Page 46 of Tear Me to Pieces
Myra uses the scraper I gave her to smear a thin layer of drywall compound over one of the many screw holes embedded into the wall of her future family room. “It’s not the least fun I’ve ever had.” She gives me a hint of a smile as a blush tints her cheeks. “But it’s also not the most fun either.”
Fucking hell.
I clear my throat, doing my best to pretend I don’t know what she’s thinking about right now. Pretend I’m not thinking about the same thing. That I’m not considering how I might be able to convince her to let me take her upstairs and see how far that blush reaches.
Refocusing on the task we’ve been working on most of the day, I settle back into the rhythm, hoping this conversation lasts, even if it’s already got me trying to work with a half-hard dick. “I know it’s not the most exciting way to spend a Sunday afternoon, but it’ll be worth it when we have somewhere to hang out and relax.”
And I need us to have somewhere to hang out besides her bedroom, because I already know I can’t be trusted lying next to Myra. If Christian hadn’t dragged us out of bed and straight to his house, I’m not sure how our morning would have played out. Myra might be okay letting me touch her—letting me please her—but I doubt she’s as prepared to jump all-in as I am.
I also doubt my ability to stay the course when she’s warm and willing under me. I don’t want to influence any decision she makes, and if I’m not careful, I’ll try.
“I know. And that’s the only thing keeping me going right now, because this is so boring.” Myra returns her focus to the line ofscrew holes in front of her. “I can’t believe you think this is better than spending a month off relaxing.”
She’s not the first person to question my need for accomplishment. But she might be the first person I want to explain it to.
Moving to the seam closest to her, I put down a line of compound as I lay out the circumstances of my unfortunate upbringing.
“I don’t like sitting around. Don’t like feeling lazy.” Never taking my eyes off my task, I carefully layer the paper strip of tape on top of the compound, and using my spatula to keep it in place as I work my way down the wall, I offer her the quick and dirty reality. “I grew up with parents who were neglectful at best and abusive at worst. They drank. Partied. Did drugs of all sorts. And left me to fend for myself.”
I don’t revisit that time often. Not because it’s too painful, but because it doesn’t matter to me so much anymore. The days of them dictating my choices and actions are long gone.
With one exception.
“My mom pretty much ignored me, but my dad was just a mean piece of shit.” Tearing the paper at the bottom of the wall, I hook the roll to my toolbelt and move on to smoothing another layer of compound on top. “As I got older, it drove him nuts to think I might be better than he was. That I would succeed where he failed. So he cut me down at every opportunity. Tried to make me think I’d never amount to anything.”
Myra has stopped what she’s doing, and her attention is fully on me now. Listening intently as I go on.
“But even as a kid, I knew I didn’t want to be anything like him. He was a lazy bastard who expected my mom to work for the money to feed their habits, so the second I could start making money, I did.” I give her a sidelong glance. “Granted, it wasn’t always the most legitimate income. But at that point in my life, I didn’t know there were other options out there.” I smooth down the line of compound, widening it enough so the seam will be invisible. “I wasn’t one of those kids who was raised believing he could be whatever he wanted to be. I didn’t hear how I should be a doctor or a lawyer or an accountant. I honestly thought the best I could do was graduate high school and hustle my way through life.”
No one came to my graduation, but it was still one of the proudest moments of my life. Thanks to the hell I was living in, my GPA was barely above the threshold required, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the diploma in my hand.
“By then I’d already met Tate and Christian, and we were doing our thing. I’d left my house the second I could get away and was just doing everything I could to figure out how to beat my old man at life.”
Myra’s full lips press into a frown. “It doesn’t sound like that was very difficult.”
I chuckle, shaking my head as I finish up the seam I’m working on. “It wasn’t. But when I got there, I started to look around and see how much was still wrong with where I was.”
I was one of the first to point out to my brothers that what we were doing was wrong. The first to make noise about changing who we were. The first to figure out a legitimate way to make the kind of money we all hoped for.
“I did some research. Figured out what else I could do. That led to me working for a guy who owned a construction company. I didn’t hate it, but after a couple years, I realized construction wasn’t how I wanted to spend all my days, and I decided to try out some other options. Shawn taught me how to weld, and the rest is history.”
I move to the next seam and start filling it in. “I liked the work, and it gave me the opportunity to see all the places I’d never been before.”
Myra’s head tips, watching me as she asks, “I thought you left because of what happened with your ex?”
“At the beginning, what happened with Lenore was the main reason, yes. But as time went on, I started to enjoy the travel. Getting to explore new places and meet new people.” Deep down, I hoped eventually I’d find the person I was looking for in one of the cities I went to.
Now I’m wondering if I traveled all those miles just to circle back to where I started.
Myra’s eyes linger on me a few seconds before she faces the wall and slowly returns to scraping across screw holes. “Where are you going next?”
“Florida.” I’m normally champing at the bit to get out of town. This time? The very thought of leaving turns my stomach. “I’ve been contracted to help repair a bridge down there.”
Myra nods. “Will you be gone for a long time?”
“Hopefully not. They’re prepping everything now, so I should be able to get there, do my part, and get out.” The sound of myblade echoes through the space as I slide it down the wall a little harder than I need to.
Myra falls quiet, and again I’m left wondering what she’s thinking. What’s percolating around that pretty head of hers. I keep working, trying to keep myself from digging into that unknown. It’s not in my nature, though. If she’s upset, I want to fix it.
