Page 121 of Truck Me
I’m quickly shown to the auditorium where the theater teacher is waiting for me. I’ve met Tide Waters a few times at Posey’s Lounge. Since moving to Beaver to take over the theater and music classes, she and Clara have become good friends. I mostly remember her for her amazing singing voice. Although, seeing her now, she reminds me of Charlotte. Tide is a Southern Belle, and there isn’t anything she can do to hide her former beauty queen habits. Same as Charlotte.
“Garret.” She rushes toward me with her hand held out. “Thank you so much for coming on such short notice. You’re our savior.”
Taking her hand, I give it a shake. It’s not a firm shake, but rather soft and delicate. As if she might break if she squeezes my hand too tight.
She’s exactly how I expected Charlotte to be. But Charlotte quickly proved to me that she’s much stronger than she looks. Especially after she eagerly and willingly dropped to her knees the first night we were together. I hadn’t expected her to do that. I think she won my heart that night.
“It’s not a problem. Just point me in the right direction and I’ll get started.”
“Of course.” She drawls. Her smile is wide and perfected exactly like I’d expect from someone raised on politeness and kindness.
She leads the way behind a side door to the left of the stage. It’s dark, so she flips the lights on.
“It’s right here.” She stops next to the stairs that lead to the stage. It looks like someone took a hammer to the third step. After a quick inspection, it looks easy enough to fix.
“This should be easy. I’ve got all the supplies I need in my truck. Is it okay to run power tools back here?”
“Of course. Whatever you need.”
I nod and head back out to my truck to gather the things I need while she heads off to teach a class. It doesn’t take me long to get set up and cut the new plank for the step. I always keep a few boards of various sizes in the bed of my truck. I never know what a client might need, and sometimes one board will do the job.
Within thirty minutes, I’ve got the new piece cut and ready to nail into place. Just as I fit it on the step, a voice I’m not too fond of speaks from the dark corner of the room.
“I guess they let any piece of shit in here, huh?” Linden says.
I turn just as he steps out of the shadows. “I’m guessing since they let you work here, that’s a yes.”
“Always a dick, aren’t you?”
I narrow my eyes on him. “Um, I was minding my own business, getting this job done. You’re the one who interrupted me with an insult.”
He stalks closer, his eyes focused on the steps. The look on his face suggests he’s not happy with my work, but I know that’s bullshit. I do good work. He’s just pissed I’m the one doing it.
“I heard Charlotte left town.” I tense at the mention of her name.
I’d heard she left for Chicago the day after we submitted the paternity test. I don’t know if it’s temporary or permanent. I certainly hope it’s temporary.
“Yeah. What’s it to you?” I ball my hands into fists, fighting the urge to tell him to fuck off. That’s what he wants. He’s goading me into fighting him.
He shrugs. “Oh, I don’t know. How about the fact that you had no right to touch Char? She belongs to Tanner.”
I snort. “Charlotte is her own woman. She doesn’t belong to anyone.”
“I noticed.” He gives me a sinister grin that makes it really hard not to punch it off his face. “You managed to chase her away in what, a few months? At least Tanner kept her happy for a couple of years. Now that she’s dumped your ass, maybe he can have another go.”
Taking a step closer, I growl. “Watch it.”
He matches my step. “Or what?”
“Keep pushing me and find out.”
The laugh that escapes him is villainous. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his dress pants and strolls around the room like he’s taking it in for the first time. I cross my arms over my chest and watch him closely. He’s up to something, and I don’t like it.
I can’t say I’ve ever seen Linden dressed up for work before either. Seeing him in dress pants and a nice button-down shirt is in complete contrast to the jeans, flannels, and t-shirts I’m used to seeing him wear.
“What do you want, Linden?” I ask, hoping he’ll get to the point.
“Who says I want anything?”