7

—Joshua—

The pounding on the door matches the throbbing in my head, and my first thought is that it’s Aaron knocking. That Becca had gone back to her bed and back in his arms, crying about the way I’d left her on my steps. But then I remember it’s Chaz’s birthday, and I curse myself for staying out so late last night and forgetting my plans. I put on some pants and tear open the plastic around a new Globe T-shirt sitting in my suitcase before shrugging it on. Then I rub my eyes and inhale deeply, hoping to make it through today. For Chaz, and maybe for my own goddamn sanity.

A middle-aged man looks up from the clipboard in his hand when I answer the door. “You Josh Warden?” he asks.

“Yes, sir.”

He hands me a stack of papers. “Here are the non-disclosures and insurance papers you requested. All my workers signed them.” I can tell he’s holding back an eye roll, and to be honest, I understand why. But Chris makes everyone who does work for me fill out the stupid papers. “What are you anyway? One of those reality stars or something?” he asks, looking into my two-bedroom garage apartment.

I drop the forms on the entry table. “Or something.”

“That’s cool.” He shrugs, already bored with the notion. “Where do you want us to set up?”

I step out, shutting the door behind me, and lead him to the backyard. The driveway is already filled with catering vans and decorators, and even though it’s just a small party with Chaz’s church lady friends, I wanted to do something nice for her. I owe her that much. “So you guys will be done by 1? It’s a surprise, so I’d like it ready before she gets back from church,” I tell him.

He grins. “You had the funds, I got the manpower.” And with that, he gets to work.

I watch, making sure they don’t do any damage to Chaz’s garden. A few minutes later Robby shows up, his truck loud as it reverses down the driveway. I walk over and inspect the timber loaded in the bed. “It looks good,” I shout while he jumps down from his seat.

He closes the door. “Of course it does. You seem to forget I taught you everything you know,” he says, stopping beside me. “It’s to the exact specifications you wanted, Josh. I went over it fifty times. Even had Kim out with the measuring tape just to be sure. I know how important it is to you.”

“I appreciate it. I just wish I had the time to do it myself.”

“We can say you did. She doesn’t have to know.”

“And live the rest of my life under God’s watchful eye knowing I lied to her? Nah, man. I’m good.”

He laughs at that before motioning to my cast. “Are you going to be able to help me put it together, or you want me to call one of the guys?”

As if right on cue, the front door opens and Aaron and Martin walk out, Becca following behind them. “You guys need a hand?” Aaron asks.

I look over his shoulder at Becca, who’s looking down at her feet.

Then I nod.

I smile.

And I act amicable toward him, just like I said I’d be. “That would be swell.”

“Swell?” Robby whispers.

I turn to him, baring my teeth with the fakest of all fake grins. “Just fucking swell, Rob.”

*     *     *

With Aaron’s help, it doesn’t take long for us to put together the arbor I’d had Robby build. For the past six months, Chaz had been hinting about it. Talking about it. Showing me pictures of it. Asking to go on trips to the lumber yard to pick out the material. Even going as far as making copies of the picture and wallpapering my bedroom with it while I was out of town. “I got jokes,” she’d said when I confronted her. But I don’t think it was about the arbor itself. I think she did it for the same reasons Robby built the half pipe in his yard. It was a reminder that I had a family and a home, and they were all here waiting for me.

I sit on the grass and compare the picture in my hand to the arbor itself and smile a genuine smile for the first time today. “It looks really good, man,” Aaron says, sitting down next to me.

Taking a breath, I try to ignore the anger and jealousy building in my chest. “Yeah, it turned out amazing.” I don’t know what he’s doing—sitting next to me trying to drum up conversation like we’re old friends. I stare down at my shoes and clench my fists, mentally picturing them smashing his face. Over and over. Right in his perfect poster-child Abercrombie model looking douche-tool teeth.

“So Grams tells me you’re home from a media tour or something?”