He pulled out his phone to call Daniel, and his friend answered on the second ring. “You’re interrupting.”
“What? You watching paint dry?”
“More like a dozen cameramen all groaning since we’re going to have to do this take over,” Daniel told him. “Whatever you’ve got to say, make it snappy so that I can get back to it.”
Despite their razzing, Will knew his friend was happy to hear from him. They didn’t get together nearly enough lately, not since success had pulled the five of them in so many different directions. It was why Daniel had picked up Will’s call in the middle of a take for his home improvement show. Will would drop anything for any of the Mavericks, even if he was in the most important business meeting of his career. They, along with Bob and Susan, always came first.
Daniel owned the largest home improvement chain in the United States. He operated four plants across the country, manufacturing his own line of machines and tools. But the last time he’d held a paintbrush or a hammer—and used it for more than a shot on his TV show—had been in the previous decade. Will had started to wonder if that was a good thing for Daniel, who’d always been the guy that had not only liked working with his hands, but had also seemed to need it.
Just the way Will needed speed.
“You have the contact info for that guy in Italy?”
“Rupert?”
“Yeah. Sheet metal. Fiberglass fabrication. You said he’s damn near an artist.”
“Sure, I’ll text it to you now. That all you want?”
“Yeah, thanks. See you on Memorial Day. Bring beer.”
The conversation ended. They didn’t have deep discussions every day. But the Mavericks were always there for him no matter what. And vice versa.
The Maserati wasn’t a life-and-death issue that he needed to discuss. It wasn’t a business problem he wanted to mull over with one of the guys. Meeting a new woman didn’t usually rank up there, either. Yet there was something about Harper…
Something special.
CHAPTER FIVE
The following evening, the tattoo high on Will’s right arm disappeared from sight as he pulled a long-sleeved shirt over it.
The tattoo was of a muscle car with the words Road Warriors curved over it in stylized lettering, small drops of red dripping off the W and the second and third R. He never let anyone see it, not even the women he slept with, making sure that it was either dark in the room or that he didn’t take off his shirt. Even when dressed at his most casual, he chose T-shirts with sleeves of the necessary length.
When he was eighteen, Susan had suggested that he could get the tattoo removed. But he needed to leave it as a reminder of where he’d come from.
And of who he really was.
No matter how much Will changed on the outside, how many people he helped, or how much money he made—he knew he would always be his father’s son. A father who was a liar, a thief, and a bully. You’re a chip right off the old block, was what Gino Franconi had told him many, many times. And even though Will hadn’t seen his father in more than twenty years, he never wanted to forget that his blood ran dirty—didn’t want to think he could ever turn cocky and let his guard drop just because he hadn’t screwed up for two decades. He’d easily need a lifetime to make up for the liar and thief he’d been.
And yet, sometimes his need for that rush was just so damned strong...
Will had never put anyone in the hospital the way the teen who’d crashed into Jeremy had, but he’d still hurt a hell of a lot of people when he was younger, people who hadn’t deserved to have their cars stolen or their kids’ lives turned upside down by being dragged into a gang by a punk like Will. He’d hotwired stolen cars, drag-raced, fought hard, drunk hard. And that had been after his father had gone to prison and Will had moved in with Daniel’s parents. At the time, Susan had been a couple of years younger than Will was now, but she’d started going gray because of him. And Bob, the same age as Susan, had lost what little hair he’d had. Without Susan and Bob and the Mavericks, Will would have remained his father’s son for the rest of his life, still living in that dirty, neglected Chicago neighborhood.