Page 6 of Take Me to Church
“No.” I clench my fist, a little too bothered by the thought of my best friends being the ones to help Lydia. Of them being the ones she looks to for protection.
My memories of her have always mattered to me more than they should. Over the years I relied on them to remind me I wasn’t always the ruthless man I’ve turned out to be.
But her memories of me obviously didn’t sit the same. For years, Lydia thought I left without a second thought, choosing to stay in the fucked-up world that tried to break her, and that bothers me. Almost as much as it bothers me I can’t go find Myra tonight and get her someplace safe. “I need to be a part of this if it happens.”
I haven’t been back to the little town in Arkansas where we grew up since I was thrown out in the middle of the night fifteen years ago. Sent away to survive on my own with nothing but a half-assed homeschool education and a complete lack of understanding on how the real world works.
Tate watches me a second longer, clearing his throat before shifting to a less touchy topic. “Simon called earlier. Said he was coming in early Friday so we could rehearse for the show this weekend.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Simon is notorious for rolling into town an hour before we’re set to play.
Or an hour before we’re set to knock heads together and pull a woman from a bad situation.
He grew up in the same sort of way I did and it’s left him unwilling to put down real roots. To lose any of the freedom so many people take for granted.
“It sounded like it was a done deal. His job in West Virginia is finished and he’s packing up to head back this way.” Tate tips back a little of his bourbon, rocking his jaw from side to side as he rolls it around his mouth before swallowing. “Sometimes I wish I had his life. It might be nice to get away now and then.”
I manage to chuckle at that. “You and I both know you would hate not having a consistent schedule.” Tate is a creature of habit. Even more than I am. He gets up at the same time every day. Does his laundry on Sundays. Eats his lunch at noon. Hell, I’m pretty sure he even plans his shits.
“Don’t act like you’re not just as bad as I am.” Tate’s mouth curves in a slight smile. “I see your bedroom light go out at the same damn time every night.”
In my younger days I might’ve been ashamed of my boring life, but that was back when I thought the only way to live was wild and free.
It’s probably the same way Lydia’s living now, stretching her wings after spending so many years being caged and controlled.
“I get up early.” I take another sip of my bourbon, this one more sparing than the last few. “If I don’t get enough sleep, it’s a hell of a lot harder to haul piles of shit out to a dumpster.”
Tate lifts his pointer from the rim of his glass and aims it at me. “That’s why my business is better than yours. No heavy lifting.”
His claim isn’t entirely true, but most of the lifting Tate does is limited and aided by machinery. Fixing cars isn’t clean or easy work, but it’s not quite as back breakingly physical as the career I fell into.
“That’s probably why you’re getting soft around the middle.” The jab is unfounded and we both know it. Tate is every bit as solid as I am, only he has to put in time at the gym while I get more than enough of a workout at my job.
Tate rubs one hand across the flat plane of his stomach, grinning at me. “It’s all the potlucks my employees have.”
“You better watch out. Someone might try to start poaching your staff.” I shove away the last of my drink, deciding it’s not worth suffering over tomorrow. “Hell, it might be me.”
“Liar.” Tate sets his own drink down, proving I’m not the only one making different decisions than they used to. “You know damn well they wouldn’t come work for you anyway.”
I scoff, feigning surprise. “Why the hell not? They’d get ten weeks paid vacation a year.”
Tate’s head falls back on a laugh. “You have to give them ten weeks off because of all the stuck-up old bitches they have to deal with.”
I make a tsking sound. “The richest men in Memphis don’t appreciate being called bitches.”
Tate smirks. “I bet a few of them would pay extra for the women on your payroll to call them worse.”
He’s not wrong. Both our businesses are staffed mainly by the women we’ve helped over the years. Freeing them from a bad situation isn’t enough to really make a difference in their lives. They need a way to support themselves and the children they often bring along. Residential demo and car repair might not be the most glamorous of professions, but they pay well and provide the stability these women are searching for.
Plus they know their bosses won’t hit on them.
“I don’t doubt that.” I straighten, snagging my glass and Tate’s. “And after what they’ve been through, a few of them might be willing to do it for free.” I carry the glasses out of my office with Tate following behind me. “Speaking of time off, I’ve got the next few weeks free if you want me to help out at your place.”
Tate, Simon, and I, along with most of the family we’ve managed to build ourselves, have taken over a dead-end street in an old industrial park on the outskirts of Memphis. In the past five years, we’ve managed to purchase every building on the block, renovating them one by one into the kinds of homes none of us ever dreamed we would have. Many of the houses are fully finished, but a few of us are dragging our feet.
Or maybe we just don’t have the same motivation.
“I might take you up on that.” Tate leans against the custom concrete counters in my kitchen as I load our glasses into the dishwasher. “I’m getting real tired of living in a construction zone.”
