Total pages in book: 260
Estimated words: 245483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1227(@200wpm)___ 982(@250wpm)___ 818(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 245483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1227(@200wpm)___ 982(@250wpm)___ 818(@300wpm)
That damn truck can wait till tomorrow.
All the tools are back where they belong except for a few wrenches on the bench. The shop itself is old, with a cracked concrete floor and chipped red paint on the far wall where the hangar's attached to the garage. When I bought this place, it was rundown and in desperate need of fixing up. I love the charm of it though, how it's beaten down but still standing strong. The history is what I look forward to when I come here every day. The property itself is large. An old pilot used to live here. He loved two things in his life, the ducks on the lake out back and his airplanes in the hangar.
Poor old man didn’t live long after he sold the place to me. I’ve still got an old Ercoupe from the 1940s he left here. I meant to fix it up, but time’s gotten away from me and work’s been steady.
I toss the cloth onto the bench and stretch my back, reaching my arms over my head and letting out a deep sigh. My back cracks, and it feels damn good. It's been a long day of hard work. And I'll have another one tomorrow. That’s what I live for.
The dim evening light streams through the open garage door, bringing a crisp breeze with it. It feels relaxing. I take in a deep breath and close my eyes, feeling the exhaustion flow through me. I don’t know the last time I had a good night’s sleep. Doesn’t matter how many hours I seem to get, I’m never well rested.
I pull the thin, dirty white t-shirt over my head, feeling my sore muscles stretch even more. My denim jeans sit low on my hips. They’re dirtied too, but I don’t give a damn about them. I ball up the shirt and rag, tossing them into the bin and get ready for the short walk up the hill and to my house on the other side of the dirt road.
The familiar sound of the door to the shop creaking snaps my eyes open. My body tenses, and my muscles coil. The shop’s closed, and there’s no one else out here for miles. There isn't a single reason anyone should be walking through my shop right now. I can hear heavy boot steps walking back here to the garage.
I straighten my broad shoulders as I slowly and silently pick up the largest wrench on the bench, my eyes staring straight ahead at the open door to the garage. The cold metal easily slips into my palm, feeling just right as my heart thumps and my breathing steadies. I only make it a single step when Jay steps into the doorway.
He’s just as tall as me, which would be intimidating to most. My arms are corded with muscle from years of hard work and manual labor. As are his, although I haven’t got the faintest idea what he does. I’ve never asked.
We’re both daunting men, the difference is that I try to hide it. I’m not looking for a fight or to scare anyone. I’m not sure Jay is either, but he can’t hide the darkness inside him or the terror of his past that eats away at him.
There’s a softness about my eyes and a gentleness in my rough voice. It’s enough to make people comfortable enough with me to get along just fine. There’s not a damn bit of that in Jay. There’s a hard edge in his eyes that never leaves. His shoulders turn in just slightly like he’s ready to fight at all times. He could maybe fool you with charm, since he’s got some of that in him, but the way his eyes pierce through you is enough to send a chill down your spine.
I’m usually not intimidated or frightened by anyone. I can stand on my own and take care of myself when I have to. But Jay has a side of him I’m pissed to admit frightens me. Not because of what he’d do to me, since I know I can take him. And not because I think he’d come for me. I toss the wrench down on the old wooden bench and start walking toward him, wiping my palms down on my jeans.
Jay’s not a threat to me; he’s not my enemy.
The fear is because I never know what Jay’s going to do. He’s fucked up in the head from his old man. Anger management doesn’t even begin to describe what he needs. He’s got problems I don’t know how to handle, and it doesn’t matter how much I try to help him. Some things you just can’t fix.
Nonetheless, Jay’s been there for me when I had no one. And I know why he’s the way he is. I don’t see him much, especially not since I picked up and moved to this tiny ass town, but if he needs me, I won’t turn my back on him.