Indigo Sky

CHAPTER EIGHT

It had been a slow day at the shop. Nate had even taken half the day off because, one, it was the day after his birthday and he was hungover. And, two, we’d had a total of two cars to look at since opening.

The last one came in with an issue with the Check Engine light. Thing wouldn’t go off, no matter how many times the guy had come in to get his car looked at. Nate had been the one to handle him the three other times he’d brought his car down, but on this particular day, Donny—Roy’s son—was still working on the other job of the day, so I was able to take a crack at it.

And I got it to turn off.

Nate walked in just as the guy was about to sing my praises and kiss my ass.

Okay, maybe an exaggeration, but he was really happy. Fuckin' elated even.

“That other guy who works here, the moron with the buzz cut …”

Nate stood at the guy’s back, cocked his head, and crossed his arms over his chest as the dude continued to shit-talk.

“He looked at this thing three times— three times !” He smacked his hand against the counter for emphasis. “And the jackass couldn’t figure the damn thing out. And you!” He thrust his hand toward me, standing on the other side of the counter across from him. “You have one fuckin’ eye, and you managed to see the problem before that idiot did! How the fuck does he have a job here anyway? Huh, Roy? Kid doesn’t know his ass from his elbow—"

“That kid ,” Nate said, interrupting in a dark, menacing tone, “couldn’t get any fuckin' work done with you hanging over his damn shoulder, trying to do his job for him.”

He brushed past the guy, making sure to bump his shoulder against his. He looked directly at me and asked, “So, what the hell did you do to it?”

I shrugged like I was a clueless moron, but said, “I tightened the gas cap.”

Nate swiveled quickly to look at the portly guy. “You kept pointing fingers at me, saying I was the one who fucked your car up, and you weren’t even tightening the fucking gas cap?”

Roy sighed like he didn't have the patience to deal with this shit. “All right, Nathan. Go clock in and get to work.”

Nate stared the guy down for two seconds longer than was comfortable. I was on edge, ready to lunge over the counter if my quick-tempered friend decided to pummel the dude. Luckily, I didn't have to. Nate blew out a breath into the dude’s round red face and turned on his heel, barreling toward the break room.

“Hotheaded asshole,” the guy muttered under his breath. “Entitled piece of shit. Roy, I’d look at the type of trash you have working here if I were you.”

Roy released a tight breath as he stood from his chair and flattened his hands on the counter. “Don’t worry about paying today, Bill. All right? We’re all good. You have a good day.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that. I wasn’t planning on paying a goddamn penny today,” the guy said, already headed toward the door. “Fuckin’ gas cap …”

He slammed the shop door behind him, and Roy groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face.

“Nathan!” he bellowed, storming out from behind the register.

A moment later, Nate appeared in the doorway, a forced look of nonchalance on his face. “Yes, master?”

“Listen to me right now.” Roy pointed a finger up into Nate’s face, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

Nate never did respond to confrontation well. He didn't like to listen.

“I like you, all right, but how much I like you doesn't mean jack shit when it comes to the job. The next time you speak to a fuckin’ customer like that, your ass is out of here—you got me? I don’t give a shit if he’s a loudmouthed son of a bitch who thinks he can do your job better than you. You speak out of line, you’re as good as fired. Understand?”

Nate’s jaw flexed as he looked down at our boss. We were roughly the same height, Nate and me—six foot two, six foot three, something like that—but Roy was short, and he wasn’t in the best shape. Nate could’ve snapped the man in half had he been pissed off enough. I watched him carefully, not trusting that he wouldn't hurt the old guy. I never knew with Nate, never knew where his mood would take him, and while I didn't think that Roy could fight him off, I could.

But Nate inhaled, puffed out his chest, then exhaled and nodded. "Yeah, I understand."

"All right. Now, get to work, and if you can't find something to do, go home and sleep off the rest of that hangover. You look like shit."

Nate huffed a chuckle, a reluctant smile spreading across his face. "Man, I feel like shit."

"You're getting too old to drink like that," I finally chimed in, resting in the knowledge that I wouldn't have to beat his ass.

"That's some quitter talk right there," he said, turning to head back into the break room. "You a quitter, Rev?"

I left the front desk to join him in the closet-sized room. "Not sure you can quit if you never started," I muttered, dropping into one of the two folding chairs.

I had never been one to party the way Nate did. Sure, I'd have a beer or two every now and then, but apart from being a little tipsy on a few occasions, I couldn't say I'd ever been drunk. Nate though? He was either mad or elated, high or drunk. Sometimes a combination of all four. Never between. Never anything else.

"Well, maybe it's time you did," he said, kicking his feet up onto the table and pulling out his phone.

We settled into a comfortable silence as he browsed the internet or social media or whatever the hell it was Nate did. Funny how you could live with a person and not fully know what they did in their spare time. I was pretty cut and dry. What you saw was what you got, and I wasn't a closed book. But Nate? I couldn't tell you what he did in his room, apart from drink and smoke, despite our landlord repeatedly asking him to go outside. I couldn't tell you what he did on his phone, where he went when we weren't together, who he saw …

Fuck, when I really thought about it, it was easy to convince myself that I didn't know him at all.

"So, uh, whatcha doing?" I asked, glancing across the table.

He pulled his eyes away from his phone to say, "Just looking some shit up."

"What kinda shit?"

He lifted one hand in a shrug. "I dunno. Some shit. Why?"

"I was just curious," I muttered, eyeing him now with suspicion.

Nate chuckled and pulled his feet from the table to shift in his chair. "You’re giving me the creeps, dude. Stop looking at me like that."

"Sorry."

I took out my phone and tried to watch a video, but couldn’t focus on it. All of a sudden, I could only think about that house he'd broken into. God, that had been so long ago, and we had never talked about it. It had just been dropped like it'd never happened, and I remembered it now like it'd been a dream instead. But it had happened. Had he ever done that shit again? There was no way he'd tell me if he did, and considering the times he'd been arrested, I figured that, if he was breaking into people’s houses, he at least wasn't getting caught.

As if that makes it better.

I shook my head. No, I needed to stop thinking about this. There was no reason to obsess over it now. But … I couldn't stop, and I couldn't put my finger on why.

Some people might call it a premonition or, uh … intuition. And maybe it was one or both of those things—I had no idea—but later that night, I was getting ready for bed, brushing my teeth, when my phone began to ring.

With the toothbrush hanging out of my mouth, I walked to my room, grabbed the phone off the bed, and saw Nate's name on the screen.

"Hey, shouldn't you be—"

"Revan, Revan, man, I'm in deep shit."

“What? What do you mean, you’re in deep shit?”

“I—shit, fucking sidewalks.” The slapping of shoes in the background came through the speaker, and I realized he was running. “I fucked up. I fucked up bad.”

“I need more than that, Nate,” I said, already heading into my room to grab a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. “What happened?”

He didn’t reply right away. Only the sounds of boots against concrete came through, and then there were sirens in the distance. I couldn’t tell if it was through the phone or my open living room window—maybe both. My stomach plummeted with a heavy dose of dread. Somehow, I knew Nate and those sirens were connected.

They’re coming for him.

He’s going to be arrested again.

I closed my eye and shook my head. “Nate, what the—"

“I’m almost there. Hold on.”

“Nate—”

The line went dead.

What the fuck? I stared at the blackened screen of my phone, scrambling to process what had just happened.

Nate had called. He needed help. He’d fucked up. He was almost here. What had been the point of calling at all? Why had he bothered if he was almost here?

Because I’m his best friend. Because he needed to talk to someone. Because—

The door flew open and slammed shut. I hurried from my room to watch Nate secure the three locks with shaking hands. He turned around to see me, still in just my boxer briefs. I had been getting ready for bed. I should’ve been sleeping by now. But instead, I was staring at my best friend and the look of panic on his face.

“What the hell was that about?” I demanded.

He puffed out his chest with a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Then, he took a step into the room, the expression of panic leaving his face with every passing moment. He was quiet, his eyes dodging this way and that, as if he was looking, listening, waiting for something to happen that didn’t come. And then he came to stand before me, the picture of calm and collected. Not at all like the guy who had called me not ten minutes before.

“I think I kinda overreacted,” he said before breaking out with a sheepish smile. “Sorry about that.”

I could only stare at him for a second before cocking my head and asking, “What?”

He chuckled casually. “I …” He laughed again and ran a hand over his cropped hair. “I think I took a hit of some bad weed or something. Made me crazy paranoid.”

I groaned and turned to head back into my room. “Great. I’m going to bed.”

“Okay. Good night, Rev.”

“Yeah. ‘Night,” I grumbled, slamming the door behind me.

***

Now, before I get into this next part, I want you to understand something about my friendship with Nate.

From the time we were kids, I was aware he wasn’t a good guy. But I didn’t really get the vibe that he was a bad one either. Like, I guess I sorta accepted that he was just … fumbling through life in the fucked-up way he knew how, and I thought I could be the moral compass he needed to keep himself from falling off the track. I didn’t think he had it in him to fuck me up while he was fucking himself up—you know what I’m saying? Like, even if he was destroying himself, he’d still hold me on some higher pedestal. Because it’s what I would’ve done for him. It’s what I always did for him.

But, you know, joke’s on me, I guess, huh?

***

Nate was still sleeping when I left for work the next day. I’d had a feeling that would happen, considering how wasted he’d been the night before.

As I drove to the shop, I wondered how long Roy would put up with his shit. I wondered if there’d ever come a time when he fired Nate’s ass and what that would do to our friendship—if anything. I mean, I could see it going a couple of ways. Nate could be bitter that he had to find a new job, or maybe he’d take it in stride. I doubted it though. He was always the type to blame everyone else for his bullshit and never himself.

I walked into the shop a few minutes after opening. Roy, of course, was already there. Donny was too.

“Hey, Rev,” Donny said, shooting me a grin from behind the counter.

“Morning, Donny. How’s it going?” I stopped to lean against the countertop.

“Can’t complain,” he replied, engaging in the small talk that seemed to be the extent of our interaction over the past however many years since I’d started working there. “You?”

“Same.”

“Nate coming in today? Or is that son of a bitch sleeping off another hangover?” Donny said son of a bitch in a way that made it hard to tell if he was joking or not.

“I—"

The door swung open forcefully, the glass rattling within its frame. In walked the angry customer from yesterday. The one with the Check Engine light. His face was red, his fists shaking at his sides. His bald head was gleaming in the early morning sunlight, and his mustache quivered above his pruned upper lip.

Startled, Donny shot out of his chair while I took a step from the counter to approach the man, assuming something had happened again with his car.

“Hey, how’s the—"

“ You .” He pointed a stubby finger in my direction.

Taken aback by his tone, I flattened a hand to my chest. “What about me?”

“You’re the fuckin’ piece of shit who looked at my car yesterday.”

Roy stepped in from the back, wiping his greasy hands on a cloth. “Hey, Bill, what’s going on here?”

The guy aimed his angry, bulging eyes at Roy, his finger still pointing at me. “This fuckhead stole my goddamn wallet and broke into my house last night!”

“What?!” Roy and I both shouted in unison—Roy’s voice edged with anger, mine with surprise and panic.

“That’s right. Don’t think I don’t know it was you, you fuckin’ son of a bitch. Waving that gun in my face. I should call the fuckin’ cops—"

“Gun?” I interjected. “The hell are you talking about?”

Roy came to stand beside me, and although he had yet to say much of anything, it felt nice to have him there as this nutjob threw wild accusations in my face.

“Bill, I think there’s been a misunderstanding—"

“I know it was him! I went one place yesterday, and it was here . My wallet was gone by the time I got home, and this piece of shit was the only person I’d dealt with all fuckin’ day. He broke into my house last night, dressed in all black with a fuckin’ mask over his face. Scared the living shit out of my wife, you motherfuckin’ pirate son of a bitch.”

I started shaking my head, staring this guy down with an insistence to prove him wrong. “No. Dude, I—"

“Don’t you fucking dude me!” Bill jabbed his finger into my chest.

“Sorry. S-sir, I swear to you, I didn’t break into your house. I-I have no idea where you even live. I was at home all night. Seriously, I wouldn’t—"

Roy held an arm in front of me, putting a stop to my words. “Bill, this is a serious accusation you’re making here—you understand that?”

“I wouldn’t be making it if it wasn’t the damn truth!”

“And you’re sure it was Revan you saw in your house?”

I waited. I stared right into the rage blazing in Bill’s eyes and watched as he faltered during his consideration. He wasn’t sure. He couldn’t be. I had no doubt someone had been in his house. I had no doubt he thought it was me. But it couldn’t have been me, and he was beginning to doubt it.

“ Someone was there, Roy. And it was him. If it wasn’t him, he was in on it because it sure as shit was one of the crackheads you have working here.”

Roy crossed his arms as he glanced in the direction of Donny, still silent behind the counter, watching the show unfold with an unreadable expression on his face. “You calling my son a crackhead, Bill?”

Bill sputtered for a moment before saying, “Of course not! I’m talking about this piece of shit and—"

“What do you want me to do?” Roy asked, now exhausted.

My hands flexed at my sides. My stomach quaked with energy and nerves. Fuck. I needed Nate to get into work. I needed to talk to him. I needed to wring his neck and demand to know where the fuck he’d been last night because I was beginning to understand just how badly he’d fucked up. And I was here, taking the fucking fall for it.

Bill crossed his arms, mimicking Roy’s stance. “I want my fuckin’ wallet. And I wanna see this asshole lose his job, or I’ll call the cops and—"

Roy held up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. You don’t even know that he—"

“I don’t care! I have put up with enough crap from your shop, Roy! And if I don’t see something happen right here, right now, I’m calling the fuckin’ cops and making your life a living hell. And I don’t wanna do that, Roy. I like you. We go way back. But—"

“All right, all right.” Roy dropped his gaze to the floor and nodded. He sighed and slumped his shoulders. “Revan—"

I abruptly turned to pin Roy with my gaze. “Roy, you gotta be kidding me right now!”

Roy wouldn’t look at me. “I’m sorry, Rev.” He gave his head a nudge over his shoulder. “Go pack up your shit and get outta here.”

My mouth fell open, then closed. Over and over. I didn’t know what to say, what to do, what the fuck to … anything . I had known Roy my entire life. I had been working in his shop for years. I had shown up every day on time and done my damn job as best as I could. And now, he was firing me based on the accusation of this fucking bald asshole? The guy had zero proof! It was all finger pointing and threats and nothing more.

“You heard him,” Bill said, triumphant. “Go pack your shit and get outta here … or I’ll call the cops.”

I turned to him and stared into his taunting gaze. “Go ahead. Call the fuckin’ cops. Let them tell you I didn’t fuckin’ do shit with your wallet.”

Bill screwed up his lips, his cheeks reddened in color, and his mouth opened to spew some more bullshit my way. But Roy cut in before he got the chance.

“I’m handling it, Bill. Now, go home and cool off.”

“If I come back here and see you didn’t fire his ass—"

“I said , I’m handling it.”

Bill huffed and turned on his heel, barreling through the door and slamming it behind him. I watched him stomp his way to his car and get inside. I blinked and felt the telltale burn of emotion building higher and higher, threatening to spill over my cheeks.

This fat asshole was seriously going to cost me my job?

“Rev—"

“You’re firing me?” I asked, turning to Roy and leveling him with my glare. “You’re for real right now?”

“I cannot risk the cops showing up here, Revan. What if they find out that I’ve been paying you and Nate off the books? I can’t have the IRS on my ass.”

I lifted my gaze to Donny, the blank-faced motherfucker. “So, don’t tell them—"

“I can’t do that, Rev. I could be shut down. You realize that? My entire business, all these years, down the fuckin' drain."

"I can't believe this. My dad—"

Roy held up a finger and pointed it up toward my face. "I did your dad a favor by letting you work here. And you've been a hard worker, a real big help around here, but now, it's done. That's it. I never promised your old man you'd have a permanent position here for all of eternity."

Fucking hell. I stabbed my fingers through my hair and shook my head, every bit of my rage bubbling hot in my veins. "I didn't fucking do anything."

"I have no doubt about that. You're a good kid, Rev. But I've known Bill a long time. I know how much he loves to stir the pot, and if he says he's gonna call the cops, he will. I'm sorry. I really am."

Roy reached out, patted my arm, and turned around. With a sigh, he hung his head and trudged into the back, leaving me alone with Donny. Ending the day the way it'd begun … just thirty minutes ago.

I looked over at him, still standing behind the counter.

"Wow," he uttered, finally speaking for the first time since Bill had burst through the door. "That was wild."

"I lost my fucking job," I spat angrily, shaking my head. "What the fuck am I supposed to do now?"

He shrugged. "There are other shops. Dad would write you a letter of recommendation, I’m sure."

"Your dad isn't gonna do shit for me," I muttered, realizing too late what a stupid idea it was to agree to be paid off the books. "Technically, I was never an employee here."

Years of my life, gone, in the blink of an eye. Just because one asshole had gotten the wrong idea in his head and threatened to call the cops on my ex-boss.

And all because another asshole had decided to do something really, really fucking stupid.

***

I walked through the apartment door with the grace of Bill, letting the doorknob bounce off the wall and slam shut behind me. I barreled across the living room and to Nate's bedroom, and without a single fuck left to give, I didn't bother to knock before throwing the door open.

Nate was still in bed. Naked, one leg hanging off the bed as he snored.

I stood at the side closest to his head and shouted, "Where the fuck were you last night?!"

He groaned and lifted his head an inch off the pillow to open his bleary eyes and look at me. "Go away," he muttered, then rolled over.

"Hey! Asshole!" I shoved violently at his shoulder. "I asked you a fucking question, Nate! Answer me!"

"Jesus Christ." He sat up, hanging his head and grinding the heel of his palm against his eye. "What do you want?"

"What the hell did you do last night?" I demanded, no longer yelling. No longer having it in me.

He sucked in a deep breath, dropped his hand to his naked lap, and looked up at me. His lips pulled into a sheepish smile as he shrugged. "I dunno. Smoked some weed. Had a couple of drinks. Took a walk. You know, usual crap."

"Bullshit." I took a step closer, forcing him to tip his head back to look up at me. "Did you steal that fucking guy's wallet?"

"Which guy?"

"Which guy?!"

He hadn’t denied it.

I grabbed at my hair, looking off toward his window and no longer at him. Holy fuck. "Seriously? That's what you ask me? Which guy? Oh my God, Nate …"

He wagged his finger up at me. "Wait a second. Are you talking about that fat motherfucker at the shop?"

"Yeah. That's the one," I answered, too tired now to fight as I turned and slumped down beside him on the bed.

He nodded slowly. "Yeah … yeah, I stole his fuckin' wallet. Piece of shit. Talking all that trash about me. I wasn't gonna let him get away with that. You know me."

"Yeah," I muttered, my face heating with anger. "I know you."

"Scared the shit out of him too," he said with a laugh. Proud and triumphant. "Him and his fat-ass wife. They were sleeping when I broke through their window, waving a gun in their faces."

My lungs deflated with a defeated sigh as I turned to glare at him. "A gun?" So, the angry old guy hadn't been exaggerating. "Where the fuck did you get a gun from?"

Nate snorted out a laugh and reached for his nightstand drawer. My heart hammered as he pulled it open and stuck his hand inside. Then, he pulled out a gun, matte black in color. I couldn’t breathe as he held it up, turning it over in his hand.

"It's an airsoft gun," he said, grinning like a fool. "Fuckin' guy thought it was real. Can you believe that shit? Oh my God … it was amazing. I mean, he kinda scared the shit out of me when he put it together that I worked at Roy's—"

"I lost my job," I interrupted in a dry, flat tone, tired of listening to him laugh and make light of a serious fucking situation.

He’d broken into a dude's house. He threatened him with a gun—I didn't give a fuck that it was fake. He lied to me. He’d cost me my fucking job and livelihood.

Nate's mouth fell open as he turned to stare at me. "What?"

"Roy fired me when Bill waltzed into the shop today, threatening to call the cops." I looked straight into his eyes and continued, "He thought it was me."

"And you …" Nate shook his head and raked a hand across his cropped hair. "You took the rap?"

"What do you think?"

The giddy expression fell from his face as a breath whooshed from his lungs. "Wow. Shit, Rev. I don't know what to say."

I lifted my brows and barked an incredulous laugh. "You don't know what to say? How about, Oh, I'm sorry, Rev. Let me go down there and get your job back ? Or, how about, Shit, you know what? Let me go turn myself in ? How about that?"

To my horror, he shook his head. "You know I can't do that. I need that job.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My brain wouldn’t comprehend, wouldn’t compute.

I laid a hand over my forehead and asked, “Wait … what ? You-you think I don’t need that fucking job? Is that seriously what you’re saying?”

God, what the hell was happening?

Two hours ago, I had been getting ready for work. Everything was normal; everything was right. Now, I was unemployed and two seconds away from begging my best friend to fess up to his own fuckup.

Nate stood up, bare-assed naked, but his nudity did nothing to faze me. It was the nonchalant way he moved around the room—grabbing his clothes and coveralls before he started getting dressed—that was messing with my head.

“Where the hell are you going?” I asked him, exasperated.

He glanced over his shoulder as he stepped into his brown coveralls. “Uh, getting ready for work?”

My gut somersaulted at the disbelieving look on his face. Fuck, how could he do this to me?

“I’ll see you later, all right?” He clapped me on the back and left me sitting on his bed as he sauntered into the living room and out the door, never once looking back.