Down on Me (Man of the Month 1)

So, no, Reece didn't begrudge the man. Even if he did want to kill him.

He took another swallow and sighed as the liquid fire lit his veins. It had been one hell of a crappy night. And the worst of it? That the one person he wanted to talk to was the one person he couldn't call. Fuck.

He couldn't even ring Brent. For one thing, Reece had no interest in confessing the truth. For another, he happened to know that Brent was still at The Fix. He was on until closing, and after that, he was crashing, planning to grab a few hours of sleep before spending his day off tomorrow with Faith. A school day, but considering Faith was still in kindergarten, he'd told Reece that he was willing to break the rules.

Maybe he should call Megan...

She might not be able to burn the thought of Jenna out of his mind completely, but she could at least give him a few hours peace.

He started to reach for his phone, then pulled his hand back. It wasn't peace he wanted; not really. He'd rather feel this way and crave Jenna than have another woman in his bed. Because no matter how much he might like the woman or how good the sex might be, it couldn't be anything but hollow.

And Reece didn't think he could ever settle for hollow again.

Frustrated, he took another sip, then closed his eyes and tilted his head back. He didn't intend to go to sleep, but the next thing he knew the light from his east-facing window was streaming in, warming his skin and urging his eyes to open and face a new day.

A day without Jenna.

The thought made him groan, and he forced himself off the couch. His muscles protested--he'd slept all night sprawled half-on and half-off his sofa--and his head ached with the dull throbbing of a hangover and the uncomfortable residue of Jenna-filled dreams. He felt like shit, but he was determined not to spend the day watching a mental movie of Jenna rolling around in bed with Easton.

By seven, he'd shoved a faded concert T-shirt over his head and had tugged on a pair of threadbare jeans. By seven-fifteen, he'd washed down a piece of toast with a glass of orange juice. And by seven-thirty he was under the carport, a power sander rumbling in his hand as he stripped a layer of cracked, faded varnish off the final door of his dad's kitchen cabinets.

He worked slowly, meticulously, letting the work beat back all other thoughts until there was nothing but him and the wood and the promise of turning something old and battered into something shining and new. Soon enough, he made the final pass, then switched off the machine and turned around to find a tack cloth.

It wasn't hard to find. As soon as he reached out, his father put the grungy brown cloth into his hand. "Little early for carpentry, isn't it, son?"

"Oh, hell, Dad. Sorry. Did I wake you?"

His dad waved the question away. "You know me. I'm up with the sun. And Edie's never slept past six in her life. But I haven't seen you up this early since, oh, never."

Reece smirked. He'd never been an early riser, but his father was also prone to exaggeration. "Just trying to make some progress." He'd taken on the cabinet project a few weeks ago after his dad's current girlfriend, Edie, had made an offhand remark about how battered they were looking. Reece figured he'd do the kitchen cabinets first, then tackle the bathrooms in the summer.

"I saw you come in," his father said, leaning against one of the carport's support posts, then lighting a cigarette.

"Those things will kill you," Reece said automatically. He'd been trying to get his dad to quit for his entire life, with no luck. For that matter, his dad's three ex-wives--including Reece's mother--had been equally unpersuasive.

"Might do," his dad said, just as he always did. His father had been smoking since he was fifteen years old, and had told them all that he didn't see any reason to quit now. "Was pretty late," he added, and it took Reece a second to realize they were back to talking about what time Reece got home last night.

"Well, what with being thirty and all, I thought I could stay out without calling home first."

"Stayed up pretty late, too," his dad continued, clearly ignoring the sarcasm. "Saw your light on," he added, by way of explanation. "Now here you are, up with the sun."

"Your point?"

His dad exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Just wondering if there's something on your mind."

Reece sighed. He should have known it was coming. "No," he lied. "Okay, yes. I was thinking I might want to stay in the apartment a little bit longer than I'd originally planned. I'm not quite ready to dive into building the house yet, and so long as you don't mind me living in your backyard, I'd rather not deal with the hassle of moving all my stuff."

The lie rolled out easily. The last thing Reece wanted to do was tell his miserly father that he'd essentially given his savings to Tyree in exchange for part ownership in a failing bar.

Not that Reece was pessimistic about their chances--he wasn't. He just didn't want a lecture from his father. Reece might be thirty years old and able to bench press over two hundred and fifty pounds, but as far as Charlie Walker was concerned, Reece was still the skinny fourth-grader getting picked on by the sixth-grade bully.

"Should be okay," Charlie said. "Edie was thinking about letting young Oliver stay there starting in late August."

"Oliver?"

"Her youngest grandbaby. Starting at UT in the fall. You figure you'll still be in the apartment then?"

Reece raised a brow. "You figure you'll still be with Edie?"