Turning the taps on, I let the water heat while I stripped out of my boxers. I stepped under the stream, letting the hot water pound against my aching muscles, and allowed my thoughts to drift to the day I’d had. It was satisfying to get back to welding in an actual shop. The smell of metal, the heat of the welding gun—it allowed me an escape, a distraction.
Welding had been my first love. My old man was an ironworker who had opened his own shop when I was five. I spent a lot of time there with him, wearing one of his old helmets and listening while he talked about what he was doing.
I knew how to weld better than most of my instructors had in college, and when I graduated with the licences and tickets, I’d gone to work at my dad’s shop. He made me a co-owner—I was the son of Petersen and Son. When Dad died of a heart attack a few years back, he’d left the entire business to me.
The last thing I wanted to do was sell my father’s legacy, but Cheryl had left me no choice. I needed to be closer to Sawyer, and it was the only way I could be near my daughter.
Mom understood—she said it was the exact same thing that my father would have done had he been in my shoes. But I still felt guilty every single time I talked to her. Guilty for selling what he worked so hard to build, guilty for moving three hours away from her, leaving her alone in Ottawa. She had lived there all her life, and she had plenty of friends, but still.
Now both Sawyer and I were gone.
I exhaled deeply, turning to face the tile wall. Running my hands through my wet hair, I lathered the shampoo, washing away the metal, grime, and regret.
Once I’d finished showering, I turned off the water and reached for the towel on the rack, my eyes going to the neat little row of my daughter’s bath things.
I sighed, pushing open the curtain and stepping onto the mat. Tucking the towel around my waist, I walked down the hall, avoiding looking in Sawyer’s bedroom. I knew the bed would be made, her stuffed animals arranged carefully. Her bed, empty.
I constantly thought about begging Cheryl for more time, but I knew my ex-girlfriend, and she wouldn’t give in easily to my request.
The courts had awarded Cheryl with full-custody since she’d always been a stay-at-home parent while I worked. I got visitation rights, and if I wanted more time, I’d have to rely on the goodness of Cheryl’s heart—which had hardened to me years ago—or go the lawyer route.
Cheryl didn’t want me around when it wasn’t my days to have Sawyer, and she made that perfectly clear all the time. She’d conveniently forget to tell me about school plays or dance recitals, and she didn’t want me sitting in student-teacher meetings. I think that was why she’d put the distance between us and was so pissed that I’d sold everything to move twenty-five minutes away.
Jogging down the stairs, I stopped in the mudroom to grab my phone, bringing it into the kitchen and plugging it in to charge. I heated up some of the leftover steak and potatoes from the night before and ate standing up, leaning against the counter and looking out the dining room window, my thoughts drifting to my daughter.
I finished eating and cleaned up the minuscule mess before taking out the trash. I opened the garage doors and flicked on the light. Standing in the driveway, I stared at my bike, my hands twitching at my sides. Closing my eyes, I concentrated on breathing, trying to squelch the desire to hop on it and go for a ride. The last time I’d taken it had been Friday night to the Watering Hole…and to Gwen’s apartment.
Thoughts of her assaulted my conscious mind, and I allowed myself to indulge in the memory of her body pressed against mine. All of Saturday and Sunday, I thought about running into her a hundred times, about going back for more, breaking my own most crucial rule.
Seeing her in the office, finding out who her father was—it hadn’t doused the desire the way it should have.
I entertained the thought of a different morning than the one we’d had, one where I was fucking her in that meeting room, bending her over the table and taking her from behind.
Knowing that if I hopped on the bike, I’d end up somewhere I had no business being, I walked to my workbench. I pulled my hair back from my face and picked up my welding mask, all the while thinking about her.
She could have provided a great distraction, and maybe if she wasn’t the daughter of my new boss, I could have seen if fucking casually was something she’d be into. But this was a recipe for disaster, and I had enough of that in my life already.
Bringing up a playlist on my phone, I plugged it into the speakers and hit play, getting to work on the metal fire pit I was building for the backyard. It was a project to occupy my time while I waited for the weekends with Sawyer.
Half an hour into my project, I caught a movement in the corner of my eye and nearly jumped out of my skin when a large black shape that looked strikingly like a bear cub wandered into my garage. Realizing that it was a dog, I relaxed and set my welding gun down, powering off my machine.
“Are you lost, bud?” The dog’s tail wagged tentatively as it ambled over. Its coat was matted with mud and burrs, and its brown eyes looked up at me pleadingly, begging me to save it.
When its large pink tongue lapped my hand, I let out a heavy sigh. Clearly, the dog was tired and had gone a long time without a good brushing or a bath. It was either lost or abandoned, and I didn’t feel right about sending it back into the night without at least feeding it.
I reached for my phone, cutting the music and unplugging the speaker cord. It was almost eleven, too late for any stores nearby to be open. “Guess you get what’s left of my steak, bud.” I exhaled, opening the door to the house. The dog stayed in the garage, watching me warily. “Come on.”
The dog obeyed me, its tail wagging lowly again as it padded over to me. Once it reached the wooden steps, it looked up at me with sad eyes that broke my heart a little. “Come on,” I said again, gentler this time.
It followed, lifting its front paws heavily up the stairs over the threshold. I walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and put what was left of the steak on a plate. Setting it down in front of the dog, I straightened.
The dog didn’t move. It sat, waiting, watching me with soulful brown eyes. “Go on then,” I instructed. The dog stood, digging into the steak hungrily.
I filled a bowl with water and carried it to the laundry room, setting it beside the freezer before I grabbed a towel from the dryer and spread it over the mat by the back door. It wasn’t much of a bed, but it’d have to do.
The dog wandered into the laundry room and paused by the bowl, lapping up the water. Rivulets of water poured from its jowls when it looked up with its tail wagging gratefully at me.
“Come here,” I said again, and the dog did I asked, laying down on the bed I’d made. I crouched, stroking its fur, rubbing its belly to relax it. It rolled onto its back, and I checked, noting that it was a boy. “Stay.” I pet it once more before standing.
