Page 89 of Forgiving Utah
Glancing up from the counter I'm currently wiping down, I gape as Christian drops a handful of cash into my palm.
“What’s this?”
He leans his hip against the bar and crosses his arms. “Your tips.”
“Uh… why? You always hold onto them.”
“Yeah,” he says, avoiding eye contact. “I know.”
He's been doing that all day. Not looking at me, being vague, hardly speaking. I don't know if it's because we fucked last night or slept until noon wrapped in each other's arms, but he's been distant ever since we woke up. If it weren't for the fact that I've been worrying about my court date tomorrow, it would have bothered me more, but I've been lost inside my own head.
“So what’s the catch?” I ask, slowly stuffing the money into my pocket.
Christian watches me from the corner of his eye. “No catch.”
I stare at him, contemplating whether or not I should tell him about the court date, when he sighs heavily.
“I can’t keep doing this shit, man. You're a grown adult, not one of my siblings. The choices you make are your own.”
A heavy feeling settles into the pit of my stomach. “You don’t trust me,” I say flatly.
He turns his head to meet my gaze. “I didn’t.”
That catches me off guard. “And now?”
We face off silently for a short moment. It's not until Taylor announces he's finished with the dishes that we finally look away from one another.
“Let's finish up and go home,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder.
My throat tightens almost painfully.
Home.
From telling me that I don't live in the apartment to calling it home, huh? Just like that?
“Christian, wait,” I say, wanting to get this court date shit off my mind. When he turns around and fucking smiles at me, though, it all dies in my throat. Shit.
How am I supposed to tell him that I might be going to prison tomorrow when he's looking at me like that?
Kingston Blake is certain the judge will take a plea deal, but still. What if the worst happens and I end up going away for the maximum? That's fifteen years. I'll be almost fifty by the time I get out, and all of this trying to do better will have been for nothing.
I can't. I can't take away the light in those hazel eyes or the soft grin on his lips. So instead, I simply whisper, “Thanks,” and get back to work like I'm not facing the end of my life as I know it.
Christian trusts me. Finally. Maybe he even forgives me for the shit I pulled last year.
But as the money weighs heavier and heavier in my pocket, I start to wonder if maybe I'd have been better off not knowing what that feels like when I'm on the precipice of losing it all.
PART TWO
The Rebuilding
CHAPTER THIRTY
Christian
Letting out an annoyed sigh, I stand back in my shed and inspect my haul for the day.
Parts are scattered across the workbench—frame pieces, a used carburetor I scored for cheap, some new cables still wrapped in plastic. I found a dented tank, too, that’ll need sanding and repainting. It’s not much yet, but it’s a start.
