Malibu pushed herself between us, reminding Rob that, being a lady, she should have been greeted first. He laughed, this big, booming sound that radiated from his chest and bounced against the walls in his garage, before bending his knees and scratching under her chin. Satisfied with the pets, she settled by my side, sitting on her haunches and tilting her head to watch Rob.
“That’s just my face,” I said, shaking my head and crossing my arms. “I’m here to get the front bumper for the Mustang.”
“No can do, buddy.”
Rob tossed the rag back on the toolbox and walked past me toward his office. I had no choice but to follow, hesitating before I opened my mouth to say something I’d regret.He sat behind his cluttered metal desk, shoving a handful of invoices aside and resting his elbows on the cleared space. More papers littered the threadbare couch on the opposite wall, and I took a minute to straighten and slide them to one side before sitting.
“I find it hard to believe someone needed the exact part and color I asked you to order for me a month ago.” I pressed mylips together, knowing I sounded like an asshole, but refusing to budge until he explained why this was a wasted trip. It wasn’t like my Saturdays were filled with endless excursions, but I’d put in a few extra hours last night at the office so I could carve this time out for myself. “You know as well as I do that no one needed that part,” I said, shaking my head. “Why don’t you just let me pay you for it and I’ll be on my way?”
“Maybe because I’m tired of indulging you with this fucked-up project that’s been sitting in your garage for a decade.”
I sighed as a sinking feeling took root in my belly and radiated down my arms. My temples throbbed, and I unclenched my jaw, arching a brow as Malibu rested her chin on my thigh. I knew he was right—knew it was tortuous for me to keep repairing the same make and model of the vehicle that took her life—but as long as it stayed in my garage, it felt like a part of her was still with me.
“Isn’t it past time you sold the car? Or hell, I could strip her for parts, and you’d make twice as much,” Rob said, scratching his jaw and grabbing a red rubber ball from his desk. He tossed it between his hands and I followed the movement, anxious to get out of there. “You seemed off during the poker game last week.”
“I’m fine,” I said, gently pushing Malibu’s head away and standing. My back cracked, and I groaned, remembering that I was too damn old to fall asleep in my recliner. “Forget the part. I gotta go, Rob. We’ll catch up next week when you get back from the Great Lakes. Enjoy the fishing trip.” I raised my hand and gave him a two-fingered wave before shoving them in my front pocket to retrieve my keys.
“Wait a second,” he said, moving to stop me from walking out of the office.
I appreciated his concern—mostly—but I refused to spend the afternoon discussing my feelings just because I couldn’t get Summer out of my fucking head at our weekly game. Not that Iwas ever a big conversationalist, but if Rob noticed something, I definitely needed some self-reflection time to get my head out of my ass.
“I proposed to Megan.”
I stopped in the doorway, slowly pivoting to face him as I processed his words.
“I proposed, and she said yes. Almost two weeks ago.”
“Two weeks?” I scratched my stubble and shook my head, leaning against the open door.
“Yeah. Two weeks tomorrow.” Rob sunk back into his fading leather chair and smiled. His mood was infectious, and I returned the gesture, happy for him.
“Then what’s with the third degree when congratulations should be in order? Want to cut out early and get a beer? My treat.”
I leaned across his desk and held out my hand, grasping his and squeezing. He exhaled and chuckled before leaning back and running one hand through his closely cropped dark hair.
“Yeah, I’d like that. Just give me half an hour and we can go to the pub. It’s Trivia night. Think you might win for once?” Rob clapped his hands, rubbing them together like some cartoon villain, and I laughed, knowing he far surpassed me with random trivia factoids.
“Only if the categories are history or literature,” I said, glancing at Malibu, who, I knew, would be put out that she had to go home. “But seriously. Why didn’t you tell me two weeks ago? Not that we call each other gossiping, but I’ve seen you, what? Two? Three times?”
“Well. Um.” He paused, dropping his head to his chest and rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t sure how you’d react, is all.”
“How I’d react? How long have we known each other, Rob?”
“I lost count when it hit double digits.” He chuckled and tapped his upper lip as Malibu pushed herself between his desk and chair so he could pat her head.
“And when have you known me to begrudge someone’s happiness? Megan is great.”
“I guess never, but—”
“But what? This vague shit isn’t like you. What’s with the secrecy?”
“Because of Autumn,” he hissed between clenched teeth.
My smile froze, and my breath stalled at his words, replaced by a raw, gaping maw of ever-present blame. Sometime within the last fifteen years, the emptiness I’d felt when I thought about her gave way to guilt—consuming, crushing guilt. I wore the emotion like a second skin, never allowing myself to let go of the memory ofher.And why should I? She deserved to be cherished above all else—a constant reminder about the dangers of straying from one’s set path.
“Autumn has nothing to do with you or your engagement,” I whispered, squeezing my eyes closed until bright spots danced in the corner of my vision. “She’s gone.”
“I disagree,” he answered, just as softly.
