I stare down at that damn business card long after Nolan has left the parking lot. What does it mean—him giving me his card? Does he want me to call him?
Of course he wants you to call, dumbass. I chide myself. Why else would he give you his number?
But I have to wonder, is it because he’s as worried about Wade as I am? Or for an entirely different reason altogether? I’m really hoping on the latter, but I could tell from his expression he’s concerned about Wade, too. My fucking dumbass brother.
Picking up my phone, I dial Wade’s number again, getting his voicemail for the seventh time today. “Hey, asshole, answer your calls,” I tell his voicemail, then hang up.
My gaze drifts down to the card still grasped between my fingers. Without analyzing the decision too much, I enter Nolan’s number into my phone. Just in case Wade comes back and doesn’t call him back, I can let Nolan know he’s here. Maybe Nolan will come back here.
Biting my lip, I shake my head at the thought. I’m not a lovesick teenager anymore. I’m a fucking grown-ass woman. I shouldn’t be chasing after my older brother’s best friend anymore. I mean, how cliché can I get? Although, there’s just something about Nolan. He was never quite as dismissive of me as Wade and Jaron’s other friends were. Back in the day, he was actually kind of nice to me. Until dad banned him from the shop when I was sixteen. I still haven’t quite gotten the whole of that story yet.
“You hear back from him yet?” Jaron asks, peeking his head through the door from the bay.
I don’t even have to ask who ‘he’ is. Fucking Wade. “Nope,” I reply with a sigh. “But Nolan just stopped by.”
“Nolan?” Jaron asks, wiping his hands on a rag and pushing the door open wider with his shoulder. “Is Wade in trouble?”
“I don’t know,” I tell him honestly. “Nolan says he’s late on his rent, again.”
Jaron’s eyebrows pull together, creating a ‘v’ between them.
I’m sure it’s the same damn expression I had on my face when Nolan told me what was going on.
“How the hell doesn’t he have money for rent?” he scoffs.
“That’s exactly what I said!” I shout, tossing my hands in the air. “I don’t get it. Nolan says he doesn’t think Wade’s gambling or anything, but I get the feeling those two aren’t as close as they used to be.”
“Seems to be going around with Wade,” Jaron grumbles.
I know exactly how he feels. I don’t know if it’s as a result of dad’s death back in January, or if it’s the stress of all of us running the garage together as one big, happy, family—but Wade’s been quite the asshole lately. More than normal, anyway.
“I hear that,” I reply, not really knowing what else to say.
“Maybe he’s just sick?” Jaron says to placate his own uneasy feelings.
Well, I’m damn well not that naïve. “You know he’s not sick,” I scold Jaron, just for allowing the lie to cross his mind. “If he was sick, Nolan would have at least seen him. Even if he went to the doctor, he would have called us. Something’s going on, and I get the feeling we’re not going to like it.”
“I know.” Jaron nods. He can be practical when he wants to be.
“So, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something,” I begin, biting my lip when I think about how to start a conversation with my brother about an increasingly sensitive topic like the one I’m about to drop on him.
“Yeah? What’s up?” He cocks his head to the side while he studies me.
“I think—”
Ding!
The fucking buzzer for the door chimes and we both glance up at the same time. I hope like hell it’s Wade, so I can unleash some of my irritation on him right about now.
But nope, it’s a customer.
“Get a beer after closing?” Jaron asks, easing back toward the garage where he’s safe from customer interaction.
“Sounds good to me,” I tell him as he continues to inch away. “Coward,” I whisper to him before the customer is close enough to catch our conversation.
Jaron grins at me before disappearing into the safety of the garage.
“Good morning, welcome to Malone and Sons,” I greet the customer with a false smile.
I make a mental note to talk to Jaron about this ‘and sons’ bullshit later this evening, because both him and I know Wade’s never even been under a car to change the oil. If I’m going to work my ass off here to carry on Dad’s legacy, the least they can do is make sure the sign is inclusive.