Loving You (Words We Never Said #4)

Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

brONX

“Do you have a minute?”

Bronx looked up from his laptop a little gratefully because he’d been dealing with a permit issue for the last half hour. He was supposed to be participating in the conversation with the other guys, but his work life was starting to encroach on every facet of his personal life.

“Shoot.”

Lane gave him a tentative smile. “So, normally I’m a fan of a kid’s autonomy, especially when they’re teenagers, but Lucas asked me for something, and I wanted to run it by you first because I don’t have experience with blind people.”

Bronx did his best not to get immediately defensive. The guys were really good about Lucas. They had been since the day Bronx and Lucas showed up. But he knew there was going to be a moment where things got weird.

“Look, if he can babysit Dallas’s infant child, I’m sure he’s going to do great with Briar. And he really has been wanting to earn some extra cash this?— ”

“No,” Lane interrupted, then looked embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to cut you off, but I don’t mean Briar. He’s already done some babysitting for me, and he’s been great. No, uh…he asked me for a job.”

“Like…a nanny job?”

Lane flushed and shook his head, and it took Bronx a second to remember why. But ah, yes, it was because he’d fucked his last nanny. “I’m covered on that front. No, uh. So, my restaurant’s expanding. One of my sous wants to run a food truck, and Lucas overheard me talking about hiring a few people from outside the restaurant to help run it. He asked me if I’d be willing to train him.”

Bronx sat back hard. This was the first he’d ever heard of Lucas wanting to work in a kitchen. And it wasn’t like he couldn’t cook. The school he’d gone to had given all the students basic life skills training, and Lucas had never once started a fire or burned himself worse than Bronx had done.

But a professional kitchen seemed…risky. Or maybe he was just being an overprotective dickhead again.

“It would be part-time to start,” Lane said quickly. “I talked to a guy up in Baltimore who works for a vocational rehab center, and he said he could come down and make the restaurant kitchen and the food truck accessible for him. But it’s a job I normally wouldn’t hire a teenager for. It’s a lot of work, and it can get really stressful, so I wanted to talk to you first. I don’t want to cross lines, you know?”

Bronx passed a hand down his face. “I feel like he’d literally eviscerate me in my sleep if he knew you and I were discussing this without him.”

“Oh,” Lane said, his eyes wide, “I told him I had to talk to you about it first. He didn’t love that, but he didn’t fight me on it either.”

That was more trust than Bronx probably deserved right then. “I don’t want to stand in his way. I think I’ve done that enough. If you’re sure you can get the kitchen accessible enough for him to do the work that needs to be done—and if you don’t mind the amount of training he’ll need because he’s never had a job before—I think I’d be okay with it. If you are.”

To Bronx’s relief, Lane looked thrilled. “Yeah?”

Fuck, was this real life? Most of Bronx and Jules’s friends had tolerated Lucas at best. But no one had ever attempted to get to know him, let alone rearrange a professional kitchen so he could work there.

“Maybe he’ll stop hating me so much if I let him do this.”

Bronx startled when Dallas sat beside him, knocking him against his laptop. “He doesn’t hate you.”

“He’s pissed at me. Really pissed at me.”

Adele came in from the kitchen with Briar on his shoulders. “All teenagers are pissed at their parents to some degree. I don’t know when it gets better, but I’ll let y’all know.”

Bronx rolled his eyes, but it was hard to argue with that. He looked back at his computer and saw another three emails had popped up. Maybe he could just retire or something. Or apply at an established vet’s office. Anything to avoid the nightmare that was starting up his own practice.

Christ, he needed to blow off some steam. Between one blink and the next, he pictured Monty’s face in his mind, and he went hot deep in his core. He could only hope it wasn’t showing on his face.

The guys were distracted by Adele telling them how awful their lives were going to become when their kids hit their tweens, so Bronx took the opportunity to slide his phone out of his pocket and pull up Monty’s contact.

They’d exchanged one text each.

Monty: I enjoyed that.

Bronx: Me too.

They both said so little but meant so damn much, and Bronx felt a soul-deep craving for more. He was treading in dangerous waters. He could fall for a man like Monty far too easily, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to risk having his heart broken because having his heart and his pride bruised had been bad enough.

But the temptation was too much. He couldn’t resist.

Bronx: I want to see you again, sparky.

Monty: I’m about to walk into court right now. When did you have in mind?

Bronx: Meetings during the day, but my nights are free.

Mostly. They were mostly free. He still had a kid to raise, and just because he was teetering on the brink of eighteen didn’t mean his job was done. Or that it would ever be done. He wasn’t going to be one of those dads who showed Lucas the door the moment the clock ticked over to adulthood and told him to have a good life.

His parents had done that to him, and he could still feel those scars.

“…tonight okay with you?”

Bronx looked up and realized Lane was talking to him. He blushed. “Sorry, what? ”

“Is tonight okay for Lucas to come down to the restaurant?” Lane said patiently.

Bronx felt his brother’s eyes on him, and he cleared his throat, trying to slip his phone back into his pocket, but his jeans were too tight. “Ah. I…yeah. Yes.” He looked over at Dallas. “Unless you need him.”

“Who were you talking to?” Dallas demanded instead of giving him an answer.

Fuck. “Work stuff. It’s not important. Do you need?—”

“No. Ky’s off, and he can deal with anything that comes up. Who were you really talking to.” Dallas suddenly lunged at him, and Bronx stood, dodging him easily as he shoved his phone into his pocket properly. Dallas froze halfway over Frey’s lap and didn’t bother moving. “You’re spry for an old man.”

It wasn’t like Bronx could argue his age. He had a couple of years on Adele, who they all treated like he was sometimes the dad and sometimes the grandpa of the group. But he was spry, damn it. And if he got lucky enough, he could prove it to himself—and to Monty.

“Will you please mind your own business?” Bronx asked tiredly. “I’m stressed enough as it is.”

Dallas held his hands up in surrender as he pulled away from Frey, settling next to him. “I expect an explanation of some kind later.”

Fat chance , Bronx thought, but he nodded all the same. He didn’t mind a little white lie if it meant getting Dallas off his back for now. He didn’t know when Monty was free to meet up, but he was hoping it was sooner rather than later.

He turned back to Lane. “I’ll talk to him when I get home and have him text you. Sound good?”

Lane was still frowning, but he nodded. “Sounds great. See you later. ”

Bronx hadn’t realized he’d been inching for the door, but he was. He was nearly there. No one seemed bothered by his exit, so he shot the guys a quick wave, then headed out and collapsed in his driver’s seat. He was pretty sure his brother was watching from the window, so instead of calling Monty immediately the way he wanted, he instead put his car in reverse and headed down the street.

“This isn’t a joke, right?”

Bronx glanced over at his son, who hadn’t stopped fidgeting in his seat. The school he’d gone to had put a lot of emphasis on training out blindisms when Lucas was younger—something Bronx hadn’t realized they were doing, or he never would have agreed to it. Lucas had quite a few of them compounded with his autistic need to stim, so he was rarely still.

But he’d been coached to channel his need to rock or shake his head into twisting spinning rings on his fingers or rolling his cane in his hands. Right now, he was very clearly suppressing the urge to flap his hands, and Bronx wanted to tell him it was fine.

But he also knew it made Lucas self-conscious, especially since he was about to walk into a restaurant full of sighted customers and employees, and it was Bronx’s fault almost entirely he hadn’t been given this kind of exposure before now.

“Why would this be a joke?”

Lucas wrinkled his nose and rubbed at his eyelids. “I know it’s not. I mean, that’s some shit Jules would do. Not you.”

Bronx had all but given up trying to encourage Lucas not to give up on Jules. There was no point. The man hadn’t bothered calling since his attempt at threatening Bronx with court. He’d been in touch with his attorney, who said it was all quiet on his end, so he’d been able to relax a little.

He and Lucas had finally spoken about what happened, and Lucas admitted he was just venting. “I don’t hate you,” he told Bronx just before they left the house for the restaurant. “I’m not even really mad at you. It just feels like so much sometimes.”

Bronx had held him tightly, squeezing him the way he used to do when Lucas was little and needed that pressure to calm down. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t completely alright. But it was getting better.

“This is something you want, right?” Bronx asked as he stared at the back door to the building.

Lucas bit his lip, then nodded. “Yeah. I mean, it’s probably a terrible idea. I’m going to make a mess of this whole thing, and Lane’s going to find some polite way to fire me, but?—”

“You don’t know you’re going to make a mess of anything,” Bronx told him, cutting him off. “And it’s not like he’s going to throw you on the hot line and tell you good luck. This is about figuring out where you work best.” That was how Lane explained it later when Bronx had given him a call.

Lucas had been excited but so nervous he’d gone temporarily nonverbal. He hadn’t done that in a long while, but Bronx was happy to step in until Lucas was calmer.

And Lane didn’t seem to mind at all. Bronx put the call on speaker, and by the time Lane was finished explaining what he’d done so far in the kitchen, Lucas was fully relaxed. It hadn’t lasted though. He was getting worked up again .

“You wanna rock?” Bronx asked him.

Lucas shook his head. “Someone will see.”

“We’re in the back parking lot, and my windows are tinted,” Bronx told him softly. “And if someone cares…”

“Fuck them?” Lucas asked with a small grin.

Bronx sighed. “I mean, not the fuck part, but yeah. Fuck ’em.”

Lucas hesitated but then began to gently sway his body front to back, then side to side. The tension started easing out of his limbs—starting at his shoulders and working upward toward his neck. “I don’t want to mess up.”

“Everyone messes up at their first job. Mine was a disaster. Did I ever tell you?”

Lucas rocked a little faster now, flapping his hands gently at his sides. “No. I figured you didn’t really work until college.”

“I was sixteen. I got a job at Jack in the Box—they used to be everywhere here. I lied on my application and told them I’d worked at a McDonald’s for six months, and they never called to check. The manager said it was basically the same thing and showed me the register. There were all these buttons and complicated patterns to get the meal deals and stuff, and I didn’t understand any of it. But I told her I was totally cool. So they started me during the lunch rush.”

“Oh, damn,” Lucas breathed. His arms were looser and more limber now that he was calming down. His hands began to still, and he’d stopped rocking, just shaking his head from side to side. “Did you get fired?”

Bronx choked on a laugh. “Nah. I quit. After the third customer screamed at me, I said I had to go to the bathroom, and I walked out, got on the bus, and went home. ”

Lucas slapped his hand over his mouth to cover his laugh. “Really?”

“Yep. I was an irresponsible, cowardly little shit with too much pride to ask for help. You’re definitely not like me.”

Lucas bit his cheek, making it look sunken. “I don’t know what kind of person I am. I feel like…I feel like I can’t predict myself. I can handle the most unhinged situations, then I fall apart at something as simple as ordering a coffee for myself.”

“No offense, but what unhinged situations have you been in?” Bronx asked.

Lucas shrugged. “I mean, like last fall when the guys snuck in a bunch of Jack Daniel’s to drink after the tournament…”

“I’m sorry, what ?” Bronx asked.

Lucas froze and paled. “Ah ha. Ha. Ha. Diiiid I not tell you about that? Oh, well…anyway, it’s time for my shift, and?—”

“Freeze.”

Lucas did.

“Explain.”

He groaned. “I didn’t drink. My jackass teammates did. And like, metaphorically, the sight of a bunch of blind teenagers wasted on a shot of mid whiskey and trying to navigate a hotel hallway was…interesting.”

“No one told me about this,” Bronx said darkly.

“Yeah. It was kind of hushed up.”

“ You didn’t tell me about this,” Bronx corrected.

At that, Lucas turned to face him. “No offense,” he mimicked Bronx’s former tone, “but you were already trying to keep me in a little box wrapped in bubble wrap so I couldn’t even get a paper cut. I thought if you knew that I’d been around booze, you’d pull me out of school and make me go to one of those weird religious homeschool programs.”

Bronx covered his face and sighed. “I’m so sorry I screwed up as badly as I did. You absolutely can tell me if your friends are doing something like that. I’ll help you. I’m not going to punish you.”

Lucas softened. “I know that now . And part of that’s probably because you’ve got some guy you’re seeing?—”

“I’m not seeing a guy,” Bronx said quickly.

Lucas scoffed. “Yeah, right. You’re out all night and acting sketchy as hell the next day. I had to lie to Uncle Dallas for you, and he’s been texting me asking me to find out what you’re hiding. Not to mention, you’ve been in an actual good mood for the first time in, like, three years. It’s dick. It has to be dick.”

Bronx wanted to curl up and die before he talked with his son about the dick he was getting. “Stop talking right now, or you’re going to end up an orphan, and neither one of us wants that for you.”

Lucas burst into a fit of giggles, and he reached for Bronx, grabbing him and hugging tight. “Whoever it is, I’m happy for you. You deserve someone good to you for once.”

“Your dad wasn’t always bad. And I’m not seeing anyone, okay? I was just…out.”

“You know I can literally hear when you lie, right? It’s my superpower, and it’s telling me you’re full of shit.”

“Language.”

“I’m almost too old to get grounded,” Lucas declared. He reached between his feet and pulled up his folding cane. “Wanna point me in the right direction?”

Bronx looked at the back of the building. The door was the same color as the painted brick. “It’s about three feet to your right if you step out and walk straight ahead. Lane said to text him, and he’ll let you in. No one can hear the back door if someone knocks.”

Lucas opened his door and stepped out, unfolding his cane before he swept his hand down his front. He was in black slacks and an old white T-shirt with nonslip shoes. He looked official. He looked so goddamn grown up.

Bronx had a sudden urge to take a photo and send it to Jules, and he hated himself for it because even if they hadn’t split, he knew his ex wouldn’t have cared. God, he’d wasted too much of their lives on that man.

“Lane said he’ll give me a ride home,” Lucas said, leaning back in to the car. “Will you be there?”

“Of course I will.”

“Okay, but just so you know, I won’t mind if you’re not. I want you to be happy, Dad. I really do. Also, do me a favor and drive away before I get to the door. I want to do this by myself.”

Fuck, it was like the first time Bronx had dropped him off at his school, and Lucas hadn’t wanted him to walk him inside. It hurt. But in the best way. “I love you, and good luck.”

“Thanks. Love you too. Go away now, but don’t run me over.”

Bronx did his level best not to give in to the urge to ignore his son’s request, and instead, he pulled out of the space and headed for the street entrance before Lucas made it to the door. He reached the first stoplight, then grabbed his phone and hooked it up to the car and dialed the first number that pulled up.

“I was hoping I’d hear from you today.” Monty’s accent was like a warm wash of tide coursing along his shore .

Bronx flushed, and then the light turned green, and he started forward. “About that offer. Are you free tonight?”

“I’m free whenever you want me.”

“Now,” Bronx said.

Monty chuckled softly. “You know where to find me, mon chéri. I’ll be here. Waiting.”

That was all he needed to hear.