Tyler gives me a strange look. “Uh, yeah, thanks,” he says before turning and heading out the door.
His footsteps fade after he gets to the bottom of the stairs, and I lean forward with my elbows on the counter, holding my head in my hands.Goddamn it. What have I done?
CHAPTER 9
TYLER
After I make it home Saturday morning, the rest of the weekend goes by in the blink of an eye, I’ve been completely tied up in knots since Friday night’s… adventures and Saturday morning’s horrifying “walk of shame” routine.
I don’t know what to think. Sam is hot. Like smokeshow hot, and he’s an amazing person. I know this from watching him over the past few years. He’s such a great person that there’s no possible way he could be interested in me, other than as a friend or work acquaintance. That probably explains why he was acting so weird on Saturday morning.
Since my energy was mostly wrapped up in worrying about the situation with Sam, I didn’t spend much time worrying about the whole “moving to the coast for several months” thing. Mason would like me to volunteer for the role, but I don’t know what to do. I mean, I’d be stupid not to jump at the chance, right? But when I think about it, my stomach clenches with nerves.
For most people, getting an opportunity like this would be like winning the lottery. I’ve known for a while that I need to get out of my tiny, crappy apartment in the nasty part of town, but the thought of going through the whole process of looking for a place, trying to communicate with a new landlord, moving all my stuff and dealing with all the other million things moving would require makes me break out in hives. Even before losing my hearing, it would have been an ordeal, but throw communication difficulties into the mix and I dread it. If I had to do it for my job, it would be a way to force myself into it. I could give up my apartment for a few months, and when the job at the coast ended, I could just find a new place closer to Seattle.
I’m pretty sure I can handle the job, but the thought of having to manage people makes me crazy anxious. I’ve been able to carve out a little comfort zone at work for the past couple of years. Everyone knows me, and I don’t have to worry about people acting weird or that I’ll miss anything important. People know all the little things they can do to help me communicate with them more easily. But maybe it’s time to stretch myself a little bit. This is a great job with a great company and amazing people. I’ll never find a better working situation. It’s probably the safest place I’ll ever find to try and get out of my comfort zone.
Working in construction was never what I had planned, although sometimes plans change. Mostly I’ve accepted it, although every so often, my old dream of being an art teacher pops into my head. Mostly when I’m alone with my sketchpad somewhere. But I always tamp those thoughts down. I’m sure there are deaf teachers out there, but the thought of trying to keep control of a class full of rowdy teenagers when I can’t properly hear what’s going on around me makes me shudder. I’d feel like I was missing things that went on in the classroom. I mean, nothing is impossible, but I just don’t know whether I’m cut out for it anymore.
Because I don’t have anything else to distract me, my mind wanders over to its favorite spot—the guilt section. I had loosely planned to visit my mom in the care home this weekend, but after getting home on Saturday, still tied up in knots over the hookup with Sam—or whatever it was—I just couldn’t face it. Couldn’t face her. I tried to convince myself I didn’t go because the roads were still in rough shape after the storm, with lots of debris down and traffic lights out. But that’s not the real reason. I dread visiting her at the best of times, and when I’m stressed-out, it’s even worse. Not that she’ll notice or care. She almost never recognizes me anymore. I also understand intellectually that I don’t owe her anything. My guilt doesn’t make her life any better, and it sure as fuck doesn’t help me. It also doesn’t change the fact that she was a shitty mother, and I had a really shitty childhood.
My brother, Aaron, visits her more than I do, and that’s yet another source of guilt. Thinking about Aaron ramps up my guilt to astronomical levels. Even before dementia took over her brain, my mother spent most of her time in a drunken haze. I’m pretty sure there were times she didn’t remember she even had kids. She certainly never cared enough to make us a priority in her life. Aaron, on the other hand, was one of the only people who gave half a shit about me, and our relationship is currently circling the drain.
I didn’t know how to behave when I first came back from overseas, and one night, we had a terrible argument. It never got physical, but we both said things that are hard to take back. I understand where he was coming from now, after many hours of talking with my therapist. Hurt and anger will make you say shit you truly don’t mean. But neither one of us has been able to figure out how to get past the horrible things we said to each other. Even with all my therapy, I still can’t see a way to make things right with the most important person in my life. It eats at me.
Thankfully, the traffic picks up, so I don’t have a lot of time to work myself into a guilty, anxious mess. Or at least no more a mess than usual.
After pulling up to the office, I pause to stretch as I get out of my little Honda. Because I was running late this morning, I had no chance to make coffee at home, so my sole focus is on getting caffeine into my system, stat, as I head toward the kitchen. Still lost in thoughts of my mother and Aaron, I crash directly into someone as I step into the kitchen. Looking up, I find Sam’s big, brown eyes staring down at me, a hint of amusement crinkling the corners as he gives me a crooked grin that makes my stomach do a flip-flop.
“Whoa, there!” he says, jumping back.
“Oh, hey, Sam,” I say. And then it’s like we both remember what happened on Friday night, and a bucket of ice-cold awkward gets dumped all over us. He looks down at his feet like the secrets of the universe are painted on his work boots. Clearing his throat, he glances at me briefly before returning his eyes to his feet. “Uh. Did you have a good rest of the weekend?” he asks politely, and I nod, cringing internally.
“Yeah, it was fine,” I say with a forced smile. “Sorry I crashed into you; I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s, uh… no problem.” Oh god, this might be the most awkward situation I’ve ever experienced, even worse than Saturday morning. I’m desperate to escape, but he’s blocking the door to the kitchen with his broad shoulders. It would look weird if I suddenly turned around and headed for my desk. Sam clears his throat again, and the heat coming off my cheeks could probably power a small city.
“Um, right. I should… yeah, better get to work…” he says in a weird, fake-cheery tone.
“Right,” I say, stepping to the side to get out of his way. He steps the same way, and it results in us trying to dodge each other in what looks like some kind of weird two-step.
Finally, we manage to break free of the dance routine, and he chuckles nervously. “Sorry ’bout that… I’m just going to… um—yeah. Back to work.” He walks away, and I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
I make my way over to the fancy-ass Nespresso machine Jackson bought for us. None of us are really fancy coffee drinkers, but Jax is a sweetheart, and he thought it would be nice for us on the cold winter days, especially if we’re heading to or coming back from an outdoor worksite.
I’m waiting for the coffee when a big, warm paw lands on my shoulder. I jump, turning to see Mason standing beside me.
“Hey, good morning,” he says, reaching for a mug. “How was the rest of your weekend?” We make small talk for a few minutes while the machine hisses and gurgles its way to coffee perfection. We’re walking out of the kitchen when he says casually, “Would you drop by my office to chat for a minute once you’ve got yourself settled?”
I swallow so loud I’m sure he can hear it. I know he’s going to ask me to take the job in Ocean Shores.
“Oh sure, yeah, just give me a few minutes.”
I drop my bag at my desk and head down the hallway to where Mason and Dylan have side-by-side offices looking out onto the forest behind the office.
Mason is sitting at his desk, staring at his laptop screen when I walk in. He gives me a huge smile. “Hey, Tyler, come on in and have a seat.”
I swallow nervously as I take the seat across from him. I still don’t know whether I’m ready for this job. It’s a lot of responsibility.
