fund that makes me wealthier than you could ever comprehend. I don’t need your shitty advice, okay? I don’t need anything from you, got it?”
Silver gave a curt nod. “Got it.”
He slid out of the booth then gazed down at Donovan, his expression back to being unreadable. Silver’s unaffected response to Donovan’s verbal explosion made him want to rip his own hair out. Silver pointed a finger at Donovan, but the action wasn’t done in anger. It reminded Donovan more of what a parent might do to make sure their misbehaving child understood they were deadly serious.
“No more drinks, understand? You’re too upset. If you don’t trust your family’s driver, then get an Uber.” Silver waited a beat then continued, “Take care of yourself.”
Before Donovan could respond, Silver had turned and was making his way swiftly across the room. Donovan dropped his head in his hands, perplexed by what had just happened. Enraged, yes. But also bizarrely sad.
Fuck him.
Why should he care about a stranger’s opinion? What the hell did he know? Silver probably had a family who loved him, didn’t have the important responsibilities that Donovan did, probably didn’t know what it was like to have to be someone you weren’t, to suck up the bullshit every single fucking day and ask for another serving with a smile.
Donovan launched himself from the booth then elected to take a spot at the bar. He wasn’t about to look like some pathetic loser who’d been walked out on, nursing a drink all alone in the back of the local dive.
He caught attention of the bartender. Silver couldn’t tell him what to do, he knew his own limits.
“Another vodka martini, dirty?”
“Yeah. Make it a double.”
Tell me what to do. Ha.
After he’d paid the bartender, Donovan stared into the cloudy liquid. He chewed on his lower lip, his gut clenching.
This is ridiculous.
He lifted the glass, but then set it down—perhaps a bit too hard. Some of the liquid sloshed over the edges and he grumbled beneath his breath, snatching a few cocktail napkins from the holder at the edge of counter. He mopped up the mess then reached for his drink again. After a few seconds with his hand hovering over the drink, he smashed his fist on the bar.
“Goddammit.”
Ignoring the curious stares of the two patrons at the counter and the bartender who’d been talking to them, Donovan pushed off the bar stool then marched out of the bar.
Fuck my life and everyone in it.
Chapter Six
“Yo, Erika. Grab those vice grips for me, will ya?”
Silver examined the engine block of the Trans Am he’d been working on for months for himself whenever he could spare the time or a bit of extra money. He considered the little beauty a palette cleanser between the jobs for his boss. Sure, he might be living the dream by working on rare classic cars, but it wasn’t his dream. At least, not the full one he planned to have one day soon.
Once he got this ride all tricked out and restored the way she was meant to be, he’d sell her to a collector and make a tidy profit. More fat stacks for him, less time working on someone else’s dream.
“Here.” Erika handed him the grips. “Where’d you find this one. Autotrader?”
She popped open a root beer, then leaned against the long work bench that ran the back of the cement block wall. When Silver had first gotten there, he’d had to repaint the entire place and practically gut it to make the garage workable again. More importantly, to make it to his own specifications. The table was one of the few things that had survived his purge.
“No, man. Saw it in someone’s yard.”
He gripped the stubborn bolt, but it wouldn’t budge. The bolt had pretty much been cemented on there by years of oil and grease from no attempt to keep such a fine machine clean. It looked as if he was going to need more WD-40, and if all else failed, smack it good and hard with a hammer
“Yeah? Sweet. Whereabouts?”
She took a noisy chug of her drink then let out a loud belch that echoed throughout the expansive, open two-story high space. His apartment was on the second floor, but it only took up a third of the overall square footage.
“I was taking York over the hill to get to work on time, and spotted it in someone’s yard.”
He straightened, then dragged his forearms across his sweaty brow. The temps were hitting the