“Seriously?” The idea of a gig that large sends my mind racing. Bamboo? No. Teak. Unless I have to keep the costs down. Then maple. Or oak.
Say something, dumbass.
“I could hang until June. Maybe July, if you have that much work for me. Handyman work doesn’t pay the bills like the custom jobs do.” I lean a little closer. “Not when everything is…”
“Off the books?” Adam holds my gaze. One afternoon, not long after I got to town, I stopped into Broadcast and found a craft beer tasting. I had a few too many, then helped Adam clean up. We got to talking, and I told him a hell of a lot more than I intended. Including my lack of a current driver’s license and missing social security card. “I got you, man. I can buy all the materials and square it with my accountant.”
My phone dings, and I check the time. “Shit. Gotta run or I’ll miss the delivery guy. But…you’ve got a deal. I’ll stay until the new shop opens. Whatever you need.”
His wide smile returns. “I’ll text you the address for the space. Maybe you can meet me there tomorrow morning?”
I feel lighter when I sling my tool bag over my shoulder. I always do when I’m about to start a new project. Even if Frank is still in my head telling me to move on.
“Name the time, and I’ll be there.”
Chapter Two
Nash
Beyoncé’s latest single blares through the small Bluetooth speaker on the window sill as I stretch the hand-dyed cotton over the cushion.
I finished sanding the wooden arms of the chairs an hour ago, and my muscles are still burning. I should stop for the day. I’m more than a week ahead of schedule.
But once I return to my small studio, I’ll have nothing to do but binge Netflix on my ancient laptop—courtesy of Adam’s password—or re-read one of the half-dozen paperbacks I bought at the used bookstore when I got to town.
On nights like this—when the rain and wind are at their worst—being alone with my own thoughts can lead to the darkest of nightmares.
Blood. Shots. Pain. Mom’s scream. Dad begging for our lives. Memories I’ve repressed for years. But lately, they’ve come back, fighting their way to the surface all too often.
I spent the morning taking measurements for the custom coffee bar at Adam’s new shop. It’ll be a challenge, and I’ve had precious few of those recently.
When was the last time I had something to look forward to?
Taylor Swift takes over from Queen B with “it’s time to go.”
Fuck. I need to scrub that song from my playlist. I drape the dyed cotton over the arm of the chair, strip off my gloves, and head to the door for some air.
Leaning a hip against the jamb, I watch the rain. It was a day just like this when Frank passed away. Maybe it’s a sign. One I don’t want to listen to.
“Promise me, Nash,” Frank says as the hospice nurse hovers a few feet away. “Leave no trace.”
“It’s been fifteen years,” I whisper. Bedridden for a month now, he can barely squeeze my fingers when I take his hand. “No one’s coming after me.”
“Because I kept you safe!” He grabs my shirt, pulling himself half way to sitting before a coughing fit takes over. I slide my arm behind his back and ease him down to the pillows. “You’re too soft, son. I should have trained you…better.”
“You did. I know what to do. How to hide. I’ll be safe. I promise.” His eyes close, and I rest my hands on his shoulders. “Frank? Pops?”
The nurse inches closer, but I don’t need her to tell me the man who adopted me at fourteen, who’s been my surrogate father ever since, can’t hear me anymore.
I only shed a single tear. The rest I cried the day he told me about the cancer. Stage 4. Metastasized from his colon to his bones and his brain. At least I got to spend the last two months with him.
A flash of lightning arcs across the sky, and I wonder if Frank’s looking down on me.
Pulling my lucky penny from the pocket of my jeans, I flip it from one finger to the next. After seven trips back and forth, I spin it in my palm, rest it on the first knuckle of my thumb, and close my eyes.
“Heads, I stay. Tails, I go.” The coin sails into the air. Seattle feels more like home than anywhere else I’ve lived. Frank loved it here. So much so, he put off leaving for almost two years. Longest we ever spent in one place.
And then we moved to Reno. Or…Frank did. I only lasted three months before the heat got to be too much and I tried San Francisco for a while.
