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“For?” Cole presses.
“For yelling at you guys. For the way I treated Lily. For the job site debacle.” He rubs the back of his neck. "For being a terrible friend in general.”
The guys and I share a look. We all discussed what we’d do if he apologized. “Thanks for that, but I hope you can understand why we’re not really willing to be friends. The Matt we knew never would have done what you did. I know you were hurt, but you took things too far. There’s too much damage done.” Not to mention, there’s no way we’re letting him around Lily again.
Matt looks at the table. “Yeah, I get that,” he says, voice rough.
“I hope you take therapy serious,” Hudson begins. “That anger is going to eat you alive if you don’t deal with it.”
“I’m working on it.” Matt grimaces. “It wasn’t easy growing up.”
“I know.” More than Hudson and Cole, I get what his life was like. Our parents were similar. The only difference is I didn’t let my pain hurt the people I care about and Matt did. I stand up and push my chair in. The guys join me.
Matt glances at each of us. “So this is it?”
“Yeah,” Cole says. “I mean it when I say I hope therapy helps, and I hope you can find a way to be happy.”
“Thanks.” Matt stands too, the wound of our friendship ending fresh on his face, but he handles it well. “I hope you guys are happy too.”
“We are,” I say with so much certainty he flinches. I place my hand on his shoulder. “We’ll see you around town.”
With that, the three of us leave the diner and head home. The closure with him lifted a weight I didn’t know I was carrying. I’m sympathetic for his situation, but at some point, me and the guys had to put ourselves first. The drive home is quiet, but I can’t help thinking that each of us are content with how things ended. We made the right decision for ourselves and for Lily.
The steady whir of the sander fills the garage, drowning out everything except the rhythm of my breathing and the methodical motion of smoothing out imperfections in the wood. The custom dresser is coming together better than I’d hoped. The grain in this particular piece of cherry wood is stunning, and the client’s going to lose their minds when they see the finished product. I run my fingers along the surface, checking for any rough spots I might have missed.
The sounds of a car rolling to a stop in our driveway makes my stomach drop. After everything that’s happened, I’m still on edge. Part of me expects there to be another bad guy out there, another worries it might be my parents, finally finding their way out to our house to beg for money. Dread fills my body with lead. I’ve already had my fill of their bullshit for one lifetime, and after the last few encounters, I’m not sure I can handle another guilt trip or sob story.
I pause the sander and listen. A car door slams, steps follow on the concrete. Only one pair.
“Gage? Are you in there?” a familiar voice calls out.
Relief floods through me. Thank fuck it’s not my parents.
I set down the sander and pull off my safety mask and goggles. My breath comes out in visible puffs as I step outside the heated garage and into the driveway. The cool December air hits my sweat-dampened skin like a slap. Fuck, it’s cold. Inside the garage, I was working up a sweat, but out here it’s clearly winter.
The thought isn’t so terrible. Not when I can have Lily wrapped up in a blanket beside me.
Trina’s standing by her patrol car, hands shoved deep in her jacket pockets. Her expression is serious, professional, but there’s something else there. Something that makes my chest tighten with dread.
“Hey, Trina.” I cross my arms over my chest, trying to keep the warmth in. “Everything okay?”
She shifts her weight, and that small movement tells me everything I need to know. This isn’t a social call. My immediate thought is that they’ve found more about Sarah: an accomplice, another reason to worry about whether or not we can breathe easy.
“I need to talk to you about your parents.”
My jaw clenches automatically. “What did they do now?” At least it’s not about Lily.
“They were arrested yesterday morning.” Her voice is steady, matter-of-fact, but not unkind. “They tried to rob the bank.”
Tried. Obviously failed. That’s not surprising. They were definitely strung out and they’ve never been good at planning for anything. “When? Is anyone hurt?”
“They walked in around ten AM, your father had what looked like a gun—turned out to be a toy—and demanded money from the teller.” Trina’s watching my face carefully. “They were so high they could barely stand upright. Made it about twenty feet out the door before they stumbled on the sidewalk. A bystander tackled your dad and someone helped wrangle your mom until we could get there.”
I stare at her, my brain struggling to process what she’s telling me. A bank robbery. Of fucking course it would come to this. All those times they asked me for money, all those guilt trips and manipulation tactics, and when I finally said no, this is what they resorted to.
“Gage?” Trina’s voice sounds far away. “Are you still with me?”
I blink, focusing on her concerned face. “Yeah, sorry. Just . . . processing.”
