Chapter Two
Eli
He called me pretty.
I’m a man. Men aren’t pretty.
But that doesn’t stop my heart from racing like it’s trying to escape my chest. And considering it doesn’t take much for my circuits to overload, that’s not exactly a good thing.
So I take a few deep breaths, willing myself to calm down before I short-circuit right here in the middle of the garage. Again.
The sound of his voice, rough, teasing, threaded with something I can’t name, still curls around me long after he’s gone.
For one brief, impossible moment, I was soaking in it… his attention, his grin, the way his eyes seemed to actually see me.
Then she started flirting with him.
He called her beautiful.
And she is. She’s everything I’m not. Confident, lean, sunlit, and sure of her place in the world.
Not to mention… a woman.
And somehow, beautiful sounds stronger, more real, than pretty.
Shaking my head, I force myself to focus. My fingers hover over the keyboard, trembling just slightly as I type. I finalize the last order of the day, pretending my chest isn’t tight and that his words aren’t echoing in the back of my mind.
“I don’t know why he wants to keep you employed,” Patrick says from behind me. “You lose this place more money than you make. But you’re his problem now. Are there any more orders?”
“No,” I answer quietly, ignoring the rest. “That was the last one.”
“Damn,” he sighs. “Thought we had at least a week’s worth left. Oh well. Be here bright and early tomorrow. You’re the only employee the man’s got. Poor bastard has no idea how hard it is to run this place.”
He walks out without so much as a goodbye, leaving the building’s keys clattering onto the desk in front of me.
I stare at them for a long moment, the metal catching the light like they hold some kind of answer.
I can’t help but wonder why the biker wants me to stay.
As cruel as Patrick’s words were, he’s not wrong. I don’t really know what I’m doing half the time. And sometimes… sometimes I have to step away, breathe, find a quiet corner to calm myself before I hit the floor.
The others think it’s funny. Like it’s a game. They see how far they can push before I pass out cold.
News flash: it doesn’t take much.
When I was a toddler, I was diagnosed with a condition called vasovagal syncope. Some doctors call it “reflex syncope.” Basically, my body overreacts to certain triggers, dropping my heart rate and blood pressure so fast that the blood flow to my brain cuts off for a few seconds.
The result? Me waking up on the floor about a minute later, usually with a new bruise somewhere on my body.
When I was younger, the triggers were small. Too much excitement or getting jump-scared during a movie.
Now? Take those two and crank them up a few notches.
These days, my list includes: fear, anxiety, embarrassment, pain, guilt, seeing blood, confrontation, standing too long, standing up too fast, dehydration, skipping meals, exhaustion, sudden loud noises, flashing lights, and even strong smells.
My body…and honestly, my life…is a freaking mess.
So, you can imagine how many times I’ve fainted at work. These jerks think it’s funny to rile me up just to see how much I can take before I hit the floor. Then they get pissed when I’m trying to recover and not doing my job fast enough.
So, no. I can’t say I’m upset the garage is changing owners.
But I do need to tell the biker that keeping me around is a bad idea.
My working here is a liability, plain and simple.
The only reason Patrick hired me in the first place was because no one else wanted the job.
And, no one else wanted the liability risk.
I’m sure this man won’t have any trouble letting me go once he figures that out.
Sighing, I grab the keys off the desk and call for my ride.
Another fun fact about having reflex syncope? I’m not allowed to drive or operate heavy machinery. Or swim. Or ride roller coasters.
But honestly… I’m okay with that one.
My phone pings with a notification that my ride will be here in an hour.
I could probably walk home faster than that… but with my condition, in this heat, dragging along my fat, out-of-shape body?
Yeah, not happening.
So, I sink into the chair behind the counter and wait.
My stomach growls, loud enough to echo in the empty shop. I sigh and reach for one of the protein bars I always keep near the desk.
Another thing those jerks used to make fun of me for.
“Look at Eli,” they’d laugh. “He’s so fat he can’t go five minutes without food.”
Yeah, I’m fat. And sure, I could stand to lose twenty… maybe more… pounds. But how am I supposed to do that? I’m built with a wider and shorter frame to begin with, so even if I starve myself, I’ll never look small.
Not as big as that biker, though.
But still broad.
And I can’t exactly exercise. Not in the way it would take to actually lose weight. That’s a surefire way to land myself on the floor. My heart and my head can only handle so much before everything goes dark.
So I eat. Three meals a day, plus snacks. Not because I’m greedy.
Because if I don’t… I faint.
Again… my life freaking sucks.
The doctors told me my case of reflex syncope is one of the most severe they’ve ever seen. Most people with the condition faint a few times a year. Maybe once or twice a week at worst.
Me? I’m down at least four times a week. More, if I’m stressed about something.
For the most part, I know my body. I can usually tell when I need to back off, sit down, take a minute. Or when I’m safe to keep pushing through.
They also think I’ve got a touch of Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome, or POTS, mixed in for good measure. Basically, my body sucks at regulating blood pressure and heart rate when I’m standing too long.
Which is one of the reasons I went down in front of that biker.
His smile alone had my heart rate spiking, but that wasn’t what did it. My body had already been screaming warning signs…lightheaded, hot, the edges of my vision closing in. It always does before I faint.
But there isn’t really a place to sit in the garage, and Patrick kicked me out of the office for his meeting with the biker half an hour before he even showed up.
So I was out there on my feet for at least an hour before their meeting was over…
and another fifteen minutes while Patrick was talking to his lawyer.
I kept my head down and took deep breaths, trying to stave it off. I’ve done it a thousand times before…breathe slow, focus, ride it out.
But then he spoke to me… and like an idiot, I looked up too fast.
I knew I was going down a second before it happened.
So freaking embarrassing.
But it is what it is.
An hour and a half later, my phone buzzes with the notification that my ride is finally here.
Thank goodness. I need a shower and Dr. Pepper…stat!!!