Page 12 of Enzo (Redcars #1)

TWELVE

Enzo

I wasn’t sure how long Tudor had been standing there, watching me stack parts onto the bench ready for tomorrow, but I felt his eyes before I heard his voice.

“Logan’s heading out for parts, so reckon you want to walk an old man home?”

“You’re not old.”

“And you’re full of shit.” He huffed, a sound that could have been amusement, but he let me take his arm anyway.

“Back in ten,” I told Robbie, who glanced up at me, his fingers gripping the edge of the book he was reading, uncertainty flickering in the crease between his brows. Then, as if catching himself, he tilted his chin—a habit he’d developed lately, feeling the fear but pushing it aside.

“Okay,” he said, watching as we headed to the door.

“Night, Robbie,” Tudor called.

“Night, Tudor,” Robbie said with a smile.

I locked the door behind me and set the exterior alarm—I might only be away ten minutes, but Robbie needed to feel safe. He’d been getting better, pushing past his fears, but I still caught the flicker of hesitation in his eyes when he was alone here. I knew he’d be okay—he had his routines, his spaces, the book he was pretending to be lost in—but I knew the weight of being alone still sat heavy on him. Lately, I’d seen him fighting it, tilting his chin up and setting his shoulders as if he dared himself to be stronger. It made me proud. Watching him push past his fears, standing a little taller, claiming space that had once made him shrink—it warmed something in me. Pride, sure, but also something deeper, something I wasn’t ready to name. It also made me worry he’d never feel safe enough to leave Redcars, but I was trying to fix that. I’d find out who hurt him, and I’d make the world safe for Robbie by taking whoever it was out of any goddamn equation.

And fuck that. He could stay here forever if he needed to, because the idea of him leaving unsettled me more than I wanted to admit. It wasn’t just about keeping him safe anymore. I liked knowing he was close, within reach, where I could watch over him and not wonder if he was okay.

He’d filled out since he arrived at Redcars, gotten stronger, and his body was taking shape in ways that made it hard for me to see him as the broken man we’d found, but he was still fragile. Tiny compared to me, he was delicate, sweet, gentle, and scared, but sometimes, he seemed… confident. And shit, I was losing myself in thought again, right in front of the one person who always saw through everything.

Tudor glanced at me, with that frustrating knowing smile. “You can get right back after,” he reassured me.

The streets were quieter than usual, and the scent of rain lingered in the air, mixed with the sharp tang of exhaust fumes. Echo Park never really slept, but it dozed after the stores closed and before the first evening shift workers headed out to bars and clubs in other districts.

“You doing okay?” Tudor asked as we made our way down the alley toward the trailer park, his voice quieter, as if he were lost in thought.

“I should be asking you that,” I said, eyeing how he moved slower than he used to.

“Don’t fuss.” He waved me off, though the gesture lacked its usual bite.

“You asked me to walk you home.”

“Just needed to talk,” he admitted—a rare confession that made me glance at him twice. “Got some things to say to you.”

“Save me now,” I deadpanned, trying to lighten the mood. That earned me a grunt, but I felt him lean into me a little more. Not that he’d ever admit he needed it. When I’d first arrived at the broken-down garage, it was a place I wanted to escape. Now, I wasn’t sure what I’d do without it or the family I’d found within its walls, including Tudor, the stubborn bastard.

“You were quiet today,” Tudor observed, sharp as ever.

“Working hard on that Chevy,” I lied.

He scoffed. “Lying’s a sin.”

“So is gambling, and I seem to remember you playing poker last week.”

Tudor chuckled, low and rough, and the sound eased something tight in my chest. We reached his home, a mobile home with a small garden, worn but loved. Tudor dug into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys that rattled against each other, fingers slower than they used to be. I pretended not to notice, just like I always did.

“Okay then, night,” I said, and waited for him to close the door.

“Come in for a bit.”

“I need to get back.” To Robbie.

“Ten, is all,” He said, and I glanced back in the direction of Redcars and then followed him in with a sigh.

“Make me a coffee,” he ordered as soon as I closed the door behind us, “and find a cookie in that top cupboard behind the healthy fucking cereal Logan forces on me.”

“I’m not sure I?—”

“Don’t even think of stopping a dying man from his caffeine and cookies.”

“You’re not dying,” I defended, but he wouldn’t meet my gaze. “Jesus, Tudor? Are you?” I ignored the coffee and cookies thing and crouched before him as he grunted in his chair.

“We all gotta die one day.” He cackled, and I nearly thumped him. Asshole.

“Don’t mess with me like that,” I snapped, and he gave me the finger. Seriously. The fuck?

I gave him the finger right back, then made coffee and pulled down the double chocolate chip cookie bag.

“You remember the day I met you?” Tudor asked after swallowing his first bite of chocolate goodness. Usually, he’d work up to talking about the past, shooting the breeze about cars or baseball, but this time, he was going straight in. He loved talking to all four of us about where we’d come from, needling into our pasts a little more each time. Hell, he’d spent an hour talking at Rio last week, and he’d come in to drop off an envelope for Logan and hadn’t been one of Tudor’s rescues for a very long time.

“Yeah, I remember,” I said, the memory still sharp. Stepping out of prison, the heat of the sun on my face for the first time in years, and there he was—this old guy standing there like he owned my ass, waiting like he’d been doing it for years. He hadn’t offered a handshake, hadn’t wasted words, simply told me I had a job and a place to sleep.

I’d accused him of being some old, perverted bastard searching for an easy target. And then he punched me. This small, frail man—who I’d later learn was anything but frail—slugged me right in the face. I’d been too shocked to do anything but stand there, rubbing my jaw, staring at him as if he’d lost his damn mind.

Then he’d pointed at his car, standing there like a goddamn prize. A mint-condition 1969 Dodge Charger, deep black with a hood scoop that looked mean under the sun’s glare. “What do you know about these?” he’d asked.

I’d blinked, thrown off, but instinct took over. I launched into it, rattling off everything I knew—the V8 engine, the horsepower, the top speed, the weight ratio. I crouched down, running a hand over the tires, noting the wear pattern. “Paint job needs some work,” I’d told him, fingers trailing over a faint scratch in the glossy black.

Tudor had grunted, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. “They said you knew cars,” he’d announced. Of course, I knew cars; I’d been boosting and chopping them up since I was eight for Stone Cross—not that anything automobile-related had finally gotten me behind bars. “Are you still affiliated with Stone Cross?”

“Fuck no,” I’d snapped, even lifted my T-shirt to show him the prison tattoos I’d added to obliterate the cross that had been forced on me as a teenager.

“They still want you.”

“I did my time, I made a deal. I’m out.”

“You’ll do,” he’d added after a pause. And that was that. I got in the car, he drove me to Redcars, and my life changed.

After that I spent every day working on cars, fixing what was broken, convincing myself I’d leave when the time was right. I kept telling myself Redcars was temporary, and I wouldn’t get stuck like the others, that I was passing through, another drifter looking for a foothold. I always thought that one day, I’d take one of the cars dropped at the garage, something worth money, and I wouldn’t have to boost it, I could take the keys from the hook and run.

Only, somehow, I’d never left.

It became home in a way I’d never expected. The smell of oil and metal, the hum of an engine finally running smooth, the way Tudor would huff at me when I got something right as if he hadn’t doubted me for a second. It crept into my bones, settled there, and refused to let go.

And Stone Cross had stayed away.

“Reckon, you’re better than you used to be,” Tudor muttered, his voice softer than usual, but the weight of his words was impossible to ignore.

I exhaled, shaking my head. “Reckon I’m not.”

“You care about Redcars.”

“I don’t care,” I snapped. “Caring gets you fucked over before you can blink.”

The words hung in the air, thick and heavy, although I didn’t mean them as a challenge. It was just that I knew who I was—what I was. I wasn’t kind. I wasn’t concerned. And I sure as hell couldn’t do anything other than fighting. My fists, intimidating size, and the gang tattoos on my arms were all I had.

We had an epic staring match, and then he rolled his eyes. His expression grew smug in the blink of an eye, “You see how Robbie was all tearful this morning?”

I could tell he was trying to read me, trying to gauge whether I gave a damn, needle me into reacting.

I stiffened at the question. It was my job to notice when Robbie was upset, and I hadn’t seen him get up in his head and lose his shit or hide. Hell, I hadn’t noticed Robbie was upset, and a knot formed in my stomach, which quickly turned to anger.

“Who upset him?” My voice was lower than I intended, the words coming out with more bite than I wanted. “Was it Rio? I’ll fucking kill him?—”

“And there it is,” Tudor said, and his expression softened, his usual hard edges melting away into something I didn’t have the luxury of showing. Compassion, concern, worry—the look you’d give a kid, someone you cared about deeply, like a proud papa.

I felt a sharp pang in my chest—pride at first, seeing how much Robbie had grown, but then something deeper, something that made my throat tighten. It wasn’t just pride anymore. It was something heavier, something that made me want to hold onto him, to make sure he never had to fight alone again.

“You care that Robbie has somewhere safe,” he said smugly. “You love that kid.”

“No.” The words hit me harder than I expected. Love? Like his big brother, like someone responsible. Or like real love, where I was vulnerable and needy and wanted to hold him and kiss him and show him the real me. What the fuck? Why was I thinking that?

I let the thoughts settle in for a moment before I responded, my voice barely above a whisper. “He’s not a kid.” It was true. Robbie wasn’t a naive kid. He was a man, not some helpless child. “He needs someone to hide behind, is all,” I said. And, sometimes, when he stared up at me with those wide eyes, I couldn’t shake the urge to cradle him close and shield him from everything, scoop him up, and hold him there, right against me. But I couldn’t say any of that to Tudor. Not while he looked at me with that knowing expression, as if he could see right through me. See that I was lying to myself about how I felt about Robbie.

“You tell yourself that, son,” Tudor murmured. “He worships the ground you walk on.”

“Yeah, sure,” I muttered, leaning back to the wall, pushing the thoughts down.

“And you care for him, Enzo. And that’s okay.”

Tudor’s words hung in the air, soft but sharp, as though he already knew the truth.

“I don’t.” I tried to make it sound like I believed what I was saying. But even as they left my mouth, I knew I was lying. It was too damn obvious. I cared too much about Robbie—more than I should. And maybe that was the problem. Perhaps that was the thing that would tear everything apart, the thing that would get us both hurt in the end. Did I have any space left to worry about a busy garage and finances, Rio losing his shit and punching the nearest wall, or Jamie going into one of his mute psychotic burn-the-world-down moments?

“You look out for people,” Tudor pressed on, like he could see right through me. “You keep an eye on Jamie and Rio; you’re as much of the safe space as the garage itself is.”

Safe space . I hated that phrase. It felt like a burden I hadn’t asked for, a responsibility I didn’t want. My skin crawled at the thought of it. I didn’t want to be anyone’s protector, no one’s safe place. I didn’t know how to be that. I’d learned how to throw punches and knew how to keep people at a distance, but not this.

“Don’t put that shit on me,” I muttered, my voice lower than I intended. “I’m not a damn safe space.”

But Tudor just shrugged, his eyes filled with something I didn’t want to face. Maybe he saw more of me than I could see in myself, or he understood what I couldn’t admit. But I wasn’t ready to accept that. Not yet.

“Thanks for walking me back,” he said, and with that I was dismissed, and I was sure somewhere in there was a message and lesson Tudor thought I should learn.

“No worries.” I opened the door.

“Enzo?” I stopped and waited. “Love you, kid,” he added.

I grumbled a nondescript answer. “Love you too, old man.”

“Thought you said I wasn’t old.”

And when I closed the door on him, he was chuckling.