Page 13 of Enzo (Redcars #1)

THIRTEEN

Robbie

Logan stormed into the garage, tension in every line of his body. His face was red, his eyes hard, and I knew something had happened. He didn’t glance at me as he walked past, stopped, spun on his heel, checked where the other guys were, and then stared at me, his gaze unfocused. I don’t know where he’d been all morning, but he looked as if he needed someone to help.

I could help. But he was searching elsewhere, probably trying to see if one of the others was around, but they were all out back. In the end he sighed, cursed, and then turned to me.

“Robbie, I need a favor,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Some guy might come in looking for a car. Name’s Gray something or other, tall guy with red hair and attitude. Tell him his Corolla is toast, and we’ll call him, and that’s all, no pleasantries, no nothing. I’ll be right there,” he pointed at his office. “Can you do that?”

My heart kicked up a notch. Logan’s trust in me to manage things was huge. I puffed up, straightened my spine, and gripped my notebook like a badge of honor.

“I can do that,” I said, maybe a little too eagerly.

He nodded once, then stalked away to his office, slamming the door behind him.

I opened my notebook, and made a note of what Logan had said. I couldn’t concentrate; I was going to be helping my first customer.

The garage door creaked open, and I froze behind the counter, gripping my black notebook like a lifeline. Footsteps approached, and I tried to steady my breathing. This was simply another customer, another job—no reason to panic.

“Hi, my name is Robbie. I work the reception. Can I get your name and a number to contact you on?” The words tumbled out, too fast, and I felt my face heat. Why couldn’t I sound normal for once?

The guy standing in front of me was tall, with red curls, and green eyes that widened as if I’d surprised him, and extended his hand, which I took because that was what I was supposed to do.

“Gray Davies. Call me Gray.”

I let go of his hand fast, my gaze darting to his chest where an ID hung then scribbled his name down before realizing what the initials under meant. A journalist. Fear clogged my throat, thick and heavy, making it hard to breathe. My hands shook, and I had to clutch the edge of the counter to steady myself. A journalist investigated things. Might know my name. Might have seen a Missing poster. Might be here to find me. Someone sent to drag me back. Someone dangerous. My pulse thundered in my ears, my mind racing with half-remembered nightmares. What if he knew who I was? What if he’d been digging, putting pieces together? I forced myself to breathe, but each gasp stuttered and hitched in my chest. I felt shaky, my legs weak.

“You don’t need to write it down,” he said in a kind tone, but other people had pretended to be kind and I’d fallen for it before. “I have the info you need.” He handed me a card, but I felt this deep need to have the details in my book, so I added them and then handed it back. That wasn’t how business cards worked, but I was close to losing my shit already.

“We’ll call you when your car is ready, sir,” I recited my rehearsed words, not thinking he needed to be told his car was toast, and felt relief when he nodded and turned away. But I knew better. I’d learned that just because someone looked like they were leaving didn’t mean they actually would. My stomach twisted. Maybe Gray was playing a game, pretending to turn away to put me off guard. I gripped my notebook tighter, my fingers cold and stiff. People who seemed friendly sometimes had the worst intentions. I remembered the last time someone smiled or acted casually, and then…

Stop.

Enough.

I kept my eyes on Gray’s back, willing him to step outside, to disappear so I could breathe again. But then he stopped and turned back, and I knew this wasn’t over.

“I’d like to check out the car if that’s okay,” he said.

I bit my lip. Logan said he should leave, and there had been pain in his voice. Real pain, not the usual frustration Logan had for strangers poking around. This was different. It was as if Gray had done something personal that cut Logan deep. Why did Logan hate him? What had he done? I didn’t know, but I was sure of one thing—Logan’s anger always had a reason, and whatever that reason was, I wanted no part of it.

“Logan would really like you to leave now,” I stepped back a little. Something about Gray made me nervous, not in a bad way exactly, but I knew Logan didn’t want this guy hanging around. I didn’t know what had happened between them, but it was enough to make me anxious.

“No worries,” Gray said. “I’ll leave as soon as I’ve seen my car.”

“Logan said…” I trailed off. My voice sounded thin, and I backed another step when Gray shifted his stance.

“Can I help you?” Enzo appeared from nowhere, stepping between us, his thumbs tucked into his belt in a way that meant trouble if things didn’t go his way.

“Gray Davies—you have my car here,” Gray said, extending his hand. Enzo ignored it.

“Can I help you?” Enzo repeated, voice low and sharp.

I shuffled to my left, clutching my notebook tight to my chest. If Enzo was here, everything would be okay. I knew that. Enzo wasn’t only strong—he was solid, immovable, the kind of person you could rely on to step in when things felt too big to handle. Seeing him now, standing between me and Gray, eased some of the panic knotting my chest. My breathing steadied a little, but my hands were still cold and shaky. I told myself to stay calm, to keep breathing. But still, part of me couldn’t shake the worry this was all about to go wrong.

“You have my car. A Toyota Corolla,” Gray said.

“I know,” Enzo replied. “I was the one who towed what’s left of it.”

“By hand?” Gray quipped, gesturing at Enzo’s muscles.

Enzo didn’t smile. “We’ll call you when it’s done.”

Gray lingered, peering around Enzo to where I stood. “I asked Robbie if I could see my car first.” My heart jumped, and my breath stuttered. Fear tangled with anxiety, tightening my throat. My hands shook, and I gripped my notebook tighter, feeling the paper cut into my fingers.

What if Gray wasn’t just some guy with a wrecked Corolla? What if he was here for something else—something worse? What if Logan’s anger was because Gray was dangerous? I didn’t know, and not knowing terrified me. My stomach knotted tighter. Logan would hate that I was letting this happen, but I couldn’t exactly stop Enzo from deciding things.

Enzo didn’t answer right away. He stared, assessing Gray as if he were deciding whether to throw him out or let him stay. Finally, Enzo jerked his chin toward me. “It’s okay, Robbie. I got this.”

“Thanks, Enzo,” I blurted, watching Gray follow Enzo deeper into the garage. I clutched my notebook like a shield, my breathing stayed shallow, and my heart raced. I wanted to tell Logan, but what if he was still pissed off? What if I’d only make things worse?

“What the fuck was all that?” Enzo snapped as he stormed into Logan’s office after the Gray guy had left. He kicked the door shut behind him but the tiny window over the garage was open, and with my door not all the way shut I could hear everything.

“Come into my office, why don’t you,” Logan shot back, his voice tight with frustration.

“Who the hell was that, and why do we have that not-rare-at-all piece of shit to fix when it’s clearly destroyed, and what in hell’s name did you involve Robbie for?” Enzo’s voice rose, filled with tension that made my pulse jump. My stomach twisted. I knew I shouldn’t have tried to help. I knew it.

“Gray’s a journalist,” Logan said, and Enzo cursed loud enough to make me flinch.

“No shit, Sherlock. I saw the ID hanging round his neck...” Enzo’s voice dropped slightly, almost as if he didn’t want to say the next part. “Robbie knows he’s a journalist and it’s freaked him the fuck out.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing my breathing to stay steady. I clutched my book. He wasn’t wrong. When I realized Gray was a journalist, it felt like someone had yanked the ground out from beneath me. My chest had gotten so tight that I thought I might pass out.

“Shit, was that another trigger?” Logan asked, his voice quieter now. “Hell, is the kid okay?”

I’m not a kid , I thought, biting my tongue to stop the words from slipping out. But I knew they were worried. Still, hearing Logan call me that stung.

“First, he’s not a kid; he’s twenty-three.” My heart skipped when Enzo corrected Logan. “Second, you remember that filing he did last week after he spilled that coffee, and he had a meltdown over whether we were going to throw him out?” Enzo’s voice softened a fraction.

“Yeah.” Logan sighed.

“He’s refiling it.”

My heart sank further. They knew. Of course, they knew. I wasn’t fooling anyone. I hated that I couldn’t hide my anxiety when it took over like that.

“Fuck,” Logan muttered. “I didn’t mean to throw Robbie under the bus, but…”

“You shouldn’t have asked Robbie to talk to that guy. You know how he can’t handle the?—”

“I’m sorry, okay, I wasn’t thinking. Robbie asked me to challenge him with new stuff,” Logan defended.

I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood. He was right. I wanted to be better, to be stronger. But this… this had been too much. Fuck!

“He meant asking him to get a coffee order or something maybe, not go toe to toe with a goddamned journalist. In our safe place? Jesus, Lo.”

They aren’t mad at me. They’re angry at themselves. They care.

I swallowed. This was a safe place. I blinked hard, struggling with the lump in my throat.

When I heard Logan’s footsteps, then the knock on my door, I wiped my eyes with my shirt sleeve.

“Hang on!” I called, my voice still shaky.

I tried to make everything look normal. Neat piles, my black book tucked away, but I knew Logan wouldn’t be fooled. When I opened the door, he didn’t push his way in but stood there, gaze soft but still searching.

“Hey,” I said, forcing a smile.

“I fucked up,” he said. “I apologize.”

“No, I’m sorry that I couldn’t…” My throat tightened again. I set the files down before they slipped from my shaking hands. “Enzo must think I’m such a mess.” Why did I default to what Enzo thought of me?

Because Enzo is all I can think about.

Logan sighed, regretful. “Not at all. He’s pissed at me for being an idiot. In my defense, it’s been a bad day.”

I almost smiled, but the anxiety still sat heavy in my chest.

“I asked you to push me out of my comfort zone, and I want you to do it again,” I said. “I won’t mess up next time.”

“It’s all good,” Logan said. “This is a safe place, and I don’t know your whole story, but I shouldn’t put my shit first. You’re worth more than me messing you up. Okay?”

“Okay.” My voice was small, but I tried to sound more assertive. “Okay,” I said again, firmer this time.

“I’ll leave you to it.”

“Please… don’t give up on me, okay?” I asked before he could leave, my voice a whisper.

“Never, kid. Never.”

I’m not a kid.