Page 23
The words hang in the air between us, loaded with meaning that has nothing to do with real estate. I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. Fuck him and his fucking money. Maybe I can break his nose? No, I can’t do that. I need this sale. I need it so desperately that I’m willing to sit here and pretend I don’t understand what he’s implying. I need it enough to smile and nod, acting like his suggestive comments are simply part of doing business.
“I pride myself on finding exactly what my clients are looking for,” I say carefully, closing the folio and clutching it to my chest like a shield. “I promise you, Tom, if you give me the chance, I’ll find you the perfect home.”
The words are out before I can stop them. I clench my jaw but keep my smile in place. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. That’s a promise I know better than to make. Every experienced realtor knows you never guarantee a client will find what they want. There are too many variables, too many things that can go wrong. The only way for someone to get everything they want is a custom build.
But come Hell or high water, I’m finding him a house. This commission isn’t just money—it’s the lifeline I desperately need.
Chapter Eight
GAGE
Whistling while I shop in the hardware store probably makes some people think I’m some type of serial killer, but even as I get a side-eye from one of the employees, I can’t bring myself to stop. I’ve been happy lately. Genuinely. The reason is a pretty redhead with eyes that reminds me of emeralds and a smile that shoots through my chest.
It’s nice having a woman in our house. I love my friends, don’t get me wrong, but she brings a warmth that wasn’t there before.
The oak planks are heavy in the cart, along with the hardware I need for the dining table. It’s a good commission, local parents paying me for a custom piece for their newlywed daughter, and I’ve been looking forward to working on something that isn’t part of a massive construction project. Something that’s only mine. Lily might like a custom table. The thought carries me around a corner as I head to the check out. All the joy is zapped from my body as I spot my dad. He’s by the hand tools, shoulders hunched over like he’s studying the selection of hammers.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath. My stomach drops. I duck my head, trying to make myself invisible as I push my cart toward the checkout. Am I terrible for hoping he won’t see me? I make it to the counter, my shoulders tense as I keep one eye on the aisle where I spotted him. The teenage cashier starts scanning my items. I exhale. I might actually get out of here without a confrontation.
“That’ll be two-forty-seven fifty-eight,” the cashier says.
I hand over my card, grateful for the contractor discount. The receipt prints, and I quickly make my exit, pushing the lumber cart outside. Before I can breathe easy though, I spot my mom leaning against my truck, one hip cocked and her arms crossed. The sight stops me dead in my tracks. Dread, heavy and thick settles in my stomach.
I should’ve known she’d be waiting. Wherever Dad is, she’s never too far behind. Avoiding them has become my new favorite hobby.
Approaching slowly, I set the first piece of wood in the truck bed and clench my jaw. “Mom.” Her name comes out flat, emotionless. What does it feel like to look forward to seeing your parents? I’ll probably never know.
“Hey, baby.” She straightens, plastering on that smile I remember from when I was little. But her eyes are bloodshot, pupils dilated. She can’t seem to keep still, picking at her nails and shifting her weight from foot to foot.
Dad had his vices, gambling and drinking himself into stupors. But Mom? Mom always partied a little harder. She’s had stints of sobriety, but I learned long ago not to get my hopes up. She always falls back into old habits. Every time I let her in, thinking it’ll finally be different, I end up hurt.
I turn back to the truck, loading the rest of the lumber with methodical precision. Maybe if I don’t engage, she’ll get bored and leave. Maybe this time will be different.
“You look good, Gage.” Her voice has that out of breath quality it gets when she’s high. “Real good. Strong.”
The silence stretches between us as I continue loading my supplies, heavy with all the things we’re not saying. Most of the time I can pretend to be normal, like everything is okay, but whenever I see her or Dad, I realize how fucked up it is. How I’m the one that’s always taken care of them when they were meant to be parents. How much anger I’m keeping buried deep.
“Gage, baby, look at me.”
Against my better judgment, I do. The woman standing there is a shadow of the mom who used to take me to the park on Saturdays when I was seven. The one who would pack sandwiches and push me on the swings until my cheeks hurt from laughing. This version of her has hollow cheeks and that twitchy energy that makes me want to yell and cry at the same time. I look away before my heart breaks more, but at that exact moment, Dad exits the building.
His face flushed and steps unsteady. My jaw clenches as he approaches, and my feet beg to run. I don’t want to do this. Not today. Not ever again. In a way, it would be better if they were dead. A cocktail of grief and guilt shoots through me. Jesus, I’m fucked up.
“There’s my boy.” Dad’s voice booms across the parking lot, drawing stares from other customers. “Looking prosperous.”
The word lands like a slap. The tiniest shred of hope that they’re here to see me or to see how I’m doing shatters into a million pieces. My chest hollows out.
“What do you want?” I don’t bother with pleasantries. We’re past that.
Mom’s smile falls slightly, but it’s all performance. “Can’t we just visit our son? We miss you, baby.”
Sure they do.
“We’ve been thinking about you,” Dad adds. There’s something calculating in his gaze that makes my skin crawl. “Heard the business is doing real well.” He pointedly looks at my truck which is the nicest thing I’ve ever owned.
Goddammit. There it is. I set down the last board and turn to face them fully, crossing my arms over my chest like that can protect me.
“Get to the point.”
