Having some understanding about the reason behind her reaction, perhaps came from the benefit of having clarity as an adult. People reacted poorly—though actual grown-ups tried to right their wrongs—but as a kid, all I’d known was that my only blood relative didn’t want a thing to do with me.
That had been made crystal clear as she’d berated the social worker for calling her about “a child from him”—the last being spat out—and I had to admit, I didn’t really want to go with her, either. She’d been cold and angry, and I’d been scared and in pain.
Later, in some of the really bad places, I’d realized that she would have been the better option in a lot of ways. Still, even though my parents had distanced themselves from the venom of my grandmother and her money and connections, they’d been responsible. She was the closest relative and thus, next of kin. She’d had the means and even aside from that, they’d provided a fund for my care. While not millions of dollars, it should have been enough to raise me.
My grandmother was the trustee.
I hadn’t known that until the check had arrived on my twenty-fifth birthday, along with the trust paperwork.
I’d spent seven years in foster care, seven years after that making it on my own, and . . .
I hadn’t needed to.
Still, the money had come at the right time in many ways. It had enabled me to pay for my car, to buy the small apartment I was living in outright, to repay the money I’d borrowed from Dave to cover the costs of my apprenticeship and tools, and it had enabled me to set up my business. But old habits die hard when it comes to money. I hadn’t bought a fancy apartment or an expensive car, though the money left for me had meant I could have bought both. Instead, I’d gone cheap with each then used a chunk to start my business. That had left me with a decent emergency fund in case things, as they often had in my life, went tits up.
And one day, when I was stable enough to not need to work for a bit, maybe I could go back to school and study psychology.
As for my dad’s side, he’d been the last of his family, the three of us our own unit. No close friends outside of some school buddies. No friendly neighbors who were like blood.
Just us.
And then they were gone.
Being eleven and losing my parents meant I’d been old enough to know exactly what I’d lost, but not yet old enough to know what I would miss out on in the future—the memories I wouldn’t get to make, having so much more life to live without them, so many tough times when I’d missed having them by my side.
“What did it say?”
I slammed back into the present.
Tig was still crouched in front of me, his voice still gentle.
It had been almost two decades since I’d lost them and—
Enough.
“I didn’t read it.”
“Well, the last time a letter from that bitch came with a big ass check,” he said. “So, maybe it’s worth opening?”
“I don’t think this one is a check,” I said. “It’s in a big manila envelope.”
“Maybe a big check?” Tig asked.
I felt the tension in my shoulders release at the gentle joke. “Maybe.”
He tossed an arm around my shoulder and tugged me in for a quick hug. “I’m sorry, Char. That really sucks.” He pulled back, fixed me in place with a glare. “Also, straight talk, I worked too hard for this shop to be a success and I wouldn’t risk something as important as plumbing on someone I didn’t trust.”
Hard had replaced soft, stern eyes stayed locked onto mine.
“Okay?”
I nodded. “Okay.”
“So”—he stood—“burrito bowl? I’m paying and you’re not arguing about it.”
Another nod. “Yeah, thanks.” I grinned. “You know I’m not one to turn down free food.”
“I know.” He kissed the top of my head. “Which is how I knew something was up.” His eyes narrowed. “Even before your take-my-tools-and-go-home-freak-out.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I’m normally more reasonable than this.”
“Are you going to open the letter?”
A sigh was my only response.
“Yeah, thought so. You’ll put it off until your curiosity can’t stand it anymore.” He patted my arm, stood. “I’m around if you need to talk it through.”
“I—”
“No pressure, just an offer.” He paused in the doorway. “Delia is the same, you know that, right?”
My lips quirked. “You mean if I need to talk about girl stuff?”
A shudder. “Exactly.”
“Bye, Tig.”
“Extra guac?”
“Since you’re paying,” I teased. “Definitely going with extra guac.”
He saluted and disappeared into the hall and with my heart a little lighter, I grabbed my pipe cutter back out of my toolbox and got to work.
Maybe I didn’t have any biological family, but I’d managed to make a little family of my own.
Six
Garret
“Dude.”
Tig punched me in the arm, hard.
I tore my eyes from Charlie’s retreating form. Lie. I tore my gaze from Charlie’s luscious ass as she strode back down the hall. She’d dumped her trash, redone her ponytail, and then cut off Tig’s teasing with a kiss on his cheek.
I’d never seen the bulky tattoo artist blush, but he had when Charlie kissed him.
Delia had laughed and teased him for it, but then Charlie had smacked a kiss onto her cheek as well, and she’d blushed, too.
And talk about another side I’d never seen.
Not that I’d known Charlie for long enough to say that it was out of character for her to tease Delia and Tig in that way, but it wasn’t something I would have expected. The lighthearted barbs they’d traded over burrito bowls at lunch had been more along the lines I would have predicted.
Because Charlie had spine.
“Ouch!” I exclaimed when Tig punched him again. “Easy, dude. I’ve got to use these arms.”
So, what if my gaze had drifted back toward where Charlie had disappeared?
Tig rolled his eyes. “Because the arms are attached to those talented hands?”
I shrugged. “Well, obviously.”
“Well, obviously you’re going to keep those talented hands to yourself.”
“Look,” I said. “I’m not interested in a relationship.”
A snort. “Never said you were, fucker.”
Ah, Tig. Always sharing the love.
“But Charlie is special,” Tig went on, ignoring what was probably a growing thundercloud on my face. “And no offense, Garret, but you’re fucked in the head right now. You’d break special.”
“I’m not interested in women right now. Lorna—” Shaking my head, I got up and tossed my own burrito bowl into the trash can then washed my hands in the one sink that was working.
Tig wasn’t ready to let the conversation go. “I’m serious.”
I sighed. “I get it, okay? But I meant what I said. No women. Not now, not for the foreseeable future.” I crossed my arms, leaned back against the wall opposite him. “And when I say no women, I mean no women in both a temporary-one-night-stand way as well as a relationship. I’m well-aware of my fucked-up-ness. Why do you think I’m here in the first place, huh?”