Page 11 of Enzo (Redcars #1)

ELEVEN

Robbie

Enzo was angry about something and he and Logan were fighting. I stiffened as soon as it started, every muscle locking up. Although it was just Enzo—I knew Enzo, trusted him—my breath caught, my fingers tightening around the folder in my hands. He wasn’t a threat. None of them were. But my body wasn’t listening to logic, reacting instead to a past that had conditioned me to fear anger, no matter its source. I knew that tone, and no one who worked here would ever hurt me, but I was primed for the abuse that followed anger. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, and I froze, waiting, bracing for something I couldn’t predict but knew would be bad. The office door was ajar, and I could hear Logan and Enzo shouting at each other. I should have buried myself in the safety of numbers and schedules, but I stayed.

Logan and Enzo were best friends, but when the shouting stopped, the silence stretched and somehow that was worse, thick with things they weren’t saying. I peeked through the small window—Logan’s jaw was tight, his expression torn between guilt and devastation as if he hated what he was doing but knew he had to do it anyway. Enzo, on the other hand, looked ready to tear the entire office apart.

“We don’t just roll over and let people take advantage, Lo! This is our home.”

“We don’t go out and find the trouble if it’s staying away,” Logan shouted back.

Enzo’s shoulders were tight with barely restrained fury, his chest rising and falling in heavy, uneven breaths. Neither of them moved, neither willing to back down first.

“We stop it before it gets out of hand!” Enzo snapped.

“Not with violence Enzo!”

A chair scraped over the floor and banged the wall as if one of them—probably Enzo—had pushed it away in a temper. I backed away from the window—and held my breath.

Logan’s anger was cold and precise. Enzo’s was a storm, all heat and force, unpredictable and raw. I didn’t want to be here for this, didn’t want to hear it, but I couldn’t seem to make my feet move.

Then the office door slammed open, and I didn’t had time to flinch before Enzo stormed out, all muscle and motion, and plowed straight into me.

“Jesus Christ, Robbie!” he yelled.

I staggered back.

Too loud. Too sudden. Too much.

My heart lurched into panic mode before my brain could catch up. I hesitated, just for a second, as I fought the instinct to flee. I knew Enzo wasn’t a danger, knew I was safe here—but my body didn’t. My pulse pounded, my muscles seized up, and then the panic took over. I turned and bolted for the filing room, slamming the door behind me. My hands shook as I shoved a chair under the handle, and my breath came too fast and too shallow. I stumbled back until my legs hit the cot, then curled up, pressing my forehead to my knees.

“Robbie! Wait!”

Enzo had been angry, but not at me. I knew that. Rationally, I knew that.

Didn’t matter.

I’d seen angry men before.

Angry men had hurt me.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to focus on the rhythm of my breathing, but it wasn’t working. My chest was too tight, my skin too hot, my body too small in this too-big world that kept threatening to crush me.

I despised that my body betrayed me like this, that my past still had its claws in me. No matter how safe I was here, I couldn’t stop the way fear gripped my throat like a noose.

I was shaking with anger. Furious with myself for running and reacting like a scared kid instead of the man I aimed to be. Exhausted by the never-ending battle in my head, I felt the weight of it pressing down on me.

More than anything, I hated that I couldn’t let it go. But I refused to let it define me. I clenched my fists, inhaling deeply, forcing myself to push past the fear, to remember I wasn’t the same person I had been back then. I had built something here, with these men who cared about me. I wasn’t just surviving—I was fighting to reclaim myself, to prove that my past didn’t own me anymore.

“Robbie!” Enzo called from outside the door, his voice sharp and edged with frustration but threaded with something else—concern, maybe. A heavy thud followed as if he’d rested a fist on the doorframe, trying to rein himself in. “Come on, kid. Open up.”

I wasn’t a kid. I was twenty-three or something close to that. I’d survived too much to be treated like a kid. Every time one of the guys here called me that, it felt like they were brushing aside everything I’d fought through, everything I’d built here. I wasn’t fragile. I wasn’t helpless.

I squeezed my eyes shut. I wanted to; I did. But my body wasn’t listening. My pulse was still hammering, my breathing still too fast, my nails bit into my palms.

“Robbie.” This time, softer. “I’m not mad at you.”

“Go away!” I said, but not loud enough for him to hear.

“I’m mad at myself, not you. I know I fucked up…talk to me, okay?”

I couldn’t. Not yet.

Outside, voices rose again, but it wasn’t Logan this time.

“Nice work, dumbass,” Rio drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Scare the hell outta the kid, why don’t you? You proud of yourself?” I flinched at the word, irritation curling in my gut. Kid. Again. Like I wasn’t standing right here, like I wasn’t fully capable. I swallowed the sharp retort on my tongue, because now wasn’t the time—but damn if I wasn’t sick of hearing them call me kid.

“Fuck off, Rio.” Enzo snapped. “I didn’t mean to?—”

“Yeah, well, intentions don’t mean shit when you’re built like a brick wall and stomping around like a damn hurricane,” Rio shot back. “You think he’s gonna handle a pissed-off guy twice his size? Jesus, Enzo.”

Silence. Then, a deep, slow exhale. “I know.” His voice was quieter now, the sharp edge dulled with regret, maybe.

“So, fix it you asshole.”

A beat passed, and then footsteps as Rio walked away.

I stayed curled up, trying to will my body to stop shaking. Outside, Rio might have been mouthing off, but I knew what this was. He was furious because, for some reason, the four men in this place—Logan, Enzo, Rio, and Jamie—cared about me.

I knew that Enzo cared. I knew he didn’t mean to scare me. He was loud and rough around the edges, but he’d never once made me feel he would actually hurt me—this was a visceral reaction to his temper.

I inhaled slowly, then exhaled, trying to follow the steps from the relaxation techniques I’d read about. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Again. And again. My pulse was still erratic, my skin clammy, but I focused on the sound of Enzo’s voice outside the door. He wasn’t yelling anymore, just talking—about car parts, the mess Jamie had made of the purchase orders, and how he’d typically ask me where everything was because I was the only one who knew where anything was.

I focused on the words, the steady tempo of his voice, the familiarity of numbers and lists, of cars and engines—things I understood and could control. My hands relaxed, and my breathing evened out, but the exhaustion it left behind was brutal. My stomach churned, nausea rolling through me in waves. I still felt sick, but at least the worst had passed.

“…so then I told Jamie it was for the Corvette.”

Hell. No.

I yanked the chair from under the door handle so fast it scraped across the floor, flung the door open, and glared at Enzo. “It was for the Charger! The Charger, Enzo! No wonder nothing gets done right around here!” I folded my arms, still fuming, but the weight in my chest had lightened a little. “I’m surrounded by idiots.”

Enzo offered me a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach his liquid chocolate eyes. Then, it faded, his expression sobering as guilt crept in. “Sorry, kid.”

The words struck a deep chord within me, and I stood up tall at my full five-eight, brushing my hair out of my eyes. Standing straighter didn’t change my height, but it made me feel bigger, steadier. “I’m not a kid,” I said, my voice sharper than I meant it to be.

Enzo winced. “It’s just a nickname?—”

“Well, think of something else!” I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest.

Silence hung between us for a beat, and Rio blew a low whistle. “Damn, De León. You really fucked up this time.”

Enzo shifted, rubbing the back of his neck before exhaling. His gaze flicked toward me, guilt evident in the tight set of his jaw, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he nodded once, as if he knew there was nothing he could say to fix it right now.

“What the hell?” Jamie asked, his arms full of brake pads and a timing belt. He stopped mid-step, his gaze flicking between Enzo and Rio, then landing on me, and within seconds, he’d placed the parts to one side and stood between me and the other two. “What the fuck did you do now, Rio?”

Rio didn’t hesitate. “Wasn’t me,” he thumbed at Enzo, “Big dumbass here scared the crap outta Robbie. Kid locked himself in his room.”

Jamie rolled his eyes. “Idiots.” He turned to me, softer now. “You okay, kid?” My jaw clenched at the word, frustration in my chest like a tight coil. Not again. Not from Jamie, too. I forced my shoulders back, swallowing down the irritation, but my hands still curled into fists at my sides. “I’m fine,” I bit out, sharper than I intended, “But I’m twenty-freaking-three! I’m not a kid! Find something else to call me!”

I turned on my heel, stalking back into the filing room. Pulling out the paperwork for the Charger, I listened as the three started bickering over what else to call me.

“Fine, no more Kid,’” Jamie said. “How about ‘Rookie’?”

“Rookie?” Rio scoffed. “He’s not a cop, and he’s not playing sports, dumbass.”

“All right, all right, what about ‘Shortstack’?” Jamie suggested, smirking.

“Oh yeah, that’ll go over real well,” Rio muttered. “Why not just call him ‘Fun-Size’ and really piss him off?”

“What about ‘Specs’?” Jamie offered. “He’s always got his nose in paperwork and books.”

“Not wearing glasses, genius,” Rio shot back.

“Then what the hell do we call him?”

I slammed the filing cabinet drawer shut harder than necessary. The sharp bang echoed through the room, and for a second, silence followed. Jamie blinked, Rio raised an eyebrow, and Enzo was shocked.

“How about you all shut the hell up and let me work?”

Silence. Then, a snort from Rio.

“Yeah, that one’s not gonna stick either,” Jamie muttered, and I heard them go right back to debating, as if I wasn’t there.

Assholes.

Head high, I grabbed everything I needed and headed into Logan’s office, placing the matched orders on the side of the desk. Logan was hunched over the old office computer, fingers moving across the keyboard, his face set in concentration. He didn’t look up at first, too absorbed in his work. I hesitated, ready to slip out, but then his voice cut through the quiet.

“Robbie, do you have a minute?”

My stomach dropped. This was it. I hadn’t been able to handle one freaking argument and he was going to tell me my time at Redcars was done. That me using their filing room as a tiny apartment was over, and I needed to leave and find something else to do. Panic clawed at my chest. This was my safe place—the only one I’d ever really had. If I lost this, where would I go? What if there wasn’t anywhere else? Where would I go? I’d always meant to leave the city, but where? Montana maybe? Be a cowboy? Was there work for a five-eight guy with no muscles to speak of? Did random, sexy cowboys need someone to sort invoices and recall part numbers accurately? Probably not.

“…so if that’s okay with you?” Logan’s voice broke through my spiraling thoughts.

“Huh?” I blinked at him.

He looked at me. “Can you?” He waved his hand as though he knew I hadn’t been listening.

I cleared my throat and tried to refocus. “You want me to…what?”

Logan smiled, something softer than I expected. “Are you okay?”

I was used to people asking me if I was okay, used to nodding and brushing it off. But I wasn’t okay. Not really. Two steps forward, one step back—that was what healing felt like. And today, I was stumbling more than I wanted to admit.

“Sure,” I lied, forcing the word past the lump in my throat. I was good at lying—had been for years. It was easier to pretend, to plaster on a mask of indifference rather than admit that my chest was still tight, that my hands hadn’t quite stopped shaking. Easier to let them believe I was fine than to risk the discomfort of the truth.

“Are you okay to sit down and chat?” Logan was so kind, it made my chest ache—made me want to cry. Fucking idiot.

What if he asked me why I got all upset and locked myself away? What if he made me talk about my feelings? No way was I going there. He patted the back of the old chair, and I noticed the plastic was more cracked than it had been yesterday when I’d caught my T-shirt on a jagged edge. Probably where it hit the wall during the argument. The thought sent a fresh wave of unease through me and. I swallowed hard and forced myself to sit, fingers curling against my jeans to keep them from shaking.

“‘Chat’?” I asked.

“If that’s okay.”

I hesitated for a moment before complying, my mind still catching up to what was happening. My thoughts were still tangled in everything that had happened earlier, the lingering weight of panic making it hard to focus.

Logan leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his jaw before exhaling. His gaze met mine, steady and serious. “Thing is I need some help with the accounts. Keep things running. And you already know the system inside and out.”

I blinked. That wasn’t what I expected. “I do? You want me to…”

He leaned forward in his chair, his gaze steady, his expression open. “I want you to take an official job, Robbie. You already keep this place from falling into a chaos of paper and crap. You’re good at it.”

I sat there, stunned. I’d expected rejection. Instead, Logan was asking me to be something more.

“But I have bad days.”

“Then you work the next one.”

To step up like I’d been asking him to let me. Like I’d been wanting to prove I could. However, stepping up to deal with customers and handle face-to-face interactions was a disaster. Answering the phone turned into a mess of stammered words and second-guessing myself. But this? Organizing, spreadsheets, finances—I could do that in my sleep. I didn’t need to deal with anyone outside of the four men in this garage—no strangers, no pressure, just numbers and logic, things that made sense.

And this meant I had a place here after all.

“Yes,” I said without hesitation. Then, “Hell yes.”