Page 7 of Ace of Spades

"Don't even think about it," Carter grumbles as he watches me over the rim of his red Solo cup.

"I'm not doing anything." I narrow my eyes. "What's in that cup anyway?"

"It's just soda,Dad." He smirks. "Don't worry I'm not gonna get your ass in trouble. I know what this is."

My younger brother finds joy in being a smart ass. But I don't entirely trust him tonotstir up chaos. It's basically been his MO our entire lives.

"Good. Because the last thing I need is the underaged crowd you insisted on inviting finding booze stashed around this place. I'd like to keep my business—and my freedom."

I slide a hand into my pocket and survey the garage. Low-level mayhem ensuing. High risk of stupidity.

Besides my crew, everyone else looks... young. Too young to be clients. Too young to hold a conversation without using the word “vibe”.

So why the hell I let Carter talk me into hosting a Halloween party aimed squarely at my son's generation is beyond me.

I haven’t exactly been in my right mind lately. This party is proof of that.

Doesn’t help that a rival shop just opened across the pass, already poaching our regulars and making me suddenly accept every job that comes our way. Long gone are the days where we have a nine month waitlist.

But Carter swears the younger crowd will boost us online. Social clout. Viral buzz. Whatever the hell that all means.

Me? I’d prefer solid connections, word-of-mouth, and not watching two kids grope each other five feet from my office door.

The music is pounding louder than it's ever been in here. I wouldn’t be surprised if the cops show up. Honestly, I’m kind of wishing they would. It’d save me the trouble of shutting this circus down myself.

Two teenagers are full-on dry humping in the corner, and I’ve just about hit my limit.

“You know what—”

“Iknewyou were gonna do this,” Carter groans before I even finish.

“Do what?”

“Chicken out, man. Youalwaysdo. Trust me, this is exactly the kind of attention SKC needs. When’s the last time the shop got any buzz? 2014?”

“It hasn’t been that long.”Has it?“And anyway, this isn’t what guysmyage do, Carter. We don’t throw ragers. We have responsibilities and…” I gesture vaguely toward the twerking mob, “sense.”

“Guys your age?” he repeats, eyebrows raised.

“Hell, guysyourage too. You just never outgrew your wonder years.”

Carter and I are ten years apart. But it might as well be decades by the way acts.

“Hey, just admit you’re jealous I’m not full on midlife crisis-ing like you.” He grins.

"Crisis-ing isn't a word," I shoot back, much to his chagrin.

Besides, is forty really mid-life? I feel like I at least have another decade before I can call it that. But maybe I’m in denial.

A kid in a ragged Jack Sparrow costume stumbles by and crashes into the trash can, sending soda cans rolling across the floor. Definitely sneaking booze in.

Carter and I exchange a look. He’s about to say something smart that’ll probably piss me off, but I cut him off. “I need air.”

I rip off my eyepatch, the only pirate adjacent thing I'm wearing, and let it fall to the ground.

Finishing off my cola, I set the can on top of the trash pile before tugging the bag out and cinching it shut. I heave it over my shoulder and head outside to the alley.

"Le-vi." There's an edge in Carter's voice. I hate it when he says my name like that. I feel like I'm letting him down.

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