Everly
Two days have passed since Halloween and I still feel the burning of betrayal in my heart. I've avoided the household, unsure how to maneuver myself through the hurt. It's difficult to understand why I feel so wounded. Part of me understands why they kept the information from me. If I had been in their shoes, I may have done the same thing. However, my outraged heart overrules my logical brain in this matter.
The guys still shadow me as I explore the property and spend time down by the river. Appreciating that they have not interrupted my solitude of solace, I sit on my bed and study the dream catcher I have hung from the iron headboard. With Doc's words about life playing again in my mind, "We have the power to create and rebuild it as we deem fit," I decide to confront Jack and pursue something that I had decided a week ago.
Finding Jack in his upstairs office, I gingerly knock on his door.
"Come in," he calls out in his rough, baritone voice.
Taking a deep breath, I walk in before I lose my nerve. "Jack, do you have a minute?"
Surprise flits past his face as he takes in my presence. "Sure, sweetheart. Come, sit down," he gestures towards a chair across from his oversized, oak desk. This is my first time in Jack's office and it is everything I expected. Three of the walls are a deep, denim blue. The exterior wall is log and dominated by an oversized window that provides a view of the lake. Sunlight spills into the masculine room that smells of wood and leather, providing an extra layer of warmth and comfort.
Settling into the leather armchair, I push my shoulders back and confidently say, "I want to get a job."
As he opens his mouth to interject, I continue, "I know that I lack a degree, so my choices are limited. But, I am smart and a fast learner. I have worked with my hands my entire life and I am a hard worker."
Jack sits back in his chair and rests his chin on his hand. He stares at me for a moment before standing and walking towards the window. Turning to face me, I can see anguish furrowing his brows. "Everly, is this because we kept information from you? Are you wanting to leave? Because you have to understand why we didn't tell you. It wasn't because we think little of you. It was because we genuinely wanted to protect you. You don't have to leave this place."
Confused by his train of thought, I quickly stand and walk over to him, "Jack, I don't want to leave. This isn't even about the secret. I understand why you guys did it, I do. It still irks me, but I understand. My wanting a job isn't about anyone but me. I want to make my own money. I want to buy my own car. I want to have some independence. I don't want to leave this place. This is...home." Taking a deep breath, I continue, "I'm tired of giving Hank power over me."
Studying my face for a minute before responding, Jack says, "Fair enough. Do you have a job in mind? We have the construction company that could always use extra help in the office or I bet you could waitress at Charlie's."
Shaking my head, I say, "I haven't thought that far ahead yet. There's something I need to do before I start applying for jobs. Which leads me to the second reason I knocked on your door. Could you drive me to town?"
A half-hour later, we are sitting in front of 479 Customs, Trent's auto shop in town. Staring at the giant, graffiti logo on the side of the large workspace, I try to draw from the courage I had earlier.
"You know," Jack says, "the stuff Trent said the other night, he wasn't directing all that towards you. He's been through a lot and I think that the whole night dredged up some of those old memories."
Looking at Jack, I respond, "I figured as much. Before you all came in, that Mel guy said some things. He was egging Trent on by using memories to taunt him." Looking back at the garage, I assert, "No one deserves to be tormented by the demons of their past," I say as I exit the truck.
As I approach the large, open bay doors, I can hear evidence of work being done by the sounds of a drill clattering inside. Loud rock music pours from speakers secured to the corners of the room and the smell of motor oil lingers in the air.
Trent is crouched down by a truck tire while another worker is operating under the hood. As I step into their workplace, Trent jerks his head up and stares at me. Setting down his tool, he reaches over and picks up a remote and mutes the stereo.
"Why the hell did you turn that off, I love that song," the guy working on the engine yells.
"Because, asshole. We got company," Trent explains as he wipes his hands on a washcloth tucked in his coverall pocket.
The man turns his attention towards me. He's a young man, early twenties, I assume. Taller than Trent with broader shoulders. His long, dark hair is tied up and rests on top of his head. His coveralls are folded down, showing off his black tank top that does little to disguise his toned torso. He wipes his muscled hands off on his pant legs as he walks over to me.
"Sorry, miss," he politely says. "What can we do for you?" His right eyebrow lifts, drawing attention to a scar that runs down the middle of it and his green eyes twinkle.
"What are you doing here, Everly?" Trent asks in a bored tone.
The giant man looks back at Trent and quickly back at me and smiles, "This is Everly?"
Returning his smile, I say, "I'm sorry, you have me at a disadvantage," holding out my hand in greeting.
"Nolan Matthews. Pleased to meet you, Everly," he says shaking my hand.
"Great," Trent draws, "We all know each other's names. You need to leave, Everly," Trent asserted. "Are the guys even aware that you're here? Or did you wander off on your own again?" he challenges.
Taking a deep breath, I approach Trent. "First of all, yes. Jack knows I am here. He's the one that drove me down and is waiting in his truck outside. Second of all, we need to talk," I declared.
Walking away, Trent hollers over his shoulder, "Sorry, I met my word quota for the day." He grabs the remote and unmutes the radio.
As he starts to work on the tire again, I stomp over and crouch down beside him. "That's fine!" I holler over the noise. "I can come back tomorrow and the next day and the day after that. In fact, I can keep coming back till you talk to me. Plus, I can probably catch you when we're back at the lodge. Or, I can show up at your cabin. You know, just pop on over whenever I want," I pester.
Scoffing in frustration, Trent stomps away yelling, "You got five minutes!"
I follow him into an office space. Or, what should be an office space. Currently, it is littered with papers and complete disorder. "Is this your office?" I ask in disbelief.
"It's the shop manager's office," he states.
Lifting my brows in shock, I mutter, "Well they can't be doing a very good job managing."
"Times ticking, Everly." Trent cautions.
"Okay," I roll my shoulders back, "here it goes. Trent, you're an asshole."
Lifting his eyebrows, he drones, "Excuse me?"
"You are, Trent. You've been a jerk to me since the day I arrived and that's only when you're not trying to avoid me. You never show up for movie nights. You edge your way out of a basic conversation. I mean, you can't even say, 'good morning', you just grunt."
"Your point?" he asked, unfazed by my accusations.
"My point," I bark, clearing my throat, I clarify, "My point is that although you are an asshole to me, you still showed up when I needed you the most. You protected me because, underneath that asshole exterior, you have a heart. You care. Whether you meant to or not, you became my friend. You said some things the other night that, while maybe truthful to some degree, were hurtful in your delivery. I just want for us to forgive and forget. Move on. Can you do that?"
Trent gawks at me for a minute before I see the corner of his mouth raise just a little.
Gasping, I point at his mouth, "What was that?"
Dropping the smirk, he replies, "Nothing."
"Holy moly! You smiled, Trent!" I shriek.
"Settle down, Sandra Dee, your five minutes are up," he quips.
Willing to let it go, I smile to myself with the satisfaction of knowing that I elicited a smile from a man that smiles too little.
As I begin to walk out of the room, I accidentally knock over a stack of papers that was balanced precariously on the desk.
Bending down to pick them up, I can't help but say, "Seriously, Trent, your shop manager isn't doing a good job. This is ridiculous," I blurt.
Trent helps me gather the fallen papers. "I'm kinda between managers at the moment. Can't seem to find one that knows what the hell they're doing."
Giving him a knowing grin, "Doesn't know what they're doing, or doesn't like working for you?"
Scoffing, he states, "Touché."
Looking around the office once again a light bulb turns on, "You could totally use me here, Trent."
"What? No. No, no, no. NO. Hard pass on that," he proclaims as he walks out of the office.
Following closely behind, I plead, "Come on, Trent! It's perfect. I need a job and I can tolerate you. Plus, I have experience with machines. I am organized and well, you know," I argue.
Spinning around he places his hands on his hips, "Know what?"
Seeing that Nolan is close by and the music is off again, I mumble, "Because of the aforementioned reasoning I stated before."
"Which was?" Trent challenges.
Exasperated, I fling my hands in the air, "That you're an asshole!" I announce a little too loudly. Nolan roars in laughter.
Continuing, I explain, "I, however, am not. I can help balance you out. I can handle customer relations. I imagine that has to be a thorn in your side. I can also organize the filing, answer phones, whatever you need. What do you say?"
Narrowing his eyes in annoyance, he challenges, "I suppose if I say 'no' you'll keep coming back day after day and continue the harassment at home?"
Without hesitating, I answer, "Yes."
Sighing in defeat, Trent grunts, "Then, I guess we'll see you Monday morning."
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