Gracelyn Mae Harris was on a path of discovering who she was while I was on a path of erasing my judgmental thoughts about who I thought she was.

As she was learning about herself, I was learning about her, too.

She was weird, and spunky, and broken, yet somehow whole. I’d never come across a person who was so broken yet still whole.

The truth of the matter was that I liked her.

That was weird, too—for me to like a person. I didn’t know what that meant, mainly because I didn’t understand my messed-up feelings.

On the following days, I tried my best to shake off my thoughts of her. If I’d learned anything about feelings, it was that they made no sense whatsoever. So I kept busy in the shop. When my head was inside a car engine and music was blasting through my headphones, I was able to tune out the world around me.

I was able to get her eyes out of my mind for a small moment in time.

When I heard the bell above the front door ding, I took out my headphones and looked up at the front of the shop. A man in a suit stood there with his hands stuffed in his pockets. Tucker walked toward him, wagging his tail as he always did, to greet the stranger.

The guy pushed Tucker to the side with his leg and told him to go away.

My body tensed.

The dude was already on my bad side.

I walked over to him and cocked an eyebrow. “We’re closed.”

“What? Your sign says open,” he commented.

“Yeah. Then you shoved my dog. So, we’re closed. You can fuck off and take your car elsewhere.”

“I’m not here for my car. I’m here to talk about Grace,” he told me. “I’m her husband, Finn.”

“I don’t care,” I replied dryly.

“What?”

“I don’t care who you are. You pushed my dog, so you can still piss off.”

“Dude, that dog is hanging on by a thread. I probably did it a favor.”

“Are you trying to die today, or are you just fucking stupid? Leave.”

He didn’t.

“I need you to stay away from Grace,” he ordered me.

“I’m tired of people coming into my shop and telling me what to do.”

Finn looked like the type of asshole Grace would’ve married. He stood as if he came from money, wearing a suit that probably cost more than my whole wardrobe. If that princess were to ever fall for a man, it would be that knight in shining armor. He and I were different in almost every single way.

I couldn’t help but wonder how she found her way to me.

“Listen,” he started, “she and I are on the course of figuring things out between us.”

“You fucked her best friend. I think that case is closed.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t act like you understand the whole story when you only know a few chapters.”

“I don’t care about the story, and I don’t care about you.”

“You’re messing with her head, man. Her family is worried about her—I’m worried about her. She’s not acting like herself.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.”

“It’s not,” he snapped. Obviously, my comment got under his skin. “She’s not herself. She would never fall for a guy like you.”

“A guy like me?”

“You know…” His words faded away, and he shrugged. “You’re just not her type.”

“She must be more into cheating assholes.”

“Don’t act like you know me or my wife. We’ve been through more than you know. So, do me a favor and stay away from her.”

“No.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“She’s a grown woman. She can make her own choices. Now, get out of my shop before you’re unable to leave on your own.”

He let out a low whistle. “Quite a temper you’ve got there. Okay, I’m going. But if you’re smart, you’ll keep your distance from Grace.”

“I’ve never been known to be a smart man,” I sneered.

He nodded and turned to walk away. Before leaving, he glanced over at Tucker. “You should seriously think about putting that thing down. It’s a bit inhumane to keep him alive like that.”

He flung the door open and left, but not before his words hit me hard in my soul.

I walked over to Tucker, who was back in his dog bed, and I pet his head. “You’re a good boy, Tuck,” I told him, rubbing right behind his ear. My voice cracked, and I studied his tired self.

You’re a good boy.

*

After I finished up at the shop, I headed over to Dad’s house to check in on him. He’d been pretty quiet over the past few days, which normally meant he was drunk, or…well, drunk. When I walked into his house, he was sitting on the couch, eating a TV dinner with a beer can in his grip. The only thing he ever watched was the news because he liked to remind himself exactly how much the world sucked.

He heard my footsteps, but he didn’t turn to greet me. He never did, really. We didn’t have the type of father-son relationship where we truly talked. We mostly just grumbled in each other’s general direction and complained about the other being a pain in the ass.

“That shit is still in my shop,” he sneered, stuffing a forkful of food into his mouth before chasing it down with the beer. “It’s been weeks now, and that bitch’s car is still in my shop.”

I cringed. “Don’t call her a bitch.”

He glanced over at me and gave me his narrowed stare. His thick gray eyebrows lowered, and he let out a sound like a growl. “Who the hell are you to tell me what to do? Don’t forget whose house this is, boy.”

He loved to use that line about the house—and about the shop, and about the cabin next to the shop. He loved feeling as if he was the power behind everything we had. What he never seemed to notice was who paid the bills, who showed up to work, who cleaned the house. He hardly did anything with his time except drink and watch the news.

My father wasn’t a person. He was the walking dead.

“I’m not gonna tell you again—get that car out of the shop,” he ordered, but his words meant nothing to me. He didn’t have the focus or the work ethic to actually have the car removed himself. Therefore, it would be fine.

He was all bark, no bite, just a bitter old man with a heart that no longer beat.

I had my mom to thank for that one.

“Don’t you know what those people have done to this family, Jackson?” he asked me. “How they never once helped us? They put us through hell.”

“Yeah, I know.” But did he? Did he know how Grace had pulled him halfway across town to get him out of harm’s way? Did he know how she’d showered him, cleaned his place, and sat with him just to make sure he didn’t choke on his vomit?

Did he see her blue eyes when she cried, her shaking when she was afraid?

Did he not see how she was more than just a Harris? How she, too, had had things done to her? That she, too, had been through her own hell?

I blinked my eyes shut.

There she was again, filling my mind.

Why couldn’t I stop thinking of her?

Shake it off, Jackson.

I walked over to his refrigerator and opened it, seeing all the food I’d bought was already gone. “You’re supposed to tell me when the food’s low,” I told him.

“I ain’t gotta tell you shit,” he replied, flipping me off. I flipped him off right back.

Like father, like son.

“Is it true?” he asked.

“Is what true?”

“The rumors about you fucking that girl?”

Every inch of my body tensed. “What did you just say?”

“Is it true that you’re fucking a Harris?”

I didn’t reply because he didn’t deserve a reply. It was none of his business what or who I was doing.

He stood and slowly approached me. “You stay away from that family.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” I growled, my anger building.

“No, I absolutely will tell you want to do! You are my son, and you live on my property. You will do as I say. You stay away from that girl,” he barked, shoving my chest.

I allowed it the first time.

“Dad, keep your hands off me,” I warned.

He shoved me again. “What are you gonna do? Huh? You gonna hit your old man? You gonna fight back?!” he snapped, slamming into me again. I took a deep breath as my hands formed fists. “Fight me, Jackson!” he hollered. “Fight!”

Still, I wouldn’t lay a hand on him. Not once had I ever laid a hand on my father; no matter how many times he had put his on me. If I did, I would be just as bad as him.

“You’re drunk,” I told him.

“You like that girl, don’t you?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at me.

“What?”

“Well, shit,” he huffed, stunned. “You fell for a Harris? I shouldn’t be surprised because you’re weak. You’re a piece of shit, and you’re fucking weak,” he hissed. “I shouldn’t even be shocked that you’re screwing a Harris,” he barked. “You’re a no-good lowlife.”

“Shut up,” I warned.

“You’re a dumbass for thinking she’d ever truly want you.”

“Stop talking,” I told him, but he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

“She’s never going to choose you, Jackson. People who live in the heavens never fall for the ones in the slums. You think she’d actually fall for a monster?”

“Go away.”

“No. You think she’d ever want something like you? A lowlife? Scum? A monster?”

“I’m not a monster.”

“You are,” he said, nodding. “I guess you get that from your old man.”