Chapter 2 ISAIAH #2
I’d gone with Dash and the guys to rescue her. I liked Bryce and I’d wanted to help. We’d found her in the mountains, frozen and scared. That’s where I’d found Genevieve too.
In the middle of a hell that had already broken loose.
Genevieve and I needed to get our stories straight. We had to work out what lies we were telling and what truths we’d use to fill in the gaps. I didn’t have the energy to hash it out today.
For now, I needed the reliability of work.
As I pulled on some coveralls to save my jeans, Dash put his tools away in a drawer. When they were stowed, he gave me a nod. “Glad you’re back.”
“Appreciate the second chance.”
He shrugged. “Around here, we believe in second chances. Third and fourth, actually. Just ask Leo how many times Dad has fired him over the years.”
“I won’t let you down again,” I promised.
“Good.” Dash nodded, then disappeared into the office with Bryce.
I opened a drawer on the workbench and the ring on my hand caught the overhead florescent light.
Shit. I checked over both shoulders to make sure the other guys weren’t close, then I slipped the ring off and into my pocket where it would stay.
At least I had an excuse as to why I wouldn’t wear it.
Rings at work were a good way for mechanics to lose fingers.
How had this happened? I’d come to work one day, gone on a motorcycle chase to rescue my boss’s girlfriend and now had a wife.
Mom always said trouble found me no matter where I went.
I grabbed a handful of tools and got started on the oil change.
I hadn’t been a mechanic for long, but I was a fast learner and auto mechanics came naturally.
Gears fit with other gears. Bolts threaded through nuts.
A screw tightened with a turn to the right and loosened with a turn to the left.
I soaked in the simplicity that one part was designed for another and blocked out the chaos of my life.
I spent the rest of the day on oil changes and one bumper-to-bumper inspection. Even after Dash and Bryce went home, followed soon by Emmett and Leo, I kept working.
The last place I wanted to go was upstairs where Genevieve waited.
“Isaiah? Are you still here?”
I turned from the shop sink as Presley’s voice carried through the garage. “Yeah.”
“Okay. Want me to lock up?”
“Nah. I got it.” I shook my hands dry.
Presley left the doorway to the office and walked deeper into the shop.
Her hair was like snow, cut short at the sides and swooped long on top.
She tucked her hands in her overalls as she approached, the denim baggy around her small frame.
Emmett always teased that she was no bigger than a fairy princess.
“I know I said it this morning, but I’m glad you’re back.”
“Me too. How are things?”
“Good.” She shrugged. “I’m just going home for the day. You should too.”
I’d drag myself upstairs soon enough. “Yeah.”
Presley had to know Genevieve was in the apartment, but she didn’t ask. She was the one person at the garage who didn’t have questions. Maybe because she knew I wouldn’t talk.
The two of us had formed a fast friendship. She hadn’t been part of the Tin King world either, something that had paired us together as outsiders. We fit in the garage family, but while the others whispered about secrets, Presley and I bonded over coffee in the office.
She didn’t ask me about prison. She didn’t ask me about my past. When we talked, it was mostly about her or life in Clifton Forge. She told me the best place in town to get a cheeseburger and where to go for haircuts. Presley had been my sounding board when my landlord had jacked up my rent.
“How’s it coming along upstairs? Did you get it all cleaned out?” she asked.
I nodded. “For the most part. Needs paint and some updates, but I want to run those by Dash before I go making major changes.”
When I’d moved to town, I’d rented an apartment not far from here.
The landlord hadn’t liked my record—no one did, including me.
Still, he’d let me rent a place on a month-to-month lease.
Not two weeks later, right about the time Dash had given me a raise, he’d come over to tell me he was doubling my rent.
Maybe it was because I was an ex-con and he knew I wouldn’t find another place to live. Presley’s theory was he’d learned I was working at the garage and knew Dash paid his mechanics a fair wage.
She was a good one to have in your corner.
Pres had gone to Dash, unasked by me, and talked to him about letting me move into the upstairs apartment. All it had cost me was some time cleaning it up.
Even after hours of scrubbing the walls and shampooing the carpet, it wasn’t good enough for Genevieve. It was an apartment made for a bachelor, not a classy, poised woman who walked into a room and captured everyone’s attention.
“Is everything all right?” Presley asked. “I know you and Genevieve are keeping to yourselves right now and that’s fine. You don’t have to tell me details. I’m not trying to butt into your love life. But . . . are you good?”
“Yeah,” I answered honestly. Thanks to Genevieve. She might be out of her mind with this marriage idea, but if it worked, I’d be more than good. I’d be free. “Thanks, Pres.”
“Anytime. See you tomorrow?”
I nodded. “Tomorrow.”
Presley left through the office as I shut down everything in the shop, turning off the rows of florescent lights and closing each of the large bay doors.
I locked up the side door, loitered on the asphalt for a long minute and, when I couldn’t avoid it any longer, forced my feet up the black, iron staircase that led to my apartment.
I paused at the doorknob. Should I knock? I lived here. My bed, my belongings were all inside. But with Genevieve having moved in yesterday, it didn’t feel like my home anymore.
My knuckles tapped on the door before I pushed it open.
Genevieve was on the couch, sitting cross-legged with her laptop balanced on her thighs. Her back stiffened as I entered. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I shut the door behind me and went to the kitchen to my left, grabbing a pop from the fridge. “Working on something?”
“Trying to find a job.”
“Hmm.” The can hissed as I popped it open. I chugged three gulps, letting the fizz and sugar slide down my throat.
Genevieve closed her laptop and set it aside. Her dark hair was piled on top of her head, the waves from earlier in the day trapped in a white ribbon. The dress was gone. She’d traded it for a pair of maroon leggings and a T-shirt that dipped over one shoulder, showcasing her collarbone.
Just that little sliver of skin and my heart galloped. My fingers itched to graze her smooth, creamy skin. I took another drink of Coke, shoving my reaction to Genevieve’s beauty away.
The urge to touch her was simply physical.
Today’s kiss had stirred up some pent-up sexual frustration that had been absent for years.
After a few days, it would be buried again and forgotten.
I’d learn how to live with this gorgeous woman who was far too beautiful to be in this dingy room, even in her loungewear.
Her outfit was hot, but not as sexy as the green dress from the courthouse.
“We didn’t get a picture,” I muttered.
“Huh?”
I went to the couch, sitting as far away from her as the piece would allow. “A picture. We didn’t get one today. Do you think that’ll be suspicious? People are going to expect a picture from the wedding, right?”
“Oh.” Her shoulders fell. “I didn’t think of that either. Maybe we could say we’re getting them done later or something.”
“Yeah.”
An awkward quiet hovered over the couch. It was the same silence that we’d endured yesterday after moving her boxes and suitcases in from her car. I’d stuck it out for a few hours, but it had become uncomfortable, so I’d excused myself for the night and rented a room at the motel.
“So.” I drew out the word.
“So.”
How were we supposed to convince people we were married when we couldn’t speak more than one word to each other?
My eyes darted to the bed at our side and I gulped. Christ. It was our wedding night. She didn’t expect us to consummate this thing, did she?
Her eyes followed mine, then widened with fear.
That’s a no.
“Um . . . where’s your ring?” she asked.
“Oh. I wasn’t sure if we were telling people. Or how you thought we should handle this.” I shifted to dig the ring out of my pocket, then slid it back on my finger. The damn thing was heavy.
“What are we going to do?” she whispered. “People need to think that we’re in love, but I don’t have a clue how we’re going to convince anyone when we just met last week.”
Thank fuck. “Me either.”
“This is awkward and horrible and—shit.” She waved her hands in the air, erasing the words. “I don’t mean you’re horrible, just this whole situation. You’re great, and I owe you so much.”
I lifted my left hand, wiggling my ring finger. “Think we’re even as of today.”
“No.” Her shoulders fell. “You saved my life, Isaiah. I realized after the ceremony that I haven’t said thank you.”
“You don’t need to.”
“Yes, I do.” She put her hand on my knee. “Thank you.”
I’d do it again, over and over if it meant saving her. “You’re welcome.”
“It’s not forever.” She gave me a sad smile. “A few years, maybe. We’ll make sure it all dies down and then we can call it quits.”
Years. That seemed like a long time to be married to a stranger. “I’m not ready to tell people.”
“I’m fine waiting a few days. We’re getting enough questions at the moment, so let’s not add this on top.”
“Sounds good,” I agreed. “Did Bryce come up from the garage earlier? I saw her when I got back from the courthouse.”
“Yeah.” Her eyes dropped to the floor. “I didn’t answer the door. Or her texts. I feel so bad. I haven’t known her for long, but she feels like a friend.”
“It’s hard not to like her.”
“Try getting stuffed in a trunk with her, then dragged up a mountain and tied up by a tree together. Bryce kept it together. She made me keep it together. I’ll never be able to repay her for that. She deserves the truth but . . .”
Our safety was in the lies.
“I hate lying,” she confessed.
Genevieve Daylee was a good person who’d been thrown into a fucking awful situation. Or was it Genevieve Reynolds now?
Would she change her last name? Was it strange that I wanted her to?
“Do you think anyone is going to buy this?” I asked.
“No.” She laughed. “But maybe if we stick it out long enough, they’ll come to accept it.”
The silence returned. I finished my Coke. Genevieve stared blankly across the apartment. The goddamn bed kept catching the corner of my eye.
I stood from the couch, taking my can to the recycling bin in the kitchen. “I’m going to head to the motel for another night.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, though there was relief in her voice.
“I think getting married is enough for today. We’ll save the wedding night for another time.”
Her face paled.
Oh, fuck. “No, that’s not what I meant. I mean a wedding night as in us both under the same roof. Not, you know.” I tossed a hand toward the bed. “We don’t have to, uh . . . do that. Ever.”
She gulped.
“See you tomorrow.” I marched to the door, leaving her wide-eyed on the couch. I jogged down the stairs and ran to my bike. Only when it was on the road did I start to breathe again.
Wedding night? What the hell had I been thinking? Genevieve and I wouldn’t have a wedding night. Pretending to be married to Genevieve didn’t mean we had to sleep together.
No, today’s kiss had been enough.
Especially since it still lingered on my lips.