I forced myself to count to ten in my head before my temper flared again. “Dad, I’m making a turkey on wheat sandwich for lunch.”
“Fine, but don’t skimp on the mayo.”
“Sure.”
I turned, heading to the kitchen and rinsing his mug before putting it into the dishwasher. My phone sat beside the half-full pot of coffee, and I snatched it up, thumbing to my lawyer’s number and connecting. The silence from the living room was deafening, so I slipped outside to the back porch, wondering who I pissed off in another universe and how long it would be until another disaster fell in my lap.
Chapter 8
“I’m too oldfor this shit,” I grumbled to Malibu as I dropped the torque wrench to the ground and slid out from under the car. As I rose to my feet, my back twinged. I pushed thecreeper to the far corner of the garage and scratched my stubble, which I should probably call a beard if I let it grow any longer.
Malibu yipped from her bed against the opposite wall. I understood why she was unimpressed by the situation—having to park my truck in the driveway because the garage was occupied by a project I’d been working on for a decade must have been inconvenient. It was especially true since her dog bed had to be moved to account for the car parts scattered everywhere.
If I was being honest, I knew why the car had been in my garage for over a decade.
“I know, princess. Mark and Miller would say I’ve been holding onto things for too long. This Mustang might as well be scrap metal for all the good it’s doing just sitting here.”
She barked, wagged her tail, and padded to my toolbox, demanding pets. I obliged, dropping to my knees and scratching under her jaw.
“One guy at the office offered me a pretty sweet deal for her.”
I shook my head and turned toward the door leading to the mudroom, wondering why I was still bothering to fix the old car. I’d never get behind the wheel—not after what I did.
Even though this wasn’tthecar I crashed that day, it was the same make and model—a constant reminder of my failure.
Some part of my subconscious tried to push through thoughts of the drunk driver and black ice, but I refused to let myself cop out of the blame.
I’d agreed to fly to Costa Rica.
I was driving the car.
I took my eyes off the road.
Nothing else mattered except those cold, hard facts.
If my mood dropped any lower into this pit of self-recrimination I could add one more reason.
I’d agreed to the honeymoon destination and insisted on driving a car that needed a tune-up.
Lucky for me, the furry mood elevator at my feet kept me from sinking even lower. Well, my pup and the constant presence ofSummerin my thoughts.
She didn’t belong there. No woman did. But the longer I mulled over her situation, the more I wanted to dropkick that guy in the balls. What gave him the right to speak to any woman—let alone his ex-wife—like that?
Admittedly, I shouldn’t have listened to them argue as long as I had, but like a reality television drama, I couldn’t look away. The longer he demanded that she open the door, the more that hot, aggressive ball of tension grew in my chest, threatening to burst unless I stepped in and announced my presence. If Summer couldn’t be thankful I spoke up, she should at least be grateful that it got her douche of an ex to back the hell off.
Not that she wasn’t doing a hell of a job holding her own.Watching her control the narrative, temper her emotions, and refuse to budge to his demands, left me feeling—something.
Something better left unsaid and buried deep. It was bad enough I’d be forced to tolerate her presence while we finished the repairs. The last thing I needed was for her face to creep into my subconscious when I wasn’t at her place.
I kicked my boots off and turned to look at the unfinished pile of metal. A midnight blue front bumper was waiting for me down at my buddy’s shop, but I didn’t feel like listening to him bitch and moan about God knows what—I got enough of that from my brothers. Maybe Mom had something I could busy myself with for the afternoon instead.
Nope.I’d been using her as a crutch for too long.
The oppressive silence of the empty house weighed me down like a wet blanket, so I snatched my old ball cap from the mudroom, gripping the brim before shoving it on my head. Iwhistled for Malibu, who trotted up to me, tail wagging, before grabbing my truck keys and striding out of the garage.
I rolled down the front windows and breathed in the air, chuckling as my pup’s tongue lolled and speckles of drool fell from her mouth onto the passenger seat protector. When we stopped at a red light, she yipped once before scrambling to the back seat and pressing her nose to the closed window. The light changed to green, and I sped up, rolling down the back window while she barked. As we drove to the shop, she protected the truck from three palm trees, two squirrels, and one lady on a hot pink bicycle.
“Mav? I thought I saw your scowling mug,” Rob said, grabbing a rag from on top of a large toolbox and wiping his hands before clasping my shoulder.
