Page 5 of Hard Check
“Lifter,” Dawson said again.
Wyatt wiped his hands on a shop rag and tossed it on the bench. “Owner says he’s been keeping up on maintenance.”
“Owner’s full of shit.” Dawson didn’t look up from the Silverado he was working on. “Once you’re done proving me right, call for the part. He’s not getting it back today.”
Wyatt nodded once and headed for the office, phone in hand. The three brothers had everything worked out so they could play to their strengths. Wyatt took care of scheduling, ordering, and the books. Ethan floated wherever the day needed him, kept theradio on, kept the mood loose. Dawson put his head down and worked.
He’d been walking into this building since he was a kid, trailing behind his dad. The rhythm hadn’t changed much.
The Silverado needed new brake pads and rotors. Dawson pulled the caliper and set it aside. Grease in the creases of his knuckles, black under the nails, calluses layered over calluses. He’d stopped apologizing for his hands a long time ago.
Ethan rolled out from under a Chevy on the creeper, grease on his forehead. “Hey. You hear the Stags got a new guy? Trade from Florida or something.”
“I met him.”
Ethan sat up. “You what?”
“He came into the Box yesterday.” Dawson didn’t look up from the Silverado. “Ordered a drink, talked to Gunnar, left.”
“And?”
Dawson’s wrench slipped. He adjusted his grip and kept working. “And nothing. He ordered a drink, talked to Gunnar, left.”
Ethan was quiet long enough that Dawson knew he was grinning without looking. “What’s he like?”
Dawson shrugged. “Seemed like an arrogant shit who thinks he’s too good for where he’s at.”
Ethan’s grin spread slow. “Since when do you meet Stags players? You don’t even watch hockey.”
“He was already there when I walked in. That’s not meeting someone, that’s being in the same room.”
“You talked to him though.”
“He talked to me. There’s a difference.”
Ethan laughed and grabbed his water bottle. “Dawson Mercer, socializing with a professional athlete. Somebody mark the calendar.”
“I don’t even know what position he plays, Ethan.”
Ethan slid back under the Chevy, still grinning. “What kind of car does he drive?”
“Audi.” Leo had mentioned it. Dawson hadn’t asked.
“An Audi. In Port Haven.” Ethan’s laugh echoed off the undercarriage. “That thing’s gonna last about one winter.”
Dawson could hear Wyatt through the door. “Yeah, I understand that, but I need it by Thursday.” The voice he saved for suppliers and customers. Never raised it. Never had to.
He ate lunch on the tailgate of his truck. Sandwich from home, an apple that was a few days away from being a mushy mess. Ethan sat beside him with a gas station burrito.
“So, you coming to Sunday dinner?” Ethan asked between bites. “Becca’s on some nesting kick. Wyatt said she wants to cook for everyone.”
“She’s barely showing.”
“Tell her that.” Ethan wadded up the wrapper and lobbed it into the bed of Dawson’s truck. “You know, you could bring a date one of these days. Thirty-six years old and you’ve never once?—”
“I’ll be there.”
Unlike Wyatt, Ethan didn’t keep needling him about his dating life. Their oldest brother could be insufferable at times, insisting it was because he worried about Dawson’s disinterest in finding someone to spend his life with.
