Mancave

by Jo Raven

  “I think we’re all gonna be okay,” I say eventually, when Zane looks about to speak. “Yeah, we’ll be okay. Now tell me how everyone is doing. I want details.”

  “Fucker…” Zane laughs, and perches on my desk. “Where to start… Ask me and I’ll answer, how about that?”

  It’s a deal.

  * * *

  Speaking of Merc—he walks into the garage later in the day, after I’ve sent Zane back to Kaden’s where he’s staying with a promise to meet later.

  He stops a few feet away, pulling off his enormous earphones, his usual fixture, and running his hand through his blond hair that’s sticking up in every direction. I pull myself out from under the car I’ve been working on, and he starts, stumbling backward.

  What’s up with him?

  “Merc.” I get up and resist the urge to lift my hands, show I’m not holding weapons. “I didn’t know you were coming over today. Let me wash my hands.”

  “Yeah, sure.” He musses his hair again. “I mean, you don’t have to stop on my account.”

  “You were just passing through to here?” I give him a sharp grin, and he frowns.

  Ah, inside joke. Never mind.

  Swallowing a sigh, I go to the sink to wash the grime and oil off my hands. I wipe them on a filthy rug that plays the role of a towel and turn back to find Merc right where I left him, leaning against the car I’d been fixing, hair like a hedgehog and a faraway look in his eyes.

  “So what’s up?” I lift my fist, and he bumps it absently. “No classes and no work today? What’s going on?”

  “Nothing’s up.” He puts his earphones back on, takes them off again. His cheeks are flushed.

  “Ah-huh. Come sit down with me.” There’s a bench running alongside the garage bay, and I lead Merc there. Sinking down, I stretch out my legs and fold my hands behind my head. “Now we can talk.”

  Merc sighs and slumps beside me. “You’re a pain in the ass.”

  “Hey, you showed up here, looking all distraught and stuff. Should I ignore you?”

  A muscle works in his jaw. “Whatever. Look, Matt… you understand girls, right?”

  That’s a direct question, right there, and I asked for it. Still, I take my time and think back to my conversation with my six-year-old son last night. I shrug. “Maybe. On some days. Why? Girl trouble?”

  I mean, the kid’s handsome in that cool ice and roses way of Gigi and Ross. He’s been working out, too, and he’s strong. I’ve had him help around the shop more than once. I bet chicks dig him.

  So I’ve often wondered why we never see him with a girl—or a boy, for that matter. Whichever way he swings. I’d wonder if he’s asexual if it wasn’t for the fact I’ve seen him check girls out now and then.

  “If a girl likes you… you’d know, right? I mean, it’s not like they’re an alien race or anything… The signs should be clear.”

  Aliens, signs… “Um, I guess?” I remember Octavia looking at me, smiling, blushing—cooking for my kids, forgiving my crude ways.

  When did I know she liked me? Not sure I can put my finger on it. She says she fell in love with me from the start.

  The first time I saw her, I slammed my door on her face. So what gives? How did she know I liked her? Human relationships are fucking complicated.

  “Who’s this chick we’re talking about?” I ask, to buy some time. “Do I know her?”

  “Nah. Met her at college, we’re together in a class. But she’s just so… hot and cold, you know? She’s driving me crazy.”

  “Yeah?” I frown. That doesn’t sound good at all. Octavia was pissed at me sometimes, but she was right to be, because I was being a stupid ass. “Like?”

  “Like… she’ll just come sit close to me, pass me her pen, tell me we should meet for a coffee. And then, next time, she’ll just ignore me. It’s so fucking weird, man.”

  “Yeah.” I glance at him. “So why haven’t you told her off yet? Plenty of chicks on campus, buddy.”

  He shrugs. “I like her. When she’s in her good mood.”

  I wince. There’s a recipe for disaster right there… right? “Not sure that’s a good idea, Merc.”

  “I like… her eyes, her mouth, her fucking boobs, man…” Merc sighs dreamily, and I want to laugh but keep my mouth shut to keep him going. “I like her smell, her voice, how she likes the same songs I like, the same classes. I just like being with her, you know?”

  Oh shit. He’s crushing on this moody girl. “Can’t you talk to her? Find out what’s going on?”

  “I tried. She’s always running away. It pisses the hell out of me.”

  Dammit. Then I think, I was a moody bastard when Octavia came into my life and broke down my walls. She didn’t give up on me, even when I was a real asshole to her. She saved me.

  But I hesitate to say all this to Merc. What worked for us may not work for him. Besides, why the hell do I have to compare everything to myself and Octavia?

  “Look, I shouldn’t have unloaded this on you.” Merc gets up, adjusts the straps of his backpack on his shoulders. His jaw is clenched. “Asking you these stupid questions. You’re not my dad, and we’re not chicks to sit around talking about shit like this. Forget all this, okay? Gotta go.”

  Whoa. “Just a sec, man. Not only chicks talk about this shit. And yeah, I sure as hell ain’t your dad, but… Merc, wait!”

  He’s already marching off through the bay, and he’s damn fast. I lurch to my feet and jog after him, catching up with him right before he steps out into the street.

  “What?” he snaps, and if I had to bet, I’d say he’s pissed at himself for talking to me and opening up. “I said forget about what I said. It was a mistake.”

  “Fine. We don’t talk about it again. But Merc? Stop.”

  He stops and glares at me. “What now?”

  Ow. This kid could have been my own. He’s got the death-glare down to a pat.

  “You didn’t let me finish, man,” I tell him. “What I wanted to say is… you can always talk to me. Dudes talk about chicks, okay? A lot. Trust me on this. And yeah, girls are hard to figure out, and we try our best, but they’re all so different, know what I mean? Talk to her, see what she says, but don’t get too close, Merc… not until she shows you clearly that she likes you. Yeah?”

  Look at me, giving love advice. Who died and made me Cupid, right?

  Still, I care for Octavia’s siblings, and I’d hate to see Merc hurt.

  He fiddles with the straps of his backpack, not looking at me. “Yeah. You’re right. I’ll keep my distance until I figure this out. Thanks, Matt.”

  Anytime, I think as he puts his huge earphones back on and turns to go.

  Fuck, I hope I gave him good advice and didn’t just ruin his life.

  Then again, I have kids. That’s a risk I take every single day.

  Let’s hope I get it right.

  * * *

  Having drinks with Zane is a challenge—because the man doesn’t drink, not anymore. Not since Emma died and he drank himself into a coma from which he was damn lucky to wake up.

  His tall Mohawk is easy to spot as I walk into the dimly-lit bar. It’s a dark purple these days, the tips white. The silver rings in his eyebrow glint as he hops off his stool.

  We shake hands and bump fists and at last, our bro-greeting done, we take our seats, and I order a beer.

  Zane lifts his glass and salutes me with it before taking a swig. It looks like beer, but knowing Zane, it’s probably apple juice. “I thought you changed your mind.”

  “You out of your mind? Besides, I’m not late.”

  Zane makes a show of checking his watch. “Define late, then.”

  “Okay, so I’m a bit late. First day back at the garage, had a lot to do.”

  “I know, man. Just fucking with you. Have a drink, relax. Let your hair down. Or your beard. Whichever’s longer.”

  I laugh and rub at my beard as the bartender slides my beer in front of me. “You’re in a good mood.�
�

  “Yeah, I am. Life’s damn good right now. Sometimes… sometimes I’m so fucking scared it will all be snatched away again, you know?”

  Yeah, I do know exactly what he means.

  Taking a long gulp from my beer, I set the bottle on the bar and twist it around. “You really here just to see me?”

  “Yeah.” He rolls his eyes just a little. “Just wanted to talk to you. See your kids. Otherwise they’ll forget their awesome Uncle Zane, and where would that leave me, huh?”

  “You’re unbelievable.”

  He snorts.

  “Tell me how everyone is.”

  “Yessir.”

  “And no lip.” I smirk at him and settle in to hear how the Inked Brotherhood and the Damage Boyz are doing.

  Good, as it turns out. He was telling the truth after all, I guess. The Damage Control shop has expanded. The new shop is called Collateral Damage, and business is booming. Boys and girls and babies are all doing well.

  Finally my muscles, strung tight since he walked into the garage earlier, begin to relax.

  “And we have this collaboration with a tattoo shop in Chicago,” Zane is saying, “to… Jesus, who is that?”

  I turn to look—together with the entire male population in the bar, it seems. A beer bottle crashes to the floor.

  It should have been funny.

  But I know that head of white blond hair with their blue and pink streaks, that wide mouth, that curvy body. I know her, and I curse.

  I know this girl. Hell, I sure do.

  “That’s a wild one,” Zane mutters.

  “Yeah. That’s Octavia’s sister, Gigi.”

  “That’s Gigi?” Zane whistles. “She changed a lot since I last saw her.”

  Yeah.

  “That girl can turn heads,” Zane mutters, taking a sip of his undefined juice. “Don’t get me wrong, Dakota is the only woman who turns my head, but oh boy this one’s gotta have her pick of guys. She only has to crook her little finger.”

  “I know,” I grunt. I watch her slink by, hips swaying. “Dammit, I’m not her dad. Think I’ll be justified in punching any guy she brings home if he’s not up to par?”

  I rub at my temples.

  Suddenly Zane laughs. “Fucking hell, this has to be a headache for you. I bet you’re set on checking every potential boyfriend for flaws, as if it’s a car. Check the engine. Check for dents. Check the paint. Order an overhaul.”

  “Shut up,” I say but I grin. He’s damn right. “So what?”

  Not sure Gigi would appreciate it, though. She’s as strong-willed as her sister. I sometimes wonder if she knows the effect she has on guys.

  Most of the time, Octavia doesn’t have a clue how pretty, how sexy she is. I have a feeling her little sister isn’t much better off.

  But where Octavia just never believes it, it’s almost as if Gigi doesn’t want to know. Or doesn’t care. Probably also doesn’t care if she leaves a trail of broken hearts in her wake. A beautiful, natural disaster.

  I watch her vanish into the dark end of the bar and wonder who she’s here to meet.

  Wonder if I have a right to ask, later. If I should worry.

  About her.

  About him.

  “You want to meddle, fucker,” Zane mutters. “You’re too much like me.”

  “I am?”

  “Yeah. I run around trying to get my buddies to talk to me when they have a problem, and it’s like pulling nails. And then the shit hits the fan, and I make them wish they were dead for not talking to me sooner. Stupid dicks.”

  I snicker. “I doubt we’re alike, Zen-man.”

  He mutters something under his breath and calls the bartender over for a refill, lifting his glass.

  Still don’t know what he’s drinking.

  I take a swig from my beer. “I just want my family safe.”

  “That’s exactly my point.”

  “And they all go and do their thing anyway, because that’s how people are, Zane.”

  “Stupid dicks,” he agrees, and grins at me like a fox.

  Jesus. Chuckling, I slap his arm and down my beer, then lift the bottle. “Another.” I lean in and say into Zane’s pierced, metal-covered ear, “I’m glad you passed through, buddy.”

  Really glad.

  Chapter Twenty

  Octavia

  Summer is settling in for good. Gone are the cool spells. It’s too warm to think, and Matt gave me today off from work at the Mancave with orders to rest. He said the garage can go on for a day without me, and that it’s too hot inside the small office anyway with the air conditioner sputtering, on its last legs.

  There’s no arguing with him when he gets superprotective.

  Mary and Cole are staying with their other grandmother today, and Hailey is coming over, with the little ones. Mom offered to come over and help me make cold lemonade and cookies to have on the back veranda where it’s cooler.

  “You should sit outside and wait for me,” Mom says, taking out the trays of fragrant cookies. “Rest your feet.”

  “Mom, stop fussing. My feet are fine.” It’s only been two weeks since our trip to Destiny and back. My bump hasn’t even gotten much bigger. “Put the tray down here, and I’ll bring plates.”

  She sighs and grumbles, and I honestly don’t ever remember her putting her feet up in her life, ever—though truth be told I don’t remember her pregnant with Gigi or Merc. I was too little.

  “These came out good.” Mom places the tray on the counter and flits around the kitchen, gathering plates and glasses before I even take a step toward the cupboards. “I made you some butter cake, too. Did you see it? It’s here, all wrapped up.”

  “Mom! Slow down. And stop baking for me. I shouldn’t eat so many sweets.”

  “Oh, honey, I love baking for you. Baby needs to eat. And I mean, God knows when your sister will give me a grandchild. She’s a flighty one.”

  “Flighty? And what’s this discrimination? What about Merc?”

  “Merc would want to settle down.”

  “Merc? Are we talking about the same guy here?”

  “Deep inside of him, he wants to find a good girl and start a home. I know it.”

  Okay, Mom… I huff, blow a strand of hair off my face, and fan myself. So warm.

  “Go on, go sit outside. I’ll bring everything,” Mom insists, shooing me out, and I blink because… she’s wearing dangling earrings shaped like peacock feathers?

  Really?

  Something’s been different about her, lately, and I wasn’t able to put my finger on it until now, but there it is, plain as day.

  She’s a sexier version of my mom.

  Dressed in a flowing dress that ends above the knees, a wide belt cinched at her waist, considerable cleavage, with her hair pulled back in an artful chignon, and make-up.

  Yep, that’s make-up. Discreet, for sure, just a touch of mascara and eyeshadow, but it makes Mom’s pretty eyes shine.

  I stop and turn around. “Mom?”

  “Yeah, Tati. What is it?” She places her fists on her hips and smiles at me.

  “Why are you dressed up? What’s going on?” I glance around us. “Is there a photographer lurking around? Are we having a surprise party?”

  She frowns. “Surprise party? No, not that I know of. Why?”

  “You’re all… dressed up.”

  Her mouth opens and closes.

  Then she laughs. “Oh, that? You only just noticed?”

  Warmth seeps into my face. “Well, yes. What’s going on? You’re… Mom, are you dating someone?”

  “You make it sound like it’s a bad thing. I know I’m kind of old for that…”

  “What? No. Mom, I don’t think that.”

  She’s young. She had us young. She’s barely forty. “Who is the guy?”

  “A neighbor. Mr. Nelson.” Color rises to her cheeks. “Paul.”

  Oh my God. Mom is blushing because of this Paul. Never thought I’d see the day. It feels weird. A bit emb
arrassing. I mean, it’s my mom, and she’s blushing like a schoolgirl. She’s dating someone.

  But that’s just my daughterly hang-up.

  “I’m happy for you.” I catch her hands in mine, those callused, hard-working hands that look much older than the rest of her. “I hope he makes you happy. Don’t let him…” I swallow hard, flashes of Jasper Jones and Ross going through my mind. “Don’t let him hurt you, Mom, okay? If he doesn’t treat you right, you walk away.”

  Her eyes fill up. “Okay.”

  “You deserve only the best,” I whisper, and hug her. “The best in the world.”

  * * *

  “Can’t wait to see Ashley baby,” Mom says as she sets up the table on the veranda. “I don’t see her often enough, or Shawn baby, for that matter.”

  Mom for some reason decided to decorate the names of Hailey’s kids with the ‘baby’ tag. She says, if asked, that it’s to differentiate them from others, but what others? Not like we have any other Ashley or Shawn in the family.

  I dread to find out what she’ll be calling mine.

  A honk from the street sends us crossing the house to the front porch. Hailey’s car is parked right in the front, and I go down the steps to greet her. She smiles at me from behind the wheel.

  “Heya,” she says, and kills the engine. “Long time no see.”

  That’s true. “We should meet more often.” I wiggle my fingers at the kids in their baby seats in the back. “Hey, guys.”

  Shawn waves back, his smile uncertain. His hair is dark, falling straight like a curtain over his forehead. So cute. Ashley is facing backward, in her super baby seat, and can’t see me. Her small head bobs like an apple in a bucket.

  So funny.

  Hailey gets out of the car and together we get the kids out. She takes Shawn who is heavier, and I pick up Ashley who weighs practically nothing.

  I bury my nose in her blond curls. Why do babies smell so good? Like milk and sugar and powder.

  Mom leads the way to the back, and we sit in the comfy bamboo chairs with the big flowery cushions. I bounce Ashley on my knee, and Hailey places her chair strategically to prevent a hyperactive Shawn from tumbling down the steps to the garden.