Page 64

Thirty-two
Patrick
I try to focus on work. On all the things that will take my mind off the fact that Cari is finally home.
I check on the new bartender and ask Paddy if he needs me to bring any kegs up from the basement. He throws his bar towel at me and tells me to fuck off. “The day I can’t hump a keg up a flight of stairs is the day I lay down and die,” he shouts at me, the tops of his ears red—a sure-fire sign he’s agitated. If there’s anything that pisses him off, it’s one of us implying that he needs help. I leave before his agitation tips into a full-blown mad.
I take a trip out to the second jobsite and make sure Jeff has everything under control. He does. Matter of fact, the build is a few days ahead of schedule. It’s a good thing too because we’re expecting snow to blow in next week.
I spend a few minutes with Jeff, mapping out the next few weeks on the set of blueprints rolled out between us. Where we need to be. How hard he needs to push his crew. “We need the roof on, windows installed and siding up before the sixteenth,” I tell him. “Inside shit can wait—I’m not having another clusterfuck like we did with the Porters.” Jeff listens intently, every once in a while, his face breaking out into a wide smile.
“What?’ I finally say, suddenly feeling like my Uncle Paddy. “Am I practicing my comedy routine or something?”
Jeff smothers the smile and shakes his hand. “No, boss.”
For some reason, his reaction only irritates me more. “Then what?”
“Just...” Jeff rubs the back of his neck before letting his hand drop to his side. “A year ago, you were letting Declan handle everything—wouldn’t even look up when I called you boss.” He shrugs. “Now, you’re barking orders and kicking ass. I feel like a proud papa, watching his kid graduate from college.”
He’s not wrong. A year ago, I deferred to Declan on everything. Avoided taking control of any situation I was in at all costs. I don’t have to think too hard about what prompted the change.
Cari. The week of insanity we spent together. Me, finally admitting that not every impulse I have is good. Not every choice I want to make is the right one.
Me, finally accepting that I’m not always a nice guy.
That I don’t have to be.
I lift the chunks of scrap wood I’m using to hold the blueprints open and let them roll closed. “Fuck off,” I say around a laugh of my own. I pick up the plans and tuck them under my arm. “If I have to file another insurance claim due to storm damage, it’s your ass I’m going to be kicking.”
Jeff smothered another smile and nodded his head. “Yes, boss.”
Afterward, I head back to the office I shared with Declan. When he started the business, he rented space in a co-op downtown. The rent was astronomical. Coupled with the lot rent he had to pay for his work trucks, he was barely breaking even. His dad offered up space in one of his properties but Declan always refused, determined to make it on his own, without any help from his father and I went along with it because that’s what I did. I went along with things. Followed my cousin’s lead.
When Cari left, things changed.
DG Contracting is now DPG Design & Build, housed in a twenty-thousand square-foot, two-story water-front warehouse. The ground-floor houses trucks, equipment building supplies while the top floor houses our showroom, reception and office area. Entirely too much space for just Dec and me but I own the building outright, so we’re saving a fortune on rent. It’s also a great place for him to hide.
A few months ago, I walked in after Labor Day weekend to find that he’d thrown up a couple of walls, carving out about six-hundred square feet, tucked into the farthest corner of the top floor. A quick look inside revealed a small living area, kitchenette, and bathroom. Behind a pony wall sat a king-sized bed. It looked like it’d been slept in.
That Declan built himself and furnished a studio apartment in our office over a three-day weekend was not surprising. What was surprising was the fact that he’d done it less than six months before his wedding.
When he came in a few hours later, I was at my desk, working. As soon as he saw me, his eyes darted toward his safe haven before finding their way back to me. It made me remember what he’d said to me that day in the hospital cafeteria when he’d intercepted me to keep me from beating James to death in his hospital bed. I’d asked him if he loved Jessica, the question immediately stiffening his shoulder, jerking his gaze away from mine and over my shoulder.
I deserve Jessica.
That’s what he’d said. Like marrying her was some sort of penance.
Like he knew he’d never be happy, so it was stupid to even try.
He looked at me, waiting for me to ask him about it.
I didn’t.
Instead, I jerked my chin in the direction of the coffee bar in the reception area we have set up to greet clients. “Coffee’s fresh,” I told him, before resettling my attention on the plans in front of me. He muttered a quick thanks and dove for his desk.
We never talked about it. I’m pretty sure no one even knows about it but me.
These days, he’s spending three nights out of five here, but I pretend I don’t notice. It’s none of my business. Not unless he wants to talk about it. I no longer feel the need to chase trouble where Declan is concerned. If he wants to hide from his fiancé and pretend he isn’t about to make the biggest mistake of his life, that’s his problem.