“So, I’m sure the campus will let us know soon, but there was another assault. And apparently these dickwads have stepped up their game. The victim reported a gun.”
Monica gasped and Danica closed her eyes. Her fingers curled into claws, squeezing Lea’s shoulders until Lea grunted from the pain. Danica’s eyes flew open and she released Lea’s shoulders. “If I get ahold of these guys—”
Lea shook her head. “You’re going to get away how I taught you and cry for help.”
“But—”
“Danica, do not stand your ground and try to beat up people with a gun!” Monica said, slamming her hand on the counter. “Why do you have to be so stubborn?”
Danica rounded on her girlfriend. “I’m not stubborn!”
Monica threw up her hands. “Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt.”
Danica’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t spout overused quotes at me, Mon.”
“Then don’t act like you can take on three guys with a gun, you idiot.”
“Ladies!” Lea clapped and stood between them. “Stop fighting over this.” She turned to Danica and pointed a finger at her chest. “You will avoid running into these guys at all costs, but if you do run into them, you will get away as fast as you can and call for help.” She pointed to Monica. “And you, quit riling Danica up. Because you know if you ask her to walk, she’s only going to run faster.”
Monica clenched her jaw, then turned her attention back to the cooling cookies, arranging them needlessly on the foil lining the counter. “Excuse me for caring.”
Danica sighed and stepped around Lea, then wrapped her arm around Monica’s waist and rested her chin on the smaller girl’s shoulder. Murmurs of apology followed before the two turned back to her.
“Sorry for yelling,” Lea said. “This whole situation has me on edge.”
Danica kept her arm around Monica’s waist. “Me too,” she said, as Monica nodded.
“So, we’re all cool? Everyone’s happy again?”
Danica smiled. “How about we get these cookies finished so you can surprise your man?”
Lea picked up a hunk of dough, rolled into a ball of cinnamon and sugar, then popped it into her mouth.
She grinned around the treat. “Okay.”
C
AM TAPPED AWAY
at his phone, booted feet propped up on the table of magazines in the shop’s office.
“Will you get your feet off the table?” Max scowled. “People read those, you know.”
Cam raised an eyebrow, tapped another minute on his phone, then shoved it into his pocket. “Oh yeah?” He leaned forward and grabbed a magazine off the table. “You get a lot of demands for . . .” He held up a coverless magazine and peered at the spine. “
Entertainment Weekly
from February of last year?”
“It’s vintage,” Max muttered.
Cam’s truck was currently in the garage, getting inspected by Brent. Cam could have gone to a garage closer to campus but he said he’d rather give Max’s family the money.
And family was the one thing that meant the most to Cam.
“How’s your mom?” Max asked.
Cam’s gaze shot to Max’s face. He swallowed and ran his tongue over his teeth before answering. “Fine.”
Cam had been raised an only child by a single mother. He’d joined the Air National Guard out of high school so he could afford school and wouldn’t be a burden on his mom.
“Why’d you say it like that?” Max asked.
Cam tapped his thigh with the side of his thumb, a nervous gesture he had. “Just, money stuff. It’s tight.”
“Fuck, I’m sorry, man.”
Cam shrugged but it was jerky and he hadn’t met Max’s gaze.
“Well, when you graduate and get a job, you can help, right? I mean . . .”
Cam’s eyes swung to Max and his face hardened. “It’s not that easy to find a job, Max. I can’t pull one out of my ass.”
Max frowned but held back his own temper. “I know that. What’s with the attitude?”
Cam closed his eyes like he was in pain. “I’m not sure what to do. She needs help with the house and money. I want to be there for her but finding a job in my field in my shit-hole town is pretty much impossible. And I just . . . don’t want to be back there. With . . . everything.”
He looked out the window again and Max winced. He knew what it was like to feel like your future choices had been taken from you. Cam had fought and clawed, got his ass kicked in basic just to keep his options open. But his love of his mom warred with that.
“I’m sorry, man. If there’s anything I can do . . .”
Cam waved his hand and let out a sigh, like he was ridding himself of the negative conversation.
“So what’s up with you?” Cam asked. “Turning into Zuk?”
“What?”
Cam’s lips curled into that-bad boy smile with the dimples, the one Kat said got him the ladies. “Lea. Am I the last man standing? Holding strong and single?”
Max shrugged. He didn’t want to get into it with Cam. He didn’t want to explain how he felt stronger because of Lea, that he’d found there was strength in being vulnerable.
He knew Cam didn’t want to hear it. Because he’d been vulnerable once too, and he’d been burned.
“I’m okay with being hooked.” Max shrugged.
Cam smiled knowingly.
Brent walked into the office and handed Cam his keys, letting him know his truck was parked in the lot, good to go for another year.
Cam thanked him and waved off to Max, letting him know he’d see him later that night. Cam had already paid, so Max waved back as Cam walked out the door.
Brent gave Max a nod and then walked back out in the garage to finish a tire rotation.
Max went back to filling out inspection paperwork, but his mind wandered.
He had done what Lea had asked. He’d thought more about talking to his dad about changing his major to something he actually wanted to do. The thought of confronting his dad made him break out in hives. But he couldn’t imagine sitting in this office for the rest of his life. He couldn’t imagine working for his father, having to see him every day. Would he turn into him eventually? A bitter, jaded man without a wife and with three boys who avoided him?
Max didn’t want that for his life. He wanted to do something with purpose.
And it was time to let his dad know he’d met someone. Even if he no longer needed or cared about his dad’s approval, he was still his dad. He deserved to know Max had something special in his life.
Because Max planned to bring her by to meet his Dad and brothers next weekend.
That made his palms sweat. Because none of them were couth. They’d lived without a woman in the household for too long. They let the belches and curses fly.
Max cringed. He’d have to somehow hint to his dad that vacuuming might be a nice thing to do every once in a while, too.
He glanced out into the garage. There was a lull in the work, so maybe he could talk to his father now. He couldn’t wait until they got home and his father had a six-pack in him. That wouldn’t end well for anyone.
The door opened and Brent walked in, his thick-soled boots clomping on the stained carpet.
Max scribbled some numbers on the sheet in front of him so it looked like he’d been working rather than daydreaming about his girlfriend and leaving the family business.
“Hey, can you call Mr. Walker and tell him his car is ready?” Brent asked.
Max nodded and grabbed the paperwork on top of his pile. Once he called the car owner to let him know he could pick up his car, he turned to Brent, who stood at the counter filling out some paperwork.
Max licked his lips and spoke before his brain could catch up with his mouth. “Did you ever think of doing anything else?”
Brent jerked his head up, the pen frozen over the paper. “What?”
Max wanted to grab his words back and shove them in his mouth until they puffed out his cheeks like a chipmunk. Brent had been a gear head for as long as Max could remember. He’d always wanted to work at a shop. Maybe not with dear old Dad, but no way in hell would Jack let him work for someone else.
“Never mind.”
The pen clattered onto the glass countertop. “No, what do you mean? Not work here? Another shop?”
Max stared at his hands. “No, I mean, like, do something else—“
“Not work for Dad?” Brent asked the question like he’d probably ask,
Dogs can talk?
Because it was a ludicrous for a Payton not to work at Payton Automotive.
Ludicrous, Max. You’re an idiot.
“What the hell else would you do?”
Max told himself to stop talking but his mouth flapped open despite his common sense telling it not to. “I was thinking maybe teach,” he mumbled.
“Teach?” Brent squeaked, then started laughing. In that mean cackling way he had that Max hated.
“You? Teach? Max are you even allowed on school grounds anymore? Didn’t you get caught painting a crooked pickle on the front doors of the middle school on senior skip day?”
“It was a dick,” Max mumbled.
Brent ignored him. “You were every teacher’s nightmare and you think you’re a good role model for kids?”
He did think so. Because he knew all the tricks. He knew why kids acted out and acted like little assholes. Because he’d been one. And he could help them snap out of it. At least he thought so.
But Brent’s sneer heated his face. If he couldn’t even stand up to Brent, the least threatening of the entire Payton clan, how the hell was he going to eke out one word of this to the patriarch?
Brent spread out his arms. “Get used to this place, little bro. Because there’s no way in hell you’re leaving.”
“Leaving what?” His dad’s voice boomed across the office. He’d stepped in, Cal at his heels, and Max had been so absorbed in his conversation with Brent, he hadn’t heard his father’s heavy tread.
Brent shot him a smirk and then walked back into the garage, whistling like an asshole.
Max stared at his father, into those hard and cold slate-blue eyes. The same eyes both his brothers had. But not Max. He’d inherited his mother’s eyes. And he wondered if that was the reason Jack hated him the most. Because he looked at Max and saw the wife who’d left him.
“Leaving what.” This time it wasn’t a question. It was a declaration. Or more like a challenge.
Max’s chest felt tight and his head swam. He could do it right now, tell his dad he wanted to change his major. Tell him he was dating a girl who made him want to hold on to his dreams.
Those eyes bored into him and his dad took a step closer; his shadow thrown by the overnight bulb above his head fell over Max.
And he was an eight-year-old kid again. On beat-up skates, bulky pads, and an oversized jersey.
He’d just been elbowed in the face. His lip burned and he tasted iron on his tongue. The pain throbbed all over his face and the telltale prick behind his eyes told him tears were imminent. And his dad had grabbed him and shook him so badly, his skates scissored on the ice. “Who are you?” He’d boomed in Max’s face.
“A Payton,” he’d mumbled, his words muffled as his lip swelled.
“Right. And Paytons aren’t whiners. Now get back out there.”
And that was that. Paytons weren’t whiners. They didn’t cry. They played through the pain and did as they were told and what was expected of them.
Why couldn’t he just be strong and accept his future?
L
EA PICKED THE
container of cookies off of the passenger seat and stepped out of her car.
The garage didn’t look much different from any auto shop she’d ever been to. P
AYTON
A
UTOMOTIVE
in steel block letters hung above several garage bays. A sign in the front window advertised a free oil change with any state inspection.
She took a deep breath and smoothed her khaki coat down over her skinny jeans. She felt out of place here in the cracked parking lot, a little overdressed as her boots clicked on the pavement.
Max had said he’d introduce her to his brothers and dad eventually, so she didn’t think he’d mind if she dropped by. She was tired of him stalling. Plus, she wanted to tell him about the escalating assaults. He often came to her apartment late at night and sometimes had to park several lots away.
A fluorescent Open sign buzzed as she swung open the door, a bell tinkling overhead.
She took one step inside and the door shut behind her, blocking the rush of cold air.
The first thing she saw was a man standing with his back to her. He was tall and broad shouldered, in stained jeans and massive boots, with unkept salt-and-pepper hair. Then he twisted at the waist to face her and she looked up into a face that would have frozen her in her tracks if she wasn’t already frozen in place.
Cold gray-blue eyes squinted and lips thinned in his lined face. “We’re full up.”
What?
“Excuse me?”
“Ain’t got no time for your last-minute oil change or whatever you need, girl. You can head on down to Quick-Lube down the road and see if they’re still open—”
“I—”
“Always the girls coming in last minute on a Saturday,” he muttered.
She clutched the cookies tight to her chest, thinking this had been a horrible idea. A terrible mistake. This is what Max grew up with?
“Dad, Jesus,” a familiar voice said from behind the boulder of a man and Lea closed her eyes, thinking this was going to be awkward for all of them.
When she opened her eyes, the boulder had moved and Max stared at her, eyes wide, mouth open, all color drained from his face.
Mulligan!
She wanted to yell. Just, mulligan this whole scene. Do it over. With her back home. Eating cookies and watching lesbian romance movies with her roommate and her girlfriend. Forget this drive and forget this garage even existed. Forget this
man
existed, who somehow had swimmers intelligent enough to produce the man she l . . .
No, not that word.
Not now.
“I brought cookies,” she mumbled and then felt her face flame. She brought cookies. The only word more silly than
cookies
was
cupcakes
and thank God she hadn’t made those. And thank God she didn’t actually say the word
snickerdoodle
. It would have been out of place in this office, with grime on the walls and stains on the carpet. Like a couch on a front lawn. Couches were meant to be inside, in living rooms. And words like cookies and cupcakes and snickerdoodles didn’t belong around this hard shell of a man currently glancing between Max and Lea.
“Hey,” Max finally said, his voice oddly low, like he was trying to lower it. He sounded like a prepubescent trying to talk like a man.
She’d never thought about how Max would act different around his dad. Around his brothers. A man shifted in the far corner and she glanced at him, quickly realizing that he must be one of Max’s brothers.
It seemed ages ago when all she knew was the cocky, arrogant, rude Max. Because she’d finally seen the real one. The caring, funny, sincere, trusting Max.
It hadn’t occurred to her that there could be a third Max.
This was so wrong.
“You two know each other?” Max’s dad said. And Lea wanted to shout No! Because how many more Maxes she hadn’t met yet were inside that one body?
Max cleared his throat. “She’s friends with Kat.”
That one sentence could have been a punch in her gut. She looked down to see if there was a fist slammed into her flesh. There was nothing there but the container of cookies, but she felt the punch all the same.
She was just Kat’s friend? That’s all he planned to introduce her as?
She steeled herself and met his eyes, daring him to not call her his girlfriend.
His eyes flickered. Something. But then it was quickly gone and this weird, impassive Max with a deep voice jerked his chin toward the boulder. “This is my dad.”
She met his eyes and all she got out of him was a head bob.
What was with this family?
Her father hugged her. And knitted her socks. And called her La-La and brought her pie and held her when she cried.
This . . . this family she didn’t understand. And every cell in her body told her this was how they always were. This wasn’t some fluke.
And Max sat behind that desk, still as a stone, just like his father, staring her down.
She didn’t belong.
Max’s dad turned to his son and pitched his voice low. But she still heard every word in his low rumble. “Thought you wanted to break it off before she got too attached,” he said. “Woman tip: cookies mean attached.” And those two sentences were an uppercut. Right to the chin. Her head whirled. TKO.