Sleeping on that lumpy sofa was one step above sleeping on the floor, and my discomfort was exacerbated by nightly dreams about my roommate. I prayed to God I didn’t talk in my sleep.
I fell into Boyce’s daily routine, not having much choice since my location on the sofa put me smack in the middle of it. He woke early every day and went out the door in shorts and sneakers. I’d feigned sleep as he crossed the dark living room, but quick window checks the past two days told me he was going into the garage. An hour later, he’d come inside to shower, change into jeans and steel-toed boots, make coffee, and wolf down a breakfast that would have hit my maximum daily calories in one go.
I joined him at the table this morning after pouring a cup of coffee into one of a dozen mugs imprinted with fishing wisdom. This one read “A bad day FISHIN’ is better’n a good day WORKIN’!”
Still groggy, I nibbled a piece of toast. “Do you work for an hour and then eat breakfast?”
“Not working. Lifting. Got a bench, barbell, a few plates, and some dumbbells out there. It’s the best time to work it in. Too tired by the end of the day.” He shoveled another bite of eggs and sausage into his mouth and flipped through a stack of paperwork. His hair was still damp.
“Hmm,” I said, staring into my coffee as if my imagination hadn’t just lit up like the bioluminescent phytoplankton that sometimes invaded the gulf during fall and winter nights.
I started guiltily when someone knocked on the front door.
Boyce frowned, backing his chair away from the table. It wasn’t even eight a.m. “You expecting anybody?”
I shook my head, and he stalked to the door and jerked it open, blocking the doorway. His shoulders lowered and he exchanged a subdued sentence or two with the person on the other side. He nodded and shut the door partway before crossing back to me.
Mama, I thought.
“It’s Dr. Frank,” he said. “If you don’t want to talk to him—”
“No. I’ll talk to him.” I braced myself before going to the door, but seeing the concerned face of the only father I’d ever known splintered my resolve. “Hi, Thomas.” I swallowed and blinked at the burn in my eyes.
He opened his arms and I stepped into him. “You okay, little girl?”
I huffed a tearful laugh. Little girl. “Yeah.”
After a moment, he patted my shoulder and we separated. “Listen, I know your mama put her foot down. But I bought you that car, and I have a foot too.” He gestured toward the drive, where my little red GTI sat. I almost ran outside to hug it.
If this was their idea of manipulation, it was downright cruel. After three days without it, I missed my car. Having transportation would make my life a hundred times easier, but that didn’t mean I was caving. “I’m not changing my mind. I’ve made my decision.”
“I see that, honey, and I’m not asking you to.” He scratched his chin, clear blue eyes inspecting me closely. “But can I at least ask how much this decision has to do with that boy?” He nodded toward the interior of the trailer. “Or the other one?”
They’d known nothing of my relationship with Boyce, and what they knew of my ex was that our parting was unpleasant but I’d gotten over it quickly. “Nothing. My breakup with Mitchell wouldn’t scare me away from something I wanted to do, and Boyce has only ever encouraged me to do what I want to do.”
“I see. And your decision reflects a desire to be a marine biologist, not just a desire to not study medicine? Because there are other alternatives—”
“It’s what I want to do, Thomas. And medicine isn’t. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize to me.” He chuckled. “I’m not that easily insulted.”
“Mama’s still angry though.” I wanted him to contradict me but knew he wouldn’t.
“She can be a bit… obstinate.” He arched a brow that said she and I were two peas in a pod. “But it’ll work out.” He took my hand and pressed my key ring into it. I couldn’t help noticing that my house key was on it as well. “I’ve got a few postsurgical appointments this morning. If I could hitch a ride to my office, I’d appreciate it.”
Throwing my arms around his neck, I whispered, “Thank you. Let me get dressed—I’ll be out in ten minutes.”
When I got outside, he and Boyce were standing at the mouth of the garage, hands in pockets, talking. Looking my way, Boyce angled his head in a single nod and disappeared inside the garage.
As I pulled into the street, Thomas said, “I take it you and Boyce Wynn are… closer than your mother and I knew?”
I nodded, my face warming at the type of connection I was allowing him to imagine between us, but I wasn’t in the mood to make excuses about where I was sleeping. Or not sleeping.
chapter
Sixteen
Boyce
“Dude, your girlfriend is hot.”
That wasn’t something I’d ever expected to hear from a female employee—if I’d ever contemplated the idea of a female employee. If I had contemplated it, let’s just say she wouldn’t have been anything like the girl watching my roommate of seventy-two hours climb the steps to the front door.
Pearl had pulled up five minutes ago and parked her little import on the gravel drive next to my TA. She’d grabbed her backpack from the backseat and waved a hand as she crossed the yard, glancing back at Sam before turning toward the trailer. We hadn’t discussed my employee, and this was the first day she’d arrived home before Sam’s dad arrived to pick her up.
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“What’re ya—blind?”
“I was.”
I said no more, hoping Sam would return to tightening lug nuts with that torque wrench. We’d wasted five minutes bickering about why she couldn’t use the pneumatic wrench to do it. (Because you need to learn how to tighten them using exact measurements first—by hand, I’d said. But the pneumatic is faster, she’d whined.) I finally stopped arguing with her and just stared until she started applying some elbow grease.
“Well, that’s cryptic?” she said, arching one blond brow.
“My roommate is not up for discussion. Neither—as I’ve already made plain—is my sex life.”
“Or lack thereof.”
“Shut it.” Man. Silva must be laughing his ass off over pawning this kid off on me. “Tell me what you do if the threads are oiled instead of dry.”
She rolled her eyes so hard her head followed the movement. “Reduce the torque.”
“Good, genius. By how much?”
“Um, fifty percent.”
I laughed and she scowled. “Not unless you want this guy to lose his wheels heading down the highway and come back to cuss you straight into the gulf, if he comes back at all.”
“Hey, y’all need something to drink?”
Sam and I both turned toward Pearl’s voice. She was holding two cans of Pepsi.
“Thanks!” Sam said, smiling. The hell? With that blond hair poking in every direction, her face looked like a happy cartoon sun. I hadn’t known she could be happy. “I’m Sam, by the way.” Or friendly.