Authors: j. leigh bailey
Chapter Seventeen
Tensions at the worksite were thick enough, someone was liable to cut a finger off. Worse, no one else seemed to feel it.
Danny was a hell of an actor. Two weeks had passed since their fight, and at work Danny acted as though nothing had happened between them. He still chatted with Brad and included him in conversations with other members of the crew. Danny’s smile still had the ability to turn him on and make him wish things could be different. So, yeah, things appeared to be rolling along as smoothly as ever.
Brad wanted to punch something. The touches that were so much a part Danny’s interactions were gone. The personal space bubble Danny had been oblivious to had since doubled in size. The rides to work happened in tense silence.
“Brad, can I see you for a minute when you finish up there?”
Brad turned off the power on the table saw he was using to cut window trim and pushed his safety glasses up to his forehead. “Sure,” he said. He took a minute to make sure the trim was set aside neatly and wouldn’t trip anyone up, then he set the saw into its resting position, blade carefully covered.
Mr. Ortega handed him a bottle of water when Brad walked to the set of sawhorses Mr. Ortega used as a makeshift desk. Coffee mugs and an assortment of tools weighted down plans and permits, and pencils and pens stuck out of one of the coffee mugs.
“Thanks,” Brad said, opening the water and taking a sip right away to wash the taste of sawdust out of his mouth. June had turned into July and the heat topped ninety degrees most days. It was the last day before the Fourth of July long weekend and the whole crew was working a couple extra hours to make sure everything was caught up before the holiday.
Brad had gotten used to Mr. Ortega’s constantly smiling face, so something in his gut tightened at his boss’s somber expression. “What do you need?”
Mr. Ortega shuffled some papers around on the plywood between the sawhorses. “You worked with Tina last Tuesday, right?”
“Yeah, we finished up the drywall in the back bedroom.”
“Right. When you loaded up at the end of the day, were all of the saws and electric tools accounted for?”
“Sir?” Brad had the horrible feeling he knew where this was going.
“When the crew came in on Wednesday, one of the miter saws was missing. The new Bosch one.”
“Everything we used was loaded into the trucks,” Brad said. He pulled the little notebook from his pocket and flipped to the page from Tuesday night. He showed it to Mr. Ortega. “I double-checked everything we used was loaded up.” He pointed to the list with its little checks next to each item.
Taking the notebook from Brad, Mr. Ortega flipped through a couple of pages. Each sheet had the date and a complete inventory of the items used. “Do you do this every day?” he asked.
Brad shrugged. “Yeah. It’s a little silly, I know, but I like to keep track.”
Mr. Ortega handed the little book back, nodding. “That’s great.”
“The miter saw is missing? Like the finishing nailer?”
“Right. Did you happen to see anyone by the truck after everything was loaded?”
Brad thought back. At the time, his focus had been on Danny, who’d been waiting for him, stiff backed and arms crossed, to drive them home for the night. He shrugged. “A couple of the others were loading up when I was leaving. The guys who’d been installing windows on the east side of the house, Ray, Jimmy, Chuy. I don’t remember the name of the other guy. I don’t think I noticed anyone else.”
Mr. Ortega met his eyes squarely. “Last night...” he began.
Brad swallowed, his stomach dropping. “Last night?”
“The air compressor you and Chuy were using, it’s missing too.”
His heart beat once, hard, and dropped to join his stomach at his knees. Brad tried to breathe, but the air got caught in his throat, refusing to move past the lump there. “I don’t understand,” he croaked. “Missing? As in, gone? Like the nailer and the miter saw?” Brad fumbled for his notebook again and, with jerky hands, flipped to last night’s page. “It was there. We put it away last night. See?” He shoved the paper at Mr. Ortega.
“I’m sorry to have to do this,” Mr. Ortega said, “but you see how this looks, right? Each time something has gone missing, you were the last person to see it.”
Through will power alone, Brad was able to keep his weak knees from folding. “I didn’t do anything with them, I swear. I wouldn’t.”
“I don’t want to think you did,” Mr. Ortega said. He sighed. “Until we figure out what’s going on, though, I’ll need you to check in all items you use during your shift to me or Chuy. We’ll keep a list like you are, and we’ll check them off at the end of the day.”
Brad pressed his lips together. He felt...betrayed. He’d thought the Ortegas liked him, respected him. But clearly Mr. Ortega didn’t trust him. He nodded to show he understood.
“Brad,” Mr. Ortega said, clasping his shoulder, “look, I don’t think you have anything to do with this, but I have to cover all bases. I have to protect my company. So far it’s been a couple thousand dollars’ worth of tools, and pawned they’d bring less than half that, but replacing them is expensive. More than that, though, I have always trusted the people who work for me. We’re like family. I can’t stand the thought someone who works for me, someone who’s part of this family, would steal from me. Until things are resolved, though, steps have to be taken.”
Brad walked back to the saw and strips of trim. He settled the safety glasses back on his face and stared at the serrated edge of the saw blade. His hands shook enough he decided to go ahead and secure the already prepped slats into place rather than risk a finger by finishing the shorter pieces he’d been sizing.
He refused to let anyone see a reaction to Mr. Ortega’s words. For all the older man said about not thinking Brad was to blame, Brad was the one being singled out. He’d developed a trick during his days at Norton Academy of turning off his feelings whenever bullies or asshole instructors focused their attentions on him. It wasn’t denial; ignoring the roiling emotions in his brain wouldn’t make them disappear. Instead, like putting a kink in a lawn hose, it held back the stream until he was in a better place to acknowledge them. Brad blocked the flow of hurt and anger and focused on the repetitive motions of nailing window trim in place, ignoring the guys working around him.
When end-of-shift rolled around, he grabbed a push broom and started cleaning up his work area. He heard Danny’s approach before he saw him. For someone who disliked exercise the way he did, Danny was constantly in motion. The boy couldn’t stay still to save his life. His rapid steps echoed on the unfinished floor. “You about ready to head out?” Brad jerked away, nearly tripping over his broom. He couldn’t face Danny, not now, not after the conversation with Mr. Ortega. If he did, that kink in the garden hose of his emotions would open and he’d end up doing something stupid. Like yelling. Or crying.
“What’s up?” Danny asked.
“Nothing.” Brad continued pushing the broom, not looking at Danny.
“Seriously.” Danny grabbed Brad’s arm. “What happened?”
“It’s nothing,” Brad repeated. “I need to get this done, that’s all.” He pulled his arm out of Danny’s grip, and moved away until the sawhorses and saw were between them.
Danny didn’t say anything, but Brad felt his stare on the back of his neck while he finished sweeping and shoveled the debris into a contractor bag. Danny still hadn’t moved when Brad was done organizing the tools. His chest ached like someone was tightening a belt around his ribs. He glanced out the side of his eyes at Danny. Arms crossed over his chest, Danny watched him, brows drawn together.
Why wouldn’t he leave?
Brad didn’t want Danny to be anywhere near him when Brad checked in the equipment. He couldn’t face that.
Screw it.
Brad grabbed the drill case and the replacement nailer gun and stalked out of the partially completed house, and met Mr. Ortega at the truck. He settled the equipment into the truck and yanked the notebook out of his pocket, flipped to the right page and ripped it free. He shoved the slip at Danny’s dad. The regret in Mr. Ortega’s dark eyes only pissed him off more.
Good.
He should feel bad.
He basically accused me of stealing from him.
“What the hell is this?” Danny charged in between Brad and Mr. Ortega, snatching the slip of paper from his father. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”
“Danny.” Mr. Ortega’s voice was quiet, but there was no less warning in it for the lack of volume. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“This is because of the missing tools.” He propped his hands on his hips and glared at his father. “You can’t believe Brad has anything to do with them.”
He closed his eyes in relief. Even though he was still mad, Danny believed in him.
“Not here,” Mr. Ortega growled. “This is the job, and I don’t accept that kind of disrespect from any of my employees. And here,” he said, speaking over Danny’s objection, “you are an employee.”
“But Papá
—
”
Brad couldn’t take it. He refused to be the cause of a fight between Danny and Mr. Ortega. “Drop it, Danny,” he said. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine! It’s bullshit.”
“It is what it is. I don’t want a scene. Let’s get it done so I can go home.” His throat started to close up. He met Danny’s eyes for the first time. “Please, Danny. Let it go.”
Danny pressed his lips into a thin, stark line. “Fine.” He pivoted and stalked away, leaving Brad and Mr. Ortega alone.
Mr. Ortega went over the list as Brad brought the rest of his equipment over. He tried not to think about what the others thought as they brought their own equipment in, especially Chuy, who’d been working with him that day.
When everything had been stored away, Mr. Ortega looked at the list one last time before meeting Brad’s eyes. “Listen, Brad, I am sorry about this.”
“Forget it. Like I told Danny, it is what it is,” Brad said, and turned to go to his truck, leaving Danny to catch a ride with someone else.
He held it together during the ride to his apartment. Seeing the small space above the Ortegas’ garage, furnished by the Ortegas, even stocked with food provided by the Ortegas, was the end of it. The minute the door closed behind him, everything he’d been holding in burst free. He tugged at his boots and threw them across the room, taking satisfaction in the heavy slam against the wall. Tears of frustration welled in his eyes as he whipped his shirt off and tossed it on the bed. He growled when he couldn’t get the belt free of his jeans. He gave up and ditched the dusty denim, belt and all.
He turned on the shower with a vicious twist of the faucet and stepped under the cold water.
He didn’t have to put up with this kind of crap. Mr. Ortega didn’t trust him? Fine. Then he’d leave. There were other jobs.
But where would he live? If he didn’t work for Mr. Ortega, it would be weird to stay at their place, right?
He’d find a place. Surely someone around campus could use a few bucks in exchange for a couch to sleep on for a few weeks.
What about Danny?
Danny.
He sighed and leaned his forehead against the cool tile of the shower stall.
Leaving would be the best thing for Danny. The Ortega family was nearly perfect. Love and acceptance glowed from every word and gesture. Being the cause of any kind of tension, any kind of rift in their family dynamic...the thought of it left him cold.
It didn’t take long for the freezing water to chase him out of the shower. By the time he shut off the water, he’d made up his mind. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—stay where he wasn’t wanted. He’d endured two years of bullying and ridicule and he refused to be put in that position again. Somehow, the distrust hurt more than the ridicule ever had.
He wrapped a towel around his waist and left the bathroom. He came to a stop in the doorway. Danny sat on his couch, elbows resting on his knees as he waited. “Hey,” Danny said.
“Hey.” Brad nodded. As far as conversations went, this one was starting off great.
“I was right, wasn’t I? Dad thinks you stole the missing tools.”
Brad shrugged and dug out a pair of shorts and a clean T-shirt. He dropped the towel and started to dress. A week ago—hell, a day ago—getting naked in front of Danny would have had all sorts of exciting implications despite the distance between them. Today he might as well have been in a gym locker room. “Apparently I’m the common denominator. For each tool missing, I was the last person with access to it. Even if I didn’t steal them, I was responsible.”
“Bullshit. You’re not accepting blame for it, are you? You and I both know you had nothing to do with it.”
“How do you know? Maybe I am a thief. Maybe I’m tired of being dirt broke and decided to make a little cash on the side.” Fully dressed now, Brad slicked back his wet hair. It was starting to get a little long, he noticed absently. He needed to get it cut. Of course, that would cost money he’d rather not spend.
Maybe they’d think I took the compressor so I could get a haircut?
Danny snorted. “Right. I know I’m repeating myself, but bullshit.”
“Hell, even I admit it looks a little suspicious.”
“No way. You wouldn’t steal a crumb. Jesus, you have to be bullied into accepting a meal. Someone with that much pride doesn’t steal.”
“I guess others don’t know me as well.”
“No kidd—” Danny broke off midsentence. “What are you doing?”
Brad looked at the duffel bag he’d pulled out from under the bed. “Packing.” He grabbed the short stack of shirts from the armoire and set them into the bag. Next came the jeans.
Danny surged to his feet and was across the room in a flash. “Why?”
“I can’t...” Brad cleared his throat and turned away from Danny. He couldn’t do this with Danny’s eyes on him. “I can’t stay here, not somewhere people think I’d steal.” His hand clutched convulsively around a balled up pair of socks. “Not from your father. Your family... Your family is amazing. I can’t face them, knowing they think I’d do something like that.”
“So you’re going to run away?” Danny jerked the bag away from Brad. “Where will you go? What will you do?” Panic laced his voice.