"What about you?" he asks.
I mop my face with the hem of my shirt. "Just starting to think about that, to be honest. Been just putting one foot in front of the other. Noelle, though…"
Felix grins, pawing through his wild mane of shaggy blond hair. "Makin' you consider the future, huh?"
I nod, grinning. "Yeah, man. She really is."
He laughs. "A good woman'll do that. Make you feel like you can reach for the moon, long as she's with you." His laugh fades, some old sorrow taking its place. "Lose that, though, and you lose the moon."
"Speaking from experience?" I ask.
He nods. "Yep. Had a woman like that. Fucked it up." He picks at a thread at the knee of his jeans. "Someday, maybe, I'll find another one."
I snort. "They don't grow on trees."
He cackles. "Wow, thanks for that nugget of wisdom, dude."
"Sorry, I just meant—"
He slaps me on the back. "Nah, I got you. You're right. I just mean I'm hoping someday I’ll get another chance."
"With her, or…?”
A slow shake of his head. "Hell nah, man. She'slonggone. Got a husband and kids now. Lives in a big ol' mansion in Bloomfield Hills."
"Swanky."
"Right?" he laughs, not quite bitterly, but sort of. "She deserves it. Good woman."
"Take it from me, Felix, second chances come around when you least expect them." I clap his shoulder. "Back to it."
"Yup." He juts his chin at me. "Good talk. I'll have a word with Riley about you pulling shifts with me. Teach you how to build a house."
"I'd like that. Thanks for the chance."
"You're a good man and a hard worker. Riley's lucky to have you."
Buzzing with possibilities, I help Felix's crew with cleanup, putting away tools and locking up. I'm in the back of Felix's trailer, putting things away when I hear Duane's obnoxious, reedy voice complaining—as usual.
"I just don't see what those pompous bozos see in that big dumb oaf. Sure, he's strong, but they act like he shits sunshine and farts roses. Now he's onFelix'screw? It ain’t enough he gets special treatment, rides from the boss, gets to work alone and play whatever music he wants, and don’t even get me started on that goddamndogof his." He hawks and spits. "And that fuckin' girl of his, man. He's got that fine little piece of ass wrapped around his dumbfuck finger. He ain't shit, man. Somebody oughta show him his place."
Someone laughs—Miguel, I think. "And you think it gonna be you, ey,esé?” Another laugh—it's Miguel. “You tell me when you teach him this lesson. I will sell tickets."
"Aw, fuck you, Miggy. He ain't so tough. Catch him just right, he'll go down like anyone else. Then maybe I’ll show that pretty little redhead of his what a real man is like."
Miguel spits. "Estupido gringo. He kill you. You stay away from him, and very much stay away from hislinda pelirroja.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask you, did I, shithead?" He follows this with a muttered slur.
Miguel sighs, disgusted, muttering imprecations in Spanish, and the sound of their footsteps recede in separate directions.
The unease in my gut grows into a knot of anxiety.
I think Panzer is going to be spending time at the salon from now on.
Fourteen
NOELLE
