Reprobate - A River Bend Rebels M/M Romance - Book 1

10. Kyril

If I thought the shitshow in P.E. was the lowest possible point of my week, I was very soon proven dead wrong.

After cleaning up in the locker room and getting a band-aid from the health office, I angrily limped my way to the library for study hall, my scraped knee stinging. I knew Coach Brock had to have seen what had happened, but naturally he hadn't said or done a thing to Brent, instead ordering me off the track as if I'd been the one who'd started all the shit.

 Prick.

 Jamie too, who'd seen everything and hadn't said a single word. 

Fuck him. Fucking ass-kissing coward. Fuck them all.

I spent the hour reading the assigned chapter for Human Biology and answered the five questions at the end of it, thumbed through the World History notes I'd taken for Monday's quiz, then sat stewing until the dismissal bell rang. 

Dad was sitting at the center island going through the mail when I walked in through the side door that led to the attached garage. He looked up at me and smiled. "Hey, kid," he greeted me. "How was school?"

I shrugged and hung up my backpack on the hook beside the door. With what I hoped was a dismissive blandness, I replied, "Same old. How was work?"

"Exhausting, to tell the truth," my dad said and sighed, shaking his head. "Some of those CNC operators don't know their ass from their elbow. I was on the floor fixing their screwups more than I was in my office doing my actual job." He passed a hand over his face. "Thompson won't be happy with the amount of scrap those idiots managed to pile up today."

Something in his tone made me pause and I looked at my dad closely. "But that's not your fault."

"Yes and no," Dad answered, not looking at me as he thumbed through the mail. "I program the jobs. The machinists call up the programs, set up the machines, and run 'em. The machines can knock out a bad part, and the operators make adjustments and do tool changes when one wears out or breaks. But they tend to pass the buck and that buck stops at the guy who programmed the job run."

I didn't know that much about what my dad did. I'd never really understood what went into turning hunks of metal into usable products and parts. It had never interested me, even though it was what my dad had done for a living in one capacity or another for as long as I could remember.  I went to the kitchen island and pulled out the other stool and sat beside him. "Are people giving you a tough time at work, Dad?"

My dad didn't look at me but his lips pressed together for a minute. Then he sighed again. "This town isn't the most welcoming to outsiders, kid." He glanced at me. "But I guess I don't have to tell you that."

"No," I said after a moment. "You don't."

Dad squeezed my shoulder. "It'll all work out, so get rid of that worried look. It's not as thought I'm about to get fired or anything. Chad Thompson warned me that folks here might resent him hiring an outsider instead of promoting one of them into the job, and he was right. I expected some pushback. I've only been there a couple of months. It'll pass."

I nodded. "Okay." I pulled out my phone and looked at the time. "I'm gonna get ready for work, and I wanted to stop at Java Jamba before I go in. There's that leftover chili in the fridge and I think there's a couple pieces of that cornbread left."

Dad smiled. "Sounds great. Thanks kid." 

When I pulled up and parked outside of the coffeehouse, I spotted Sierra and Sam at one of the two wrought iron tables flanking the entrance. They both waved as I got out. "Hey Kyril!" Sierra called. Taking in my white button-down shirt and black dress pants, she asked, "You work tonight, huh?"