Page 35 of Enzo (Redcars #1)
Three Months Later
The Pontiac was nowhere near finished. Paint still flaked from the hood, and the passenger door stuck every time I opened it, but I didn’t care. It was a group project to keep us grounded. Me, Robbie, and Rio had been at it all morning—well, Rio had vanished after two hours, muttering about breakfast burritos and Jamie’s temper. Robbie stuck around, covered in grease, curls escaping his cap, and a determined look on his face that made me want to pull him into my arms and forget about the car.
Jamie hadn’t shown up today. He’d been spending more and more time away from the garage lately on the off days and evenings, which was starting to freak Rio out. Me too if I were honest. Jamie’s disappearances usually meant something was boiling under the surface. I sent him a text, a simple where the fuck are you , but his answer was vague.
Killian was working on the data Jamie had downloaded. He told us to back off from Kessler and Lassiter. He said he was doing his thing, and we needed to hang tight so there was no attention on Robbie. I could get behind that, but I still never let Robbie out of my sight, and I loved every moment we were together.
“Where does this go?” Robbie asked, holding up a screw.
“Not on this car,” I said.
He pouted in disappointment and tossed the screw over near the bucket holding all kinds of odds and ends that made their way into a garage.
He was crouched down, a wrench in his hand and grease smudged across one cheek. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, and although he still flinched sometimes at loud noises, and nightmares were never far away, he looked better. Solid. He’d started therapy last month. Voluntarily. He said he wanted to work through some ghosts instead of letting them run him down. That took more guts than I think he realized.
And we’d moved out of Redcars—two doors down from Rio and Jamie. Close, but still ours. A second-floor apartment with creaky floors, too much light in the mornings, and windows opening onto trees and not alleyways. Robbie had picked out the curtains. Blue, like the sky. Like freedom. Plus, the security was insane once Jamie took over fixing it up for us. Robbie was never alone, and one day maybe he would be, but it was far in the future.
I wiped my hands on a rag and straightened, stretching the kinks from my back. “Wanna get outta here?” I asked. “Head up to the hills?”
Robbie didn’t hesitate. He tossed the wrench into the tray, wiped his hands, and said, “God, yes,” as if I’d just offered him oxygen. Ten minutes later, we were in my truck, the windows down, the sun slanting gold through the windshield.
Robbie sat beside me, his hand tucked in mine across the console.
The city fell away behind us, buildings shrinking into the distance as we climbed. The air was warm, sharp with pine, and the sky so clear it almost didn’t feel real. Robbie didn’t talk much at first; he stared out the window, his free hand tapping absently against his knee. Out here on the road, I could almost forget the threats at our door, even if the developers had been dealt with, and Logan and Gray were happy, there was still the specter of the other two men out there. And with Jamie heading out all the time, not saying where he was going I had to work hard not to freak the fuck out.
“Did Jamie reply to the message you sent at lunch?” Robbie asked as if he’d been thinking the same thing.
“Just said he needed space. Said he was fine.” I didn’t say how vague he’d been, how his burner phone had gone dark last night, how Rio had paced the shop like a caged animal, muttering about missed calls and the kind of silence that never meant anything good.
Robbie squeezed my hand. “You think he’s in trouble?”
I didn’t answer right away. But, yeah. I did.
We stopped at an overlook and parked in the shade. Robbie climbed onto the hood first, patting the spot beside him like it was always meant to be shared. I joined him, the metal warm under my jeans, the wind whispering from the valley below.
“It’s like a different world from up here,” he said, his voice soft with awe.
I glanced at him, at the golden light catching in the strands of his newly grown-out blond hair. He still wore contacts, but everything had changed about how he looked. He was still my Robbie. The one who reached for my hand when everything was too much and trusted me with all his broken pieces.
“Would you like to see more of the world?” I asked.
His eyes met mine. There was a flicker of something unspoken there—fear, maybe, or the weight of everything he’d survived. But then he smiled, small and sure.
“Nah,” he said. “I have everything I need right here.” He snuggled under my arm, and I held him as close as possible.
He was right. We didn’t need anything else.
Not yet anyway.
Just this. Just us. Was perfect.
Together.
THE END