Smiling so wide his face hurt, because she was a sweetheart who just had that effect on people, he made his way back to his truck and the rest of his service appointments after he stopped off to make sure the mop had soft food and wouldn’t starve. The afternoon went smoothly, so he finished on time, unloading his truck and restocking for the next day.
“Hey, Colt.” Herb stepped to the office door. “Come in here a minute, son.”
“Yes, sir.” His stomach bottomed out. In his experience, getting called into the office was never a good thing, although damn if he could think of anything he’d done to result in being called on the carpet. He came close to loving his work, tried to treat customers the way he’d want to be treated, took pride in what he did.
On a steadying breath, he hooked the truck keys in the lockbox and followed Herb into the glass-encased cubicle.
“Take a load off.” Herb settled into his chair, adjusting his slight paunch.
A pair of fingers at his belt to preserve his gigline — Lord, he was more like Gene every damn day — Colt folded into one of the cheap metal and fake leather chairs in front of Herb’s desk.
Herb tossed his glasses on the desk and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I been talking with Kasey today.”
Colt nodded, a sick premonition taking hold of his stomach. Herb talking to the district manager and calling him in — nope, not good at all. He breathed through his nose, trying to still his brain. Okay, the cabin was paid for because he’d driven every nail himself, and he had enough in savings to cover him and the expensive-ass dog for months while he looked for something else.
Fuck, he’d never been fired, not even when he’d been nineteen and struggling to quit drinking. His Taco Bell manager over in Tifton hadn’t cared much if he was hungover so long as he wasn’t outright drunk.
Herb had worked with him here when he’d fallen off the wagon last year after years of being sober, been stupid and got his ass busted for DUI, had shaken his head, said everybody made mistakes and let him take leave while he worked out the adjudication and keeping his license.
What had he done now?
He folded both hands around the metal chair arms, a loose hold to hide how his fingers shook.
“She’s moving up to a state-level sales manager position in Hotlanta. I’m moving over to her job as district manager.” Herb paused, and Colt tensed his stomach muscles, ready for a blow, like them letting him go because the new manager wouldn’tunderstand keeping on a guy stupid enough to toss eight years of sobriety and get behind the wheel after two beers he should have said no to.
“Yes, sir.” He’d tensed his gut like this the night Tick had caught him with Allison, expecting, deserving, to have the cousin he loved like a brother slug him. Lamar hadn’t thought he was worth it. Colt knew he wasn’t.
A hint of a smile played about Herb’s mouth. “We were thinking you might do well moving into my spot here.”
His brain, mired in worst case scenarios, took a second to process Herb’s meaning. “Sir?”
“I know you like being out on route, but you’re good with people, son, and you understand good service.” Herb rubbed a hand down his belly, swiveling the chair. “We got just about a month until Kasey goes to her new spot, so that gives us some time to train you.”
“You want me to manage this.” Colt blinked. He couldn’t quite make sense of this scenario. Lifting a hand, he spun a finger. “Me.”
“Well, I don’t see anyone else in that chair.” Herb chortled at his own joke and waved toward the warehouse. “I know it’s a change, and I know you might want to think about it. Why don’t you do that tonight and we’ll talk about the particulars in the morning. Come on in about five so we have time before your route starts.”
“Yes, sir.” Hell, he sounded like an eighteen-year-old awe-struck kid. Throwing his shoulders back, he gripped the chair with one hard flex of his hands and pushed to his feet. Okay, good, his knees held. “Thank you, sir.”
Shit, yeah, he sounded like a grown man. He restrained himself from rolling his eyes at his own gauche responses.
Somehow he made it to his truck, still off kilter. All right, he wasn’t drunk, so he hadn’t imagined that conversation. He passed a trembling hand over his face.
Thank You, Lord Jesus, he wasn’t fired because just imagine if he had to tell Delbert and Sue that one. They still didn’t get why he was satisfied with an associate degree from ABAC and a blue-collar service industry job because, you know, look at Lamar Jr. and his graduate degree and leadership-track career with the FBI or Del owning his insurance agency or Chuck being the most sought-after contractor in all of southwest Georgia.
They probably didn’t want to hear that holding down a 3.6 GPA while fighting off the hourly urge to get blitzed was an accomplishment in itself.
Or that he didn’t need a bachelor’s or master’s degree to deliver cleaning supplies and treat people right.
Or how about how owning his truck and his little spot on the blue hole provided a sense of security he hadn’t realized he craved?
And maybe that he had a few building skills himself? He’d crafted the cabin, like he’d crafted his life, putting it together with one minute after the other of not taking a shot or cracking open a beer.
He loved his parents, but shit. Hell, he was sorry he wasn’t the son they wanted, but he had to live life on his terms, not theirs. He needed to make a lifehecould live with.
That life hadn’t been enough for Tyler, either. He hadn’t been enough for her on his own. Losing her, losing them when he’d just about talked himself into loving her, had kinda hurt, hence why he’d been in that bar having a couple of beers with Wally last year, but he’d learned from the hurt and the mistakes.
Shit, he wasn’t fired. A harsh laugh rumbled from his throat, and he rubbed a hand over his mouth.
