Crazy Thing (The Brighton Family #5)

Chapter 37

37

DARIUS

T he pungent combo of paint thinner, saw dust and some kind of manure hits me hard when I step into the dark and dingy local hardware store. It makes my head light. But it’s nostalgic at the same time.

Even still, I don’t particularly want to be here right now. Not when I could be flirting and holding hands with Ziggy Beaumont at the farmer’s market.

“Hey-a Greg.” Archer salutes the senior army vet who’s posted behind the counter, flipping through today’s newspaper with blatant disinterest on his face.

“How’s it going, Greg?” I say to the man. I swear, he’s been seated behind that very counter since I was a child.

His response is the same as always—nothing but a slight tip of his chin.

Archer digs a crumpled envelope from his back pocket as he approaches the cash register. Wearing an anxious expression, he hands it to Greg.

The old man adjusts his wire-framed glasses as he unfolds the sheet of paper and carefully looks it over.

“Is that a ‘yes’?” my brother asks hopefully .

The hardware store owner expels a heavy breath then offers a reluctant nod. “Fine.”

Archer grins broadly. “You’re a good man, Greg. Thank you.”

Greg just sort of grunts. “Your shit’s in the back.” He waves us away like he doesn’t want to be bothered with us anymore.

I chuckle as I follow my brother to the pick-up area at the back of the shop. “What was that about?”

“Layla’s resumé,” Archer mutters to me. “She lost her job again and I offered to ask Greg if he was hiring.”

I nod slowly. “Oh, so you’re a job recruiter now? Nice gig.”

I can almost hear my brother roll his eyes. “Don’t read anything into it, jerkface. Layla’s my neighbor. I help her out from time to time. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

He effortlessly scoops up a cement bag in each arm, gesturing for me to do the same.

In my freaking Berlutis. This is some bullshit.

I grab one heavy bag, holding it away from my body as I follow him over to where his truck is parked in the alley. I just want to get this torture over with and get back to Ziggy.

Because he’s officially put me in a bad mood, I decide to pester my older brother. “When are you gonna just tell that girl that you like her?”

“I told you—she’s just my neighbor.” Archer tosses the bags into the bed of his truck before grabbing the bag I hold out to him.

“Your neighbor who you think about when you’re rubbing one out at night?”

Archer punches me in the shoulder and growls. “Not you, too. ”

“What do you mean, ‘not me, too’?” I ask, following him back to the pick-up area for more supplies.

“You’re into Ziggy now and all of a sudden you’re some love guru like our other brothers?” His eyes go narrow. “We’re the single ones, Darius. I thought we were in this together.”

I feel bad for the guy but tough luck. Ziggy’s amazing. Just the mention of her name has me grinning and zoning out like a clown.

Archer looks at me in disgust. “Pathetic. Just like the rest of them.”

I laugh, jogging to keep up with him as he picks up a few boxes of ceramic tiles and carries them to his truck.

“I don’t understand what’s happening to me. All I know is, I’m so fucking happy. Every time I’m around Ziggy, I’m just so…fucking…happy.” I pause, snatching a five-gallon paint bucket into each hand. “But she’s so damn skittish. I don’t know how to make her trust me. There’s this constant dread in the pit of my stomach that she’s going to change her mind and run off on me. And what the fuck will I do then?”

Archer shakes his head. “Precisely why I’d never make a move on Layla. As things stand right now, we’re friends. I’d never forgive myself if I did something stupid and fucked that up.”

“So you let fear get in the way? What if you could be more than friends?” I ask, not caring that I sound like a naive child as I hand the paint off to my brother.

He stores the buckets in the bed of his truck and dusts off his palms. “Dude, I’m a realistic man. I don’t know how to do that happily-ever-after shit. I wasn’t built for it. I’ve made peace with that.” He hops behind the wheel of his vehicle and starts the engine. Reaching out the window, he ruffles my head. “But for what it’s worth, I genuinely hope there’s something different in the cards for Ziggy and you, baby brother.” I watch as he rolls away.

Nah. ‘Hope’ isn’t good enough for me. I’m a man of action.

I’m going to find a way to make Ziggy trust me.