Page 8 of Finding Atonement

I’m not sure I do, but I don’t argue with him. I don’t need this psych evaluation to last longer than a few minutes.

“I need to finish working on the Ford,” I mutter, diverting as always.

“Jared.” He full names me, which stops my movement toward the door. He always calls me J or J-Dog—never Jared.

Slowly, I turn back to him. “What?”

“It’s okay to be happy.”

I swallow back the lump developing in my throat and nod.

“You’re allowed to be happy,” he repeats.

“Yeah, I know.”

I push through the door before that lump becomes so big I can’t breathe past it and head back into the workshop. Recovering the wrench I threw, I head back to the car I’m working on and, for a few moments, I’m lost in the engine and what I’m doing. Then, my eyes lift and slide toward the antiques store, toward Nia.

Damn.