Pieces of Summer

As much as I can’t stomach the thought of anyone fucking owning that place, let alone having Whit work there, I force a smile. It’ll keep me from getting castrated in my sleep. I hope.

“Happy you’re happy, Whit. That’s all that matters.”

Finally, she smiles, and I slip my belt on while walking away without worrying what will happen to me later.

“I’ll walk to the bar after work is over and drive you and your truck home if you’ll give me a lift.”

I never drink more than one or two at the bar, and she knows it. I’ll be plenty sober to drive myself home. Wh

y is it so damn important that I go to that fucking place?

“I should be fine, Whit. I’ll drive you to town though.”

“I’ll need a ride home, jackass. My car is still getting fixed. Tell Blake to stop having a beer with you and finish it up.”

Great. Now she’s pissed again.

“Fine,” I bite out.

Looks like I’m going to play in my own personal hell. Just picking her up the other day was damn near impossible. It was all I could do to keep my mind off it by staying on the phone and refusing to glance in the direction of the bowling alley.

The top still had a huge tarp hanging over it, which helped it from being real… From being gone… From truly belonging to someone other than me.

Whit smirks like she’s won something, and tosses her purse over her shoulder as I let her walk out first. She talks about the bowling alley all the way there, but I tune her out. It’s fortunately a gift of mine.

As soon as we pull up, I roll my eyes at the massive sign. Horrible fucking name.

Whit takes her sweet time collecting her things, and unfortunately, I see Bill Johnson walking toward me. Cursing, I roll down my window just as he reaches my truck.

“So glad you’re here. Two big ass statues just arrived four days late. Can you give me a hand getting them in?” he asks me.

My entire body tenses all over.

“Sort of running late. Any chance you can get someone else?”

He runs a hand over his bald head. “I wish. Chuck can’t lift a bowling ball without straining his back. And the rest are all women working here, because apparently the boss lady is feminist or something. I don’t want to ask anyone to hurt themselves.”

Whit flips him off.

“I’ll help you, dickhead. We’re stronger than we look. And she’s not feminist. She went based on experience from the applicants. Hence the reason you were hired, since you’re the only one with security experience.”

Bill casts a hopeful look in my direction, but I shake my head at him.

“Don’t look at me. She’s been ragging all day.”

A slight sting draws my attention down to the spot on my arm Whit just struck. She cradles her hand like she’s hurt herself, while glaring at me like it’s my fault.

“Yeah. You’re a lot stronger than you look,” I mutter dryly, climbing out of the truck. Fuck my night. This damn thing is going to become the bane of my existence.

“Thanks,” Bill grumbles. “I’m not sure how in the hell I’m going to be able to stick out a bunch of cranky women. Fortunately, the owner seems pretty cool—she’s a little weird, but cool. I was kidding about the feminist remark.”

I don’t say anything. I just want out of here as fast as possible.

He leads me around to the side, and my feet cement themselves to the ground when I see the two oversized statues…

It has to be a coincidence. A really fucked up coincidence.

“Eagles? Weird, right?” Bill asks, misreading my look. “Guess you like that since you have one tattooed on you.”