I knew when I was beat, so I dropped my wrench in the toolbox. “Fine. But I’m still coming in at seven in the morning.”
Rick grinned. “Stubborn ass.”
I gave him a pat on the back before starting down the hallway to the bathroom. From my fingers to my elbows, my arms looked like a typical grease monkey’s. Taking the already-blackened bar of soap, I began scrubbing my hands and arms. The more I thought of Marley, the more furious my movements became, to where I was practically clawing marks on my skin.
I whirled around at the sound of a voice behind me. My heart stopped and restarted at the sight of Sam standing in the bathroom doorway. Seeing her sent my mind on a trippy flashback of the night Marley was killed. I remembered her tears, the way she had cradled Marley’s body, the way his blood stained her clothes. But the image that stayed with me the most was the look of undiluted hate she had given me when cradling Marley’s body. I had to blink to clear my mind of the image.
There was so much to say, but instead, I could only stare at her.
Part of me expected her to vanish into thin air just as Marley had. It had been only a week since I saw her last, but everything was different about her. Her dark eyes, which were usually so expressive, were dull and hollow and ringed with circles. The jeans she usually filled out were visibly looser—another sign of how her emotional pain was wrecking her physically.
Finally, she broke the tense silence. “Hey,” she said softly.
“Hey,” I grunted. Although part of me was glad as hell to see her, I couldn’t hide the animosity that was boiling within me.
She took a step back. “Sorry to interrupt. Rick said I would find you back here.”
“Where the hell have you been?” I demanded.
Her dark eyes widened in surprise at both my tone and my question. “Yeah, about that. Look, I’m sorry that I didn’t call. It’s been—”
I sliced one of my hands in the air, silencing her. “You’re sorry? Marley’s been dead over a week, and during that time, you didn’t think one fucking time that you might oughta call and let me know how things were going?”
Sam’s remorseful expression darkened. “What the fuck, Bishop? I just lost my boyfriend.”
With a mirthless laugh, I said, “I mean, I get that you’re pissed at me for what happened, but it seems to me it’s pretty cut-and-dried to reach out to a man’s friend when he dies.” I shrugged. “But I guess it’s only complicated to a coldhearted bitch.”
Anger replaced the sadness in Sam’s eyes as she stalked toward me. “How dare you say that to me!”
“Just calling it as I see it, darlin’.”
“You ignorant bastard. Do you have any idea what I’ve been through in the last week?”
“No, actually, I don’t, but I’m sure I might’ve had a clue if you. Had. Fucking. Called me!”
She shook her head so fast I was sure she was going to get whiplash. “And just how the fuck was I supposed to do that when I didn’t have your number? I came here to try to explain things to you, but you’re too pigheaded to see anything beyond yourself. Poor pitiful Bishop!”
When she started to turn away, I reached out and grabbed her arm. “Oh no, you’re not leaving. Not until you explain what the hell happened to Marley after the ambulance left.”
She jerked her chin at the sink. “Finish cleaning up and then meet me at the bar across the street.”
Standing toe-to-toe with her, I growled, “Woman, you gotta lot of fucking nerve ordering me around.”
Sam rolled her eyes. “Just do it.” She then tossed her dark hair over her shoulder and walked out of the bathroom.
“What the fuck?” I muttered.
After rinsing off my hands with record speed, I hustled out of the garage. As I climbed onto my bike, I couldn’t believe Sam had just told me to meet her at Tucker’s. I didn’t know if Marley had ever told her that was where we went sometimes after work to unwind.
Just before I entered Tucker’s, I slid on my cut. Although I didn’t want any club affiliation at work, I didn’t know what I might find inside. While I might’ve thrown back a beer or two with Marley, I was hardly a regular, so I wanted to set the tone just in case.
When I entered the room, I searched for Samantha. Part of me had worried that my grief and guilt had driven me so insane that I had hallucinated seeing her back at the garage. But thankfully, I spotted her sitting at a table with a pitcher of beer and two glasses.
I eased down in the chair across from her. While her eyes flared slightly at the sight of my cut, she didn’t say anything about it. “Hope Bud on tap is okay,” she said.
With a nod, I said, “That’s what Marley and I always had when we came here.”
Her expression turned sad. “Yeah, he told me.” She slid her mug of beer back and forth between her hands. “I really am sorry that I haven’t called you, Bishop. The only excuse I can give you is it has been a really hard week for me.”
Although I was still pissed about what had gone down, I found that I couldn’t look her in the eye. I felt like too much of an asshole for the way I had acted at the garage. For fuck’s sake, who did I think I was? Hell, Marley was just a friend I’d known for a few months. He was her boyfriend.
After downing a few sips of beer, I said, “No, I’m the one who should be sorry. I acted like a real bastard.”
When I dared to look up, Sam gave me a small smile. “While I won’t argue with you about that, I do appreciate the apology.”