Bro Code(55)

Holding Nick’s coat out in front of me as a peace offering, I watch him think it over. The whole thing is crazy, and with the news I just dropped on him, I don’t expect him to help me, but twenty-plus years of friendship has to mean something, right?

He squeezes his eyes shut and takes in a long breath, then reaches out to take his coat. “Alright, let’s do it. I hope you’ve got one hell of a plan.”

“I don’t.” I give him a wicked grin and fastball him his keys. “But just like with every game we ever played, we’ll think on our feet and I’ll make one up on the way there.”





Chapter Twenty-seven


Ava


As terrified as I am for the meeting with Roland and my staff tonight, there’s a much tougher, infinitely more nerve-wracking meeting I have to get through first. The one with my dad.

How do I go about telling my father that, after he handed his life’s work over to me, I’ve let it fall to pieces? There’s no way he can be totally blindsided—he ran the factory for decades, after all. He knows the budgets back and forth, and as much as I have tried to hide my stress, I know he’s seen me practically pulling my hair out over every new disaster.

Somehow, we’ve made it this far without having to have a real discussion about the state of things at the plant. But there’s no avoiding it anymore. As I descend the stairs to the den, I repeat over and over again in my head that Dad gave me the factory for a reason—I’m smart and I’m strong. Still, I don’t know a girl in the world with the kind of strength to look her dad in the eye and admit she’s let him down.

“Daddy? Can I talk to you?”

He’s lounging in his usual spot, smack dab in the middle of the couch, a basketball game on the TV. When he hears my voice, he doesn’t so much as turn, just slides over and pats the cushion next to him.

We sit there side by side and watch the game for a few minutes as I try to figure out where I should even begin. Maybe I should’ve practiced in front of a mirror first or written a script. When the ref calls a time out, Dad leans toward the coffee table and grabs the remote, muting the sounds of sportscasters and sneaker squeaks.

“Big meeting tonight, huh?” he says, eyes still on the muted game.

“How do you know that?”

“I may not be running the plant anymore, but it’s not like the fellas and I don’t talk.”

Shit, I hadn’t even thought about the fact that Dad might already know more than I do about what’s going on.

“If you knew, then why haven’t you said anything to me?”

Dad sighs, leaning back into the couch. When he finally turns and looks at me, I brace myself for anger, at least frustration, but instead, his eyes are kind. He’s calm as ever.

“It’s not my company anymore, Ava. It’s yours. And I know you’ve got it under control.”

It’s my turn to sigh. “It sure doesn’t feel like it right now, Dad. I think this might be it for the plant. I think I’m going to lose it.”

Dad lets the silence hang in the air for a good long while. I look down at my fingernails, but I have nothing left to bite at, the weeks of worry and indecision have taken their toll on my poor nails. When I look back up at Dad, I’m surprised to find him smiling. It’s a soft, sad smile, but a smile, nonetheless.

“I’m proud of you, kid,” he says, his tone warm and certain. “You’ve done good.”

Is he losing his hearing? How could he possibly be proud of me? I search his eyes for any sign that he might be kidding, but he seems sincere.

“You don’t have to lie to me, Dad,” I say, picking at my nails as a replacement anxious habit. “I’ve done anything but good. I’ve single-handedly run everything you built straight into the ground.”

“The guys at the plant might surprise you,” he suggests with a shrug. “They’ve surprised me before. This is more about them than it is about you. The whole business is about them. I’ve told you that since day one. Don’t forget that.”

“Of course not. I’ve never forgotten that. But even if I walk into that meeting with my head held high, everyone knows I’m going to walk out defeated.”

“That might be true, it might not be. But you don’t know until you get in there and give it the rest of what you’ve got.”

“I’m not sure how much I’ve got left.”

“You’ve still got some fight in you.” He slugs me lightly on the arm, like a coach preparing his pinch hitter to take the plate. “You know how I know?”

A knowing smile creeps across my face. “How do you know, Dad?”

“Because you take after me, sweetie. That’s how.”



*

The headquarters of Roland Enterprises look more like a spaceship than an office. The massive silver building towers over every structure in the area. Its giant windows and huge silver doors feel out of place in rural Indiana. When I walk through the extra tall automatic doors, there’s no front desk, no attendant to greet me, only a line of touch screen kiosks showing a map through this enormous building.

Toto, I don’t think we’re at the factory anymore. Lucky for me, the conference room is just down the hall from the big icon on the map that says, “You are here,” so I won’t have to get too deep into this place and run the risk of getting lost. It also means that, if necessary, I can make a quick escape back to my car if the meeting is a total disaster.