It was ten to three when I pulled up to Whitecaps the next day with Shayla’s brother on the back of my bike.

We’d had a full morning of demolition. A good bit of the afternoon too. Tearing apart shit was a good way of letting off steam, and thanks to the dump I was living in, I had a lot of shit to tear apart. The half wall separating the living room and dining room needed to come down, there was a dead tree out back in the yard threatening to cave my fucking roof in, and I wanted to take out a wall separating the two spare bedrooms to allow for one bigger bedroom.

It was a lot of work. I knew we wouldn’t get it all done today, but I kept that to myself. I figured this kid would need some time to get all that anger out of him. I had enough jobs to keep him busy for a few days, at least.

It was a start.

The half wall came down first.

Once I’d handed Dominic the sledgehammer and gave him the go-ahead, he didn’t waste any time and swung that thing like there was a face he was putting holes in.

While he did that, I worked on other shit that needed to be done and gave him some privacy, installing new cabinet doors in the kitchen and fixing the wall socket in the bedroom I was staying in so I could have some light.

Dominic came and found me when he was finished, his shirt soaked through with sweat and his knuckles bloodied, grinning.

I eyed his hands, pausing my work on the outlet, and questioned, “You get tired of swinging?”

“Nah.” He smirked. “Just wanted to punch something.”

“Yeah? You like that weird-as-shit game you were playin’ yesterday?”

“Lax? Fuck, yeah, I like it. It’s my life.”

“You break your hands, you won’t be playin’,” I warned him. “Might wanna think about that.”

Dominic frowned, looking at his knuckles.

I screwed the outlet cover back on and tested the switch. The overhead light turned on.

“You clean up the mess?” I asked him, tucking the screwdriver into my back pocket.

His brows pulled together. “Mess?”

“You knock down my wall?”

“Yeah.”

“Is there wall shit everywhere?”

His mouth twitched. “Basically.”

“Go clean it up,” I ordered.

Instantly, his mouth quit twitching, and he glared. Then he cursed under his breath and stalked away, and minutes later, I heard all kinds of noise coming from the other room.

He was back to being pissed off. That was good. The whole reason for Dominic being here was to work out his anger, and to do that, I needed him to stay angry. No way was an hour’s worth of demolition enough to wear this kid out. He had more in him. A lot more.

So even though I could’ve helped Dominic clean up, I didn’t. And instead, told him where the broom was so he could sweep up the drywall dust when he thought he was finished.

That pissed him off more. Especially when I stood there watching him while taking a soda break.

“Are your arms broken or something?” he griped while scooping up dust into a pan.

“Nope,” I returned.

“So why am I doing everything? You can’t help?”

“Can help. Just won’t.”

He scowled and shook his head, dumping the dust into the nearby trash can.

I drained the can of Coke, crushed it, then tossed it into the trash can as I crossed the room, heading for the door. “Finish with that, then meet me outside,” I ordered.

“This is child labor!” he yelled at my back. “And thanks for offering me something to drink!”

I smirked and stepped outside.

Once Dominic finished up, he walked around to the back of the house where I was tying a rope around the dead tree that needed to come up. It wasn’t huge, but it was tall enough it’d do damage if it came down and fell in the wrong direction.

Following my instruction, Dominic tied the other end of the rope to the hitch on my truck, secured it, tested the knot, then stood back as I climbed in the driver’s seat and hit the gas. The root pulled out and the tree hit the ground.

“Now what?” Dominic asked, hands to his hips as he stared at the dead branches.

I grabbed the ax out of the bed and carried it over to him, thrusting it into his hand. “Start chopping,” I ordered.

He looked at me. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“And what are you gonna do? Go make a sandwich?”

I smirked, muttering, “Smart kid,” before turning and moving away.

I knew when I came back outside, finding Dominic taking a breather was a strong possibility, especially since I didn’t just make a sandwich, I ate it and made a second for him.

But when I walked out the door, I could still hear the steady chopping and the crack of the wood. Dominic was showing that tree zero mercy.

“Here,” I said, halting Dom from taking the next swing. I held out the sandwich and the Coke I brought out. “Take a break.”

“I’m good,” he rushed out, panting.

“Take a break,” I repeated, holding his eyes until he dropped the ax and took the food and drink from me.

“Thanks,” he muttered. Sweat dripped from his brow.

I cleared the branches and carried most of them to the dumpster, then I broke up the thicker ones, stripping them of twigs, and piled up the wood next to the stump in the yard used as a chopping block. I split two logs and stacked the wood along the fence, then I turned back to Dominic, who was shoving the last remaining bite of sandwich into his mouth and chasing it with a drink.

“You need another minute?” I questioned.

“Nope.” He wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand, sat the Coke in the grass, and stepped forward. “I’m ready.”

“Split the logs, then stack the wood like that.” I gestured at the pile. “Got it?”

“Got it,” he answered.

I held out the ax.

He tried taking it, but met resistance when I held on, and looked at me. “What?”

“Your dad,” I began.

Dominic stiffened. “What about him?”

“You ain’t the only one feelin’ it, so quit actin’ like you are,” I said, watching his neck roll with a swallow. “Your mom, Shayla, your brother, they all gotta carry that weight. Only difference is, they’re dealin’ with it while you’re gettin’ pissed at every fuckin’ person who ain’t you. That ain’t dealin’. That’s throwin’ a shit fit, and it’s fuckin’ stupid.”

“What do you know about it?”

“I know because I’ve done it.”

His eyes softened. “Your dad had Parkinson’s too?”

“My dad was a fuckin’ loser who knocked up my drug-addicted whore of a mother, then split and made a family with someone else. They even had one of those fuckin’ in-ground pools with the slide going into it. Ask me how I know that.”

“How do you know that?” he whispered.

“’Cause I found him,” I said, voice dropping lower. “I found that motherfucker. Saw his perfect house with his perfect fuckin’ family, which consisted of a son who wasn’t me. A son who was probably a year younger, meanin’ my dad didn’t waste any fuckin’ time once he split to make that family. And you know what I did when I saw them?”

“What?”

“I beat the shit outta that kid right in front of his dad, right in front of my dad. You wanna talk about fuckin’ up, that kid didn’t do a damn thing to me. He didn’t deserve what I did. And you know what? I was still pissed after I did it. So trust me when I say, throwin’ shit fits and actin’ out isn’t gonna help you, Dom. You’re mad. You should be. It fuckin’ sucks what’s happening, but don’t take that out on other people. Especially ones going through the same thing, ones who get it. You need to burn out your anger, you come here and I’ll put you to work. Or find something else to get it out of you that doesn’t involve knockin’ other kids around or actin’ like a little prick, you got me?”

Eyes wide, he whispered, “I got you.”

“Good.” I gave up the ax. “Your sister’s takin’ on a lot lookin’ after you and your brother. So how ’bout you ease up on her a little, and I won’t stand around when you got a mess to clean up.”

Looking remorseful, he nodded.

“You like the sandwich?” I asked.

He stared at me. “Uh, yeah. It was real good.”

“You want another?”

“I could eat another.”

“Then you’ll get it,” I said, wanting one more myself.

I headed back inside, made two more sandwiches, and returned with both. After the sandwiches were eaten and the wood was cut and stacked, I got cleaned up, telling Dom we were done for the day.

And when I reminded him of my offer, he confirmed what I already knew.

“Like I said,” I began. “You wanna give me a hand with things over here, you’re welcome to that. I gotta lot of work that needs to be done.”

Dominic stopped at the back of my bike and took the helmet I held out, doing this while smiling. “Yeah, okay, cool,” he said. “This was fun. Well, not fun fun, but yeah, you know, it was good. Thanks.”

It was good.

Meaning, it had worked.

Demolition kicked serious fucking ass.

Toeing the kickstand down, I cut the engine and swung off the bike after Dominic climbed off.

“Are you gonna be helping Shay out until my parents get back?” he asked, handing over the helmet.

I hung it on the handlebars. “If she needs it, yeah.”

“How come?”

“What do you mean how come? I just said—if she needs it.” I stuffed my keys into my pocket and stalked toward the back door.

Dom caught up and filed in beside me. He snorted.

I looked over at him. “What?”

He shook his head.

“What?” I repeated.

“Nothing. Just…well, she didn’t ask for your help yesterday,” he pointed out. “I’m not sure she really needed it.”

My eyes narrowed into a glare. He was right. I didn’t need that shit pointed out to me either. I was aware of it. Still, hearing it out loud was a fucking kick to the balls.

“Shut up,” I growled, reaching the back door to Whitecaps and throwing it open.

Dominic snorted again before rushing in ahead of me.

I clocked in and washed up at the sink, then stepped into the kitchen where J.R. was leaning over the worktop, wiping off the edge of a plate.

“I amaze myself sometimes,” he muttered, straightening and throwing the rag over his shoulder. “Boom. Look at that.” He gestured at the plate.

“It’s a burger,” I commented, grabbing a ticket off the holder.

“It’s a bomb-ass burger,” J.R. replied. “This thing is fancy as shit. Avocado relish. A little cilantro. I got some alfalfa sprouts on there…”

I quit listening to J.R. list ingredients off a burger we made every fucking day here and looked out into the restaurant.

Dominic and Shayla were talking, and whatever Dominic said to her had Shayla sticking her tongue out at him and ruffling his hair. She looked happy. They both did—they were smiling and laughing. Then Dominic slid into the booth his brother was seated at and picked up a menu. Shayla looked between the two of them, then lifted her head and met my gaze.

I cut my eyes away and looked over at J.R. He was still going.

“…toasted whole wheat bun. Peppered greens. Come on. This is a high-class masterpiece right here. This shit will be all over Instagram. You watch.” He slid the plate onto the ledge and stuck a ticket beside it, sighing.

“Quit looking at that thing like you wanna fuck it,” I said.

J.R.’s eyes lit up. “Hey, that was a joke. You made a joke!” He slapped my shoulder.

“I hear he makes tons of jokes.”

I looked through the window again and watched Kali smile at me as she slid the plate off the ledge.

I make tons of jokes? Who the fuck would…

Standing at a table now, Shayla was talking to an older couple. She stuck her pen behind her ear, smiled, and pointed at the menu the man was holding as she continued speaking.

Right. She thought I was funny. But I wasn’t, so what the fuck?

“This burger looks amazing, J.R. Nice job,” Kali said before stepping away with it.

“See? Bomb-ass burger made by a bomb-ass cook. Told you,” he said. Then he spun around and stepped up to the grill.

“Hey.”

Shayla’s voice turned my head.

“You got my note, I see,” she said, hopping up onto the counter and tacking up the ticket she’d just written out.

“What?”

“The ticket you’re holding. I didn’t have any stationery with me, so it was either that or a napkin.” She gestured at my hand.

That was when I looked at the ticket I’d pulled down, not even having so much as glanced at it before.

In heavily outlined handwriting, my name was written at the top of the ticket in bold black. And below that, a thank-you—scripted in purple ink—with Shayla’s name at the bottom. That was in written purple too.

“You had this waitin’ for me?” I asked, looking up at her.

Another note. She was giving me another note, when all she needed to do was fucking say the words to me. Or don’t say them. Whatever. I didn’t need Shayla thanking me for shit. I hadn’t done what I did expecting anything in return. I never expected a damn thing from anybody.

What was she doing?

“I told J.R. to leave it up there for you,” she explained. “But I feel like I should amend it to say way more than just a thank-you, since Dominic is basically a different kid now. Seriously, what did you do to him? He seems…kind of happy. It’s awesome.”

“You had this waitin’ on me,” I repeated, reading the ticket again, then lifting my eyes to her. “You didn’t need to do that.”

“And you didn’t need to help me.” She cocked her head, then shook it. “It would’ve bugged me if I hadn’t done something. I’m a thank-you note kind of girl. Sorry that one’s kind of bland and boring. I was limited without my stationery supplies. I can redo it, if it sucks…”

“No,” I mumbled, stuffing the ticket into my back pocket before she took it from me.

Christ. I needed help.

Shayla dropped her elbow to the ledge and smiled. “Mm.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” She bit her bottom lip, fighting a grin. “So, Dominic…it worked, huh?”

“Putting holes in walls does wonders,” I replied, pulling the next ticket down and reading an actual order on that one.

“He told me you said he could keep coming over and helping out. That’s really cool of you.”

I shrugged. “House needs a lot of work done. It’s nothin’.”

“It’s not nothing,” she argued, lifting my gaze off the ticket. “It’s not even close to nothing. And we’re just going to leave it at that, ’cause this argument could go on for days.”

I stared at her. Shayla didn’t fight that grin anymore and gave it to me.

And then, I don’t know why the fuck I did it, maybe it was because she was grinning and I wanted to keep her that way, or maybe I’d officially lost my mind, but I did it again. I got up in her shit. She wasn’t asking a damn thing of me, and it didn’t matter. I couldn’t stop myself.

“Hey,” I barked over my shoulder.

J.R. paused stirring something in a saucepan, and peered behind him. “’Sup?”

“You got nights this week?”

“I got whatever. I told you—my shit is relaxed.”

Getting my answer, I turned back to Shayla. “You decide what you need from me,” I said. “Who I’m takin’ wherever or picking up. I don’t care. You take one. I’ll take the other. Just tell me what you want me to do. I’ll do it.”

Shayla blinked, most of that smile already gone from her, and the rest slowly slipping away. “My God. I’m gonna need to make another run to Michael’s before the week’s up,” she said.

I didn’t know what the fuck that meant, but she didn’t give me time to inquire.

Hopping down, Shayla reached around the soda dispenser and produced the folder she’d shown me the other day. Then she boosted herself back up and flipped the folder open on the window lip.

She showed me the schedule again, pointing out which brother had what going on and where, and we split it up how she wanted it. No questions asked.

Shayla didn’t get on me again about why I was helping her, and I didn’t ask myself again what the fuck I was doing.

We left it at that.