Brent swallowed. “What if she’s in town . . . for a while?”
“She’s not.” She couldn’t be. He was sure of it. This wasn’t meant to be anymore, her here in Tory. Single.
Not with him.
Jenna had always wanted a family. A husband and kids and cats and all things that he didn’t want. At least, not anymore.
Back when he’d been with Jenna, he’d thought about having those things with her, and he might have done it, if she hadn’t ended things.
Cal’s dad had pretty much checked out after his mom left, so Cal had been responsible for his brothers for a long time. He wasn’t eager to fill that dad role again. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt. Now he wanted to come home from work in silence and drink his beer and eat crappy food and not have to answer to anyone.
So he’d made his decision, and he was nothing if not stubborn. He had his inner circle of family, and it was a firm boundary. He didn’t want the same things he’d wanted at eighteen. In fact, he wanted just about the opposite of what that impulsive kid had wanted. He’d committed to bachelorhood now, and it would take an act of God to shove him off course.
Although, Jenna MacMillan had always been an act of God in his life. Just the sight of her had brought back a lot of those feelings of a bright, family-filled future. And he wasn’t eager to pay those feelings any attention.
Cal sighed. “Can we drink and watch the game now, please?”
Brent pursed his lips. “Okay.”
The silence lasted five minutes before Brent started talking about the girl he’d taken out last week, and Cal decided he was definitely getting his brother a puppy for Christmas.
Chapter Three
FAMILY. IT WAS always fucking family that made him grit his teeth and clench his fists and feel that white-hot bolt of anger deep in his chest. At least he’d learned how not to let it manifest physically. “You know I have the certifications. I don’t understand why you’re so against this.”
His father didn’t even bother turning around from the tool drawer he was rooting through. “Already explained it.”
“Yeah?” Cal said. “Well, explain again, please.”
His dad turned around and stared at him. Sometimes, after Cal showered in the mornings, he wiped away the condensation from the mirror and stared at his eyes, wondering if they looked like his dad’s. He’d inherited the slate-gray irises from him, but Cal wondered if he’d also been passed down the chill they caused.
“I told ya. I’ve had this garage for almost forty years, and I ain’t fucking with it. And if you fuck it up after I die, I’ll come back and haunt your ass.”
“Like you have a soul,” Cal muttered.
His dad’s lips twitched. “Heard that.”
“Didn’t whisper it.”
“I don’t want to deal with motorcycles. I don’t want them taking up room here—”
“Told you we could add on a special bay—”
“And we can’t spare your time. I need you for the cars—”
“We can hire someone else—”
“And I don’t want the clients, and I just don’t want to deal with it.”
Cal ran his tongue over his teeth. “I own part of this garage too.”
“Well, I own more.” His dad gave Cal his back and turned his attention to the drawer.
That was how his dad ended conversations. There was no politely wrapping up discussions in the Payton family. Nope. Why waste the words? Showing your back was much easier.
Cal walked away, tired of arguing anyway. Plus, Brent was singing again, and it was giving Cal a headache.
He stepped out back and lit up a cigarette. Payton and Sons was on the main drag of Tory, surrounded by strip malls, a couple of gas stations, a bed-and-breakfast, and a grocery store. Their garage had four bays, plus a small office and back room. Cal was proud as hell of the garage and, if he wanted to really be honest with himself, proud of his dad. Their mom, Jill, had devastated Jack when she left. She’d devastated everyone, really, leaving her family behind.
Other than Jack, her leaving had been hardest on Cal. He’d been six, so he’d remembered her more than Brent or Max did. He’d remembered what it’d been like when she was there. How she bought him and Brent matching pajamas every Christmas Eve. How she loved to laugh. So when she left and subsequently remarried out in California, he’d had something to miss.
Jack was a hard man to live with, but when she left him, she’d abandoned her sons too. And the only correspondence Cal got from her were cards signed, Love, Jill, on major holidays and his birthday. Which was more salt in the wound than anything.