Understatement of the century.
"I've noticed." He could feel his limbs tensing. "What happened?"
"He's been buying car parts on the company account. Paige found out and said-"
His ears rang, drowning out the rest. "Where is she?"
"Taking a late lunch? I don't know. She left a little while ago and I thought she should have been back by now. I wanted to ask her-"
"Where's Fogarty?"
She checked her watch. "His shift ended half an hour ago."
He walked out on Olinda, too angry to wait for Paige to return and explain. There wasn't anything to explain anyway. He'd been here all afternoon; she should have come to him the second she knew. Instead she went to Olinda and then lunch? No. And he knew why she hadn't come to him. She was afraid he would fire her brother.
Well, guess what.
~ * ~
"Fogarty!" Sterling shouted loud enough to cut across the murmur of conversation and Clapton's I Shot The Sheriff on the jukebox.
The Mill's late afternoon patrons, the town's hardest drinkers and the people who'd knocked off early to start their Friday night with gusto, raised their heads.
Lyle turned in his chair, hooking his arm across the seat back. He chuckled when he saw who'd yelled his name. "Golden Boy!" he called back. "How the hell are you?"
Aside from the throbbing lance of betrayal Paige had forked into his vitals? Ecstatic.
It was unprofessional to take so much joy in this task, but Sterling didn't bother to hide his grin of feral pleasure. "You fucking thief. You are so fucking fired."
The last of the people still talking fell silent. The bartender put down his towel, and moved to pick up the phone.
Lyle gave one bark of laughter, short and harsh, then stood up with a scrape of his chair. "Let's go then, you son of a bitch, because this has been a long time coming."
Sterling thought, He's drunk, but he was on Lyle's heels out the back door of The Mill, ignoring the bartender calling after them that he was phoning the police.
They went to the area of the back parking lot that only filled on the busiest nights, near the dumpster, where all disputes that began in the bar had been settled since the hotel had been built with mining money.
The late afternoon was gray and desolate. A cold wind cut down the side of the building, rippling Sterling's hair and pressing his company sweatshirt against his back. Behind them, the door repeatedly slammed and swung open, as people filed out behind them to watch.
Lyle dropped his chin. "Show me what you got."
"Ladies first," Sterling countered.
"You settin' me up for assault charges?"
"I'm not swinging first ‘cause I'll be swinging last. I've got the advantage of sobriety, you dumb fuck."
"Oh, you've always got the advantages." Lyle hunched into a boxer's stance.
Sterling wanted the first poke. Being on the receiving end of an initial shot could ensure you didn't have the wherewithal to get in any at all, but Lyle was drunk. In the back of his mind he also knew Paige was going to be livid with him for firing her brother. She would be beside herself if he swung first.
Which wasn't a drawback. He was in a mood to wound her for hiding this from him.
Sterling hunched and circled with Lyle.
"Grade six all over again, huh?" Lyle said, twitching an elbow.
Sterling reacted with a half-dodge. "Stupidest thing I ever did was give your old man an excuse to sit down with mine." He shifted his balance to the balls of his feet, bounced lightly one step forward, trying to draw Lyle out.
"Come on then," Lyle said. "You want to."
"I do," Sterling agreed, circling, circling. As a rule he was a lover, not a fighter, but not today. Today he didn't have any love in him.
"I've been waiting for this, too." Lyle feigned a lunge.
Sterling blocked and swung, testing Lyle's reflexes.
Lyle ducked with more speed than Sterling had expected from someone with a few beers under his belt.
"Almost tagged me," Lyle said, pulling back, looking like he was enjoying this. "Didn't think you'd have the balls."
"Try me." Sterling was hot, aware of the murmuring crowd, aware of the scuff of Lyle's boot and the stink of the dumpster. "Or are you going to talk me to death?"
"Thought a spoiled rich boy like you'd prefer to talk." Lyle shifted back and forth. "Fighting's like work, something you wouldn't know anything about."
"Says the biggest dog-fucker ever pulled a paycheck."
"Way you're dancing, I'm starting to see why Dad whipped your ass-"
Sterling stepped into it and Lyle met him halfway.
Pain exploded around Sterling's eye and in his hand as his knuckles connected with Lyle's jaw. Strong fingers dug into his upper arm. Sterling deflected a belly blow and gave Lyle a left hook that could have used more power.
It still sent Lyle back a step, giving Sterling a chance to catch his breath. Then Lyle charged him and they both hit the concrete.
Sterling felt his sweatshirt tear, felt the scrape of pavement against his shoulder. He heaved to throw Lyle off, they rolled, more skin came off his elbow. He took one to the ribs, Charlie-horsed Lyle's thigh with his knee, bloodied his nose and maybe even broke it.
They scuffled hard, both landing a few more good shots, grunting and swearing and spitting out enough blood to stain the asphalt.
He was dimly aware of people shouting, of bursts of pain, but rage dimmed it all. He needed to hurt this man, badly.
There was a blip of a siren. Digging fingers dragged him and Lyle apart and there was Cam, recruiting bystanders to help him hold the two of them apart.
"Break it up! Settle down!" Cam cuffed them both, and locked them in the back of his cruiser.
Sterling swore as he tried to get comfortable with his hands cuffed behind his back. His shoulder stung and his gut was cramped with adrenaline.
"Like this," Lyle said, showing him how to slouch on one shoulder. Blood ran freely over his lips.
The last thing Sterling wanted was to look at that shit-head, but his far shoulder was too raw to balance against the seat back. He shifted and took Lyle's advice, hurting. His whole body was a world of hurt. Despite it, he could have kept going. The dust-up had barely begun to work out the animosity he felt every time he looked at Lyle.
Or the anger he felt toward Paige.
Not telling him Lyle was stealing? What the hell, Paige?
He looked out the rear window for Cam.
"He's giving us an opportunity to reflect on our sins," Lyle said. "Probably asking Stephen if we broke anything, waiting for the crowd to disperse before he lets us go. Looks better, ‘specially this early. Keeps people from knowing he mostly tolerates the dumpster ring. You a southpaw?" Lyle licked blood from where it smeared his chin.
"Switch hitter."
"Should have known. Golden Gloves," he scoffed.
"I can still get a foot up to kick your teeth in, asshole."
Lyle laughed, but it was harsh and humorless. "Sterling. Fucking Sterling's Silver Spoon." He shook his head. "You got it all, you son of a bitch, and you don't even appreciate it."
For a few seconds, Sterling saw himself from Lyle's point of view. Saw the car at sixteen, the team sports, the father who'd played catch with him. The mother who was mentally healthy and hadn't walked out. The family business he hadn't wanted, but would own anyway.
"Most of ‘em are gone," Lyle said, peering out the window. "Five more minutes."
"Is that why you set me up with Paige and your dad? ‘Cause you were jealous and wanted to knock me down a few pegs?"
"I could give a shit about your advantages, G.B."
"Why then? ‘Cause you're a born and bred asshole? What'd I ever do to you?"
Lyle flicked his hair out of his eyes, narrowed them on Sterling. "That why you're such a prick? You think I sent Dad outside that night?" Lyle shook his head and leaned to see past Sterling's shoulder. "Cam's coming back," he said in a remote tone.
Sterling turned to see the cop walking with the slow authority of a man who was making a point about who was in charge and who wasn't. Cam stopped to shoot the shit with a couple headed back into the bar.
"You want me to believe you didn't tell your Dad we were outside?" Sterling asked. "How the hell did he wind up out there, then, huh? Why else were you encouraging me to believe in that monkey-brained gossip?"
She wants you to be the one. The humiliation of it still made him want to curl into a ball. How could he have fallen for it?
Lyle snorted. "Dad being there was bad fucking timing, for him and you. As for encouraging you? Shit, You were so lovesick someone had to do something. It was painful." Lyle turned his attention to Cam and muttered, "C'mon, c'mon."
Sterling waited for a twitch or a grin or some sign that Lyle was just trying to get a rise out of him. And waited.