he had the chance to create something truly his own. Looking at Dog, his boss, mentor and father figure, he nodded.
"Of course, nothing's changed this year."
Dog stepped closer; his long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. His tattooed arms, still beefy and strong at his age crossed in front of him as Dog stared at him.
"Chase, I know you're straddling a thin line, but LuAnn can't be here. As you can imagine, none of us want to see her. I understand if that makes it especially hard for you and I'm sorry for that. I also don't want you to have to keep making choices between us and her, but it's just too soon."
Swallowing hard Chase looked into Dog's eyes. He saw honesty and earnestness and also...fear.
"I know, Dog. I'll tell her tonight that I won't be around much while we're pulling this together. Believe it or not, she feels such remorse and regret over what she's done. She'll also understand."
Dog nodded, uncrossed his arms and held his right hand out. Taking Dog's hand in his, they shook hands, a firm grip as he was taught, and Dog's lips turned up in a faint smile.
"Thanks, Bud."
Dog then pulled him forward and wrapped his left arm around Chase's shoulders and hugged him. Stepping away Dog nodded and turned to walk across the design shop floor to the door leading out to the garage area. The heaviness in his heart lightened a bit after Dog hugged him, but it was still there. LuAnn better not screw this up and cause him to lose this whole family. Although, he was likely to lose them anyway, sooner rather than later, if things kept up like this. How long could you lead a double life before it caught up to you?
Needing to beat on something to relieve some of the pressure building in his chest, Chase grabbed a rubber mallet and the piece of metal he'd just cut. He walked to the shaping wheel to beat this piece of metal into a rounder version of what it was right now.
Whacking the hammer against the metal over and over not only brought a searing pain up his arm to his shoulder, but his body broke out into a sweat, which not only trickled down his temples and onto his shirt, but ran down the middle of his back, drenching his shirt. If only life were as easy to mold as metal, things could be better. Watching the flat nondescript metal begin forming into the side of a gas tank, he marveled at the changing shape of it. The fact that he was causing it to change shape had him musing that this was his life right now. He could beat the shit out of it and make it what he wanted, or he could lay there like a flat piece of metal and not do anything and let someone else beat his life into something unrecognizable. But now in his late twenties, wasn't it time to make more of himself? The adolescent that Dog had largely taken in and shaped by sometimes beating the crap out of him and molding him into a respectable human, now was making a nice income, had learned a trade from Dog, paid his bills, and then bought his first house something ten years ago seemed like a total impossibility for him to achieve, especially on his own; he had been shaped like this metal. He was a rounder, softer version of the kid he'd been, was he finished being shaped and molded or did he have more change coming? Two more whacks with the hammer told him; he was still being molded and shaped, only now, he needed to be the one wielding the hammer.
Finishing this section of the tank, he heard the doors opening and closing and knew it was quitting time. Checking the clock on the far wall, just under the Rolling Thunder logo, he saw the hands on the clock confirming it was quitting time. Wiping his hands on the closet shop rag, he organized his tools, put them back in his toolbox another large purchase he'd made on his own, and locked it up for the night.
Proud of his cleaned-up work area, he grabbed his lunch box and headed to the time clock to punch out.
Securing his empty lunch box onto the bag on the back of his bike, Chase threw his leg over the seat, looked up into