Page 6

Darko—

“Veronica, I ordered this part last Tuesday. I should have it by now. Where is it?” The irritation drips from my voice.

“I understand that, Mr. Taylor, but we can’t ship the part yet.”

“And why the hell not?” I fling my hand out in frustration.

“Because, sir, you haven’t paid your past due invoices. We’ve sent you three notices.”

“I haven’t gotten any notices,” I grumble, rummaging through the stacks of paper piled all over the desk. Sure enough, stacks of unopened mail are mingled in with other paperwork. “Dammit. Sorry, I just found them—”

A knock on the office door has me covering the receiver. “What do you need, Rob?”

“There’s a man up front asking about a restoration project.” He wipes his hand on a grease towel.

“Can’t you handle it?” I grumble.

“Mr. Taylor? Are you still there?” the voice on the phone trills.

“I would, but Mr. Hanson is going to be here in an hour, and I’ve got shit to finish on his car.”

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. “I’ll be right there.”

Rob heads to the front of the shop.

“Mr. Taylor?” Veronica calls again.

“Veronica, I’ll have to call you back.” I slam the receiver down before she replies.

Picking up the old envelopes, I realize I’ve received several invoices from different places with Final Notice stamped across the front. I’m going to have to get these paid before they send my name to collections and ruin my credit. I drag my hand down my face, and then plaster a smile on, shifting through the door and to the front of the shop.

“Hi, I’m John Taylor, but everyone calls me Darko.” I hold my hand out to the older man.

“Joe Walden.” He grasps my hand.

“What can I do for you?”

“I’ve gotten my hands on a mint. I want it restored and ready to show off by Christmas.”

“Okay, what are we working with?”

“It’s a 1971 Ferrari Daytona Spider.”

I whistle. “Holy shit. How’d you get your hands on that?”

“I have my ways.” He smiles. “It’s in pretty good condition, but it needs some work. The biggest thing it needs is a new ragtop.”

The phone rings in the office, and I glance over my shoulder at Rob. He takes the hint and moves to answer the phone.

My attention returns to Joe. “That can take some skill and depending on whether I need to have one custom made, it can get pricey.”

“That’s why I was told to come to you. I can handle the price.”

“Okay. Would you mind bringing it in sometime this—”

“Darko,” Rob calls from the garage.

I glance over my shoulder.

“It’s your kid’s school.”

That draws my attention. Is something wrong? Is he okay? A million thoughts run through my head in a split second.

“Sorry, Joe. Give me just a second.”

I can tell the man is not used to waiting, so I move with haste to the phone. I don’t want to lose my chance to work on this rare car or the payout that’s sure to come with it, but my son is always going to take precedence.

“This is Dar— John Taylor. Is Eli okay?”

“Mr. Taylor, this is Principal Caraway. Eli is fine. His nose was bleeding, but that has stopped. I need you to come to the office immediately.”

“So, he’s okay?”

“Yes, but the kid he beat up is not.”

“Oh, shit. I’ll be right there.”

My stress rises with each new thing thrown on me.

“Sorry about that, Joe.”

He waves me off.

“Can you bring the car in sometime this week, so I can get a look at all she needs done? Then I can give you a definite answer on whether I can have your baby ready by Christmas.”

“I’ll bring her by tomorrow.”

“Great. Nice to meet you.”

Joe pulls out, and I turn to Rob.

“Hey, I have to run to the school. Can you take care of the place for a bit?”

“Yeah, no problem. You’ll be back, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I haven’t gotten my paycheck yet.”

My eyes widen. “Shit.”

“Do you not have my paycheck?”

“I completely forgot to have the bank cut the check. Don’t worry, I’ll deal with the school, then find the timesheet, run by the bank, and get the check cut.”

Rob looks less than impressed, but he gives me a curt nod and then returns to his work.

Fuck.

Tires squeal as I peel out of the driveway. My fuel gauge light pops on a moment later. Of course, I’m almost out of fucking gas.

I go to swing into the first gas station, but there are police everywhere.

One signals for me to roll my window down.

“You’re going to have to head somewhere else,” he drawls. “Police investigation is going on here.”

“All right. No problem.” I swing my truck out of the lane and hope to God I have enough gas to make it to the next station. The boys would have a field day if I ran out of fuel on the side of the road. Parenting a kid is taking all my time and mental energy, and everything else seems to be going by the wayside.

Thank God I make it to the next gas station and then onward to the school.

Upon entering, I’m buzzed through and enter the main office. I’m directed to the principal’s office down a hall. A woman I immediately guess is the one in charge stands in an outer office with some administrative assistants.

She eyes me up and down with a disapproving look.

“Mr. Taylor?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Glad you could finally make it,” she drawls. “I’m Principal Caraway.”

“I got here as fast as I could, Ms. Caraway. Where is he?”

She signals for me to follow, leading the way along an inner hallway.

Another boy sits outside a room marked nurse’s office. His shiner is clearly visible, and blood smears across his face from his nose.

We continue past him until we reach an office door with black lettering labeled Principal’s Office .

Eli sits slumped in a leather chair, a wad of bloody tissues in his hand. His eyes flick to mine, and he straightens when my brow lifts.

“So…” I glance at Ms. Caraway and then back to him, “Tell me why I had to leave my job to come to the principal’s office, Eli.”

My son shrugs and looks away.

Ms. Caraway clears her throat. “Eli jumped another boy in the cafeteria. The other boy has a black eye and a bloody nose of his own.”

“What happened?” I ask my son in a cool tone that leaves little room for nonsense.

He scoffs. “He talked crap about my mom. I didn’t like it, so I punched him.”

“Repeatedly,” Ms. Caraway chimes in.

“What did the other boy say?” I ask.

“Just some crap about how he was going to my mama’s house later to get some.”

“Get some what?” Ms. Caraway asks.

Eli’s face reddens a shade.

I look over at her with amazement. “Are you serious? For sex. That’s what the little shit meant.”

Now it’s Ms. Caraway’s turn to blush. “Well, Eli still shouldn’t have resorted to violence.” She eyes me as if I caused this, her gaze landing on the tattoos running up my arms. “I will not have violence brought into my school. Is that clear?”

I’m not sure if she’s expecting me or Eli to answer.

“What is the consequence for the boys?” I ask.

Before she answers, there’s a commotion out in the hallway, and moments later a large, surly faced man pushes his way into the office. A heavy-set woman follows behind, holding the hand of the boy with the black eye.

“Is he the one who did this to my son?” the man roars, spittle spraying out of this mouth.

I step in front of Eli and glare at the guy. “Is your son the one who said he was going to fuck my son’s dead mother?”

A collective gasp comes from the women at my words, and the man’s face turns purple, a vein bulging in his neck.

My gaze cuts to the boy. His face has gone white as a sheet.

His father lifts a finger, pointing at Eli. “That may be true, but your son punched mine. We may have to get the law involved.”

I cross my arms. “By all means, involve them.” My voice carries a tone of veiled threat.

He glances at the ink on my arms, and his eyes widen. I know he can’t miss the Royal Bastards logo. Our club is known in this town, and he seems to have realized he’s fucking with the wrong guy.

He clears his throat. “That probably won’t be necessary.”

“I don’t imagine it will.” Steel drips from my voice.

“We still have to discuss punishment,” Ms. Caraway cuts in. “We do not tolerate violence. Since this is his first time in trouble of any kind, Eli will be suspended for one day. Since today is Friday, that day will be Monday. Next time, I will not be so generous.” She cuts a stern look at Eli.

I wait a moment for her to continue, but when it becomes apparent she doesn’t plan to give any punishment to the other boy, I clear my throat, drawing all eyes. “That seems fair. Now, what about him?” I gesture to the little punk hiding halfway behind his mother. “Surely, you don’t plan to allow him to get away with no punishment after he incited a fight.”

“Yes, well, um… Mason will have one day of detention.”

What a bunch of bullshit, but I’m ready to get the fuck out of here, and I’m sure Eli is as well. “Fine. Are we done here?”

“Yes. That’ll be all, and there had better not be a repeat of this behavior.”

“Eli, let’s go. Now.” I walk through the door without so much as a glance at him. His footsteps sound behind me, proving he knows not to test me.

We remain silent until we’re both in the truck cab.

“Don’t make me come to this school again. Am I clear?”

“Yes,” he grumbles.

“Next time, you handle that business after school.”

His eyes shift to me, surprise on his face. “What?”

“You heard me. You know, you remind me of me when I was your age.”

“I’m nothing like you.”

I turn my attention to the road and keep my mouth shut, not wanting to say something I’ll regret later.

“Where are we going?” Eli asks, looking out the window.

“To my shop. I’ve got more shit I have to handle.”

Eli huffs, sitting in the seat with his arms crossed across his chest.

Whether he likes it or not, this kid may just have his old man’s temper.

***

Saturday—

I cross the clubhouse yard with my beer and burger, finding a spot at a picnic table next to Baja, Elaina, and Kate. Our clubhouse is a log structure Rock designed himself, with a big front porch. There’s a gravel lot in front and some space to the side, but there are also a lot of trees surrounding the property. Today they’re all showing their fall colors, turning rich orange and gold.

My eyes scan the yard, spotting Eli sitting near some of the other club kids by the fire burning in a barrel.

Rock has been throwing this shindig for years now. It’s our own personal tailgating and football viewing party. Usually, a game of flag football breaks out with the older kids and dads. It’s nice to have a family event mixed in with all the typical rowdy parties. It’s much more chill.

“Well, tried to talk to your kid. He basically told me to fuck off in not so many words. He’s a real chip off the old block, huh?” Utah shakes his head as he plops on the seat next to me. “How’s it going other than that?”

“I’m drowning. I’m trying to be around for him in case the ice thaws, but things are piling up at the shop. I missed payroll the other day. Rob was pissed, and I can’t say I blame him. He’s been holding down the repair side of things, but the clerical side has gone by the wayside.”

“Sounds like you need help.” Baja takes a bite of his burger.

“And I know just the girl,” Kate says, pointing a plastic fork at me and grinning. “This is perfect.”

“Really? Who?”

“My best friend, Lizzie.

I try to picture the girl I’ve seen a few times with Kate. She’s a bubbly, little ray of sunshine, if I recall. Hell, maybe she’d brighten the mood. Maybe some of her cheery attitude could rub off on Eli. Lord knows, he could use a little.

“Does she have any experience?”

“She’s never worked in an auto repair shop, but she’s done paperwork and filing at the dental practice she worked.”

“A dental office?”

“She went to school to be a dental hygienist. But she’s looking for something new, and she’s a fast learner. Give her a chance. I promise you won’t regret it.”

I don’t miss the look Utah gives her, but hell, I’m drowning, and she seemed like a nice woman to me.

“All right, I’ll give her a shot. Do you think she can start on Monday? I really need the help.”

“Absolutely. She’ll be there with a smile on her face.”