carter
