Page 10 of Don’t Call Me Son

I close my eyes and just listen to them going back and forth, too exhausted to join in right away.

Jay complains about the heat. Kim teases him for being dramatic. They talk about tonight’s event; it’s part exhibition, part fundraiser. Coach likes showing us off to any scouts that might show up, but it’s also a ticketed thing for alumni and families to raise money for new equipment and track maintenance. The stands will be full, lights on, music playing. Exactly the kind of thing I usually enjoy… just not tonight.

Someone pats my stomach. “Arch, you with us dude?”

I turn my head toward Jay. “What? Sorry… totally zoned out.”

Jay laughs and sits up, reaching for a fresh bottle of water from the cooler Coach always brings. “I said, I bet your mom and Colt will leave a nice donation this term.”

I groan and push myself up onto my elbows. “Why did you invite them? I don’t want them here.”

Kim raises an eyebrow. “How come? Your mom is so cute. She proper loves you.”

I slap both hands over my face; that’s exactly the problem. Mom will be my biggest cheerleader; clapping, shouting my name, probably embarrassing the hell out of me in the sweetest way possible. And Colt… he’ll be right there beside her, arm around her shoulders, playing the perfect husband, while looking at me with completely different eyes. The same eyes that watched me beg and leak for him this morning. I feel guilty as shit.

Jay nudges my side with his foot. “Coach is gonna ride us hard if we don’t at least pretend we’re excited about tonight.”

“Tell me about it,” Kim sighs. “He’s already talking about the weekend. Said something about optional hill sprints Saturday morning, if we’re not too dead after the event.”

Jay snorts. “Optional my ass. That man doesn’t know the meaning of the word.”

I manage a weak laugh, brushing grass off my arms. The conversation drifts into normal weekend shit… who’s doing what on Saturday, whether Kim’s roommate is still hooking up with that soccer guy, how Jay swears he’s going to sleep for twelve hours straight after tonight. I try to nod along, but my mind keeps drifting.

Chapter Five

Colt

I pull up to the garage and kill the engine. The bay doors are already open, music thumping, tools clanging. In most shops the boss walks in and everyone suddenly finds something very important to look busy doing; not here. The second I step through the door; the banter hits me like a damn brick.

“Oi, look who finally decided to show up!”

“Thought you’d be too busy getting your dick wet to remember you own the place, boss!”

I grin despite myself. These cheeky shits are good friends as much as they’re employees, and I’m in far too good of a mood this morning to shut them down.

“Morning to you too, you lazy bastards,” I fire back, voice carrying across the shop. “I see the coffee’s already gone and none of you thought to make a fresh pot. Real stand-up crew I’ve got.”

Ricky, covered in grease up to his elbows, leans out from under the hood of a ’67 Mustang. “We left you the last cup. It’s cold; consider it your punishment for being late.”

“Late?” I snort. “I’m five minutes behind… that’s not late.”

“Yeah, and you look like you got dragged through a hedge backwards,” laughs Marco from the parts counter. “Your hair’s a fucking mess, man. Sarah ride you hard this morning or what?”

I freeze for half a second. Fuck. I completely forgot to fix it after Archie had both hands buried in it, gripping and pulling while he tried to climb me like a tree in the truck. That was hot as hell.

The lads are all smirking, clearly assuming it was Sarah who messed me up; I let them think that.

I run a hand through my hair and grunt. “None of your fucking business what my wife and I get up to. Now shut the hell up about it before I put you all on brake jobs for the rest of the week.”

They laugh louder, but they know I’m not actually pissed. I like it this way. I’d rather be the boss they can rib than some stuck-up asshole they’re scared of. They get the work done either way.

I quickly re-tie my hair back into a neat bun at the back of my head while they settle down.

“Alright, listen up,” I say, voice shifting into work mode. “Ricky, you’re staying on the Mustang today. I want that rebuild finished by end of week. Marco, you and Dex take the custom exhaust job on the Challenger. I want it loud but clean. Tommy, you’re on oil changes and tire rotations this morning. I’ll jump between you all once I’ve done the books.”

They nod, still grinning like idiots but already moving. I shake my head, fighting a smirk as I head toward the office. Little do they know it wasn’t Sarah’s hands in my hair this morning.

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