18. Ransom
18
RANSOM
" T hey don't take kindly to stalking around here."
Fuck. How did I let him sneak up on me? He's built like a tank, all muscle and sinew, with close-cropped hair and sharp eyes that miss nothing. The kind of guy you'd want on your side in a fight.
"I'm not stalking," I say, trying to keep my tone light. "Just... reminiscing."
The man—wearing a McKenna's Auto coverall—narrows his eyes. "Reminiscing about what exactly?"
Who the fuck is this guy? I cross my arms over my chest and raise a brow at him. It's the 'I'm in fucking charge' pose I use in negotiations, but it's not working here. Probably because I am at such a disadvantage right now. I don't have any information, and I don't have anyone but myself to blame for it. "I used to live here. Well, not in the garage itself, but upstairs with the McKennas. I'm a friend."
The guy snorts. "Friend, huh? That's not exactly how I'd describe you based on what I've heard."
My stomach twists. Fucking small towns. Of course, he already knows who I am. Why didn't I hold off and do some recon first? "I'm just here to… fuck, I don't know. Make amends, maybe?"
He raises an eyebrow. "By lurking outside the garage?"
I wince. He's got a point. "Things didn't go so well last night. I'm trying to figure out the right approach, that's all."
"Blair's not here," he says, his tone clipped. "She's out on a job."
That's not news. I watched her drive out an hour ago. That's the only reason I felt safe enough to walk right up to the building. There are a lot of dangerous, heavy things in there. Things Blair would have no problem throwing. "I'll just wait."
We stand in awkward silence for a moment, sizing each other up. Logically, I know Blair couldn't be running this place by herself. This is a small town, but anywhere you find well-used vehicles, you'll find a busy mechanic. That's why shops like this are good investments. Maybe not this particular shop, but the ones I own all over the country are. But who the fuck is this guy?How long has he worked here? How close is he to Blair?
In any negotiation, the person with less information is at a disadvantage. I hate being unprepared, but this whole trip is a show of idiocy, so there's no point in trying to pretend I know what the fuck I'm doing. Why did I have to keep Blair and this town such a fucking secret? My brother Declan, hacker and all-around computer god, could have gotten me the rundown on this guy a year ago, but no, I had to be a paranoid motherfucker and keep it all a secret.
"So, how long have you been working here?" I ask, not even trying to sound casual.
He shrugs, expression guarded. "Few years now. Blair's a good boss."
Why does that surprise me? She always knew her stuff when it came to cars, but people were another matter. I can't picture her as a boss or dealing with customers. Does she really have the kind of patience it takes? Maybe she doesn't, and that's why Robert came to me? Because he was worried she wouldn't be able to handle the responsibility of the garage?
"She always had a knack for this stuff," I say, gesturing toward the garage. "Even when we were kids."
His expression softens slightly. "Yeah, she's something else."
Would it be wrong to throat-punch this guy and throw him in the trunk of my car? I don't like the look in his eyes when he talks about Blair.
At all.
We lapse into silence again, a thousand unanswered questions between us, both of us unwilling to give up anything important. And how the fuck does he know about me? About us. Has he just heard gossip, or did she tell him?
The thought of her sharing our history with this guy, who clearly cares about her, makes me want to crawl out of my skin. It's her story too, I know that, but everything about us, right up to the end, is fucking precious to me. I keep it tucked away, only pulling it out for myself.
I sure as fuck wouldn't share it with a coworker.
And I didn't share it with my family.
Why does that make me feel guilty?
“You got a name? It’s only fair, since you seem to know mine.”
His eyes narrow, but he finally grunts, “Matt.”
"You served?" I ask, nodding toward the Army tattoo peeking out from under his sleeve.
Matt nods. "Two tours in Afghanistan."
Aw, fuck. He's a handsome fucker and a hero. Shit. "Thank you for your service."
Matt shrugs. "Just did my job."
Modest too. I hate him.
"Look," Matt says finally, "I get that you have history here. But things change. People change. Blair's built a life for herself, and it's a good one. Don't go messing that up just because you're feeling nostalgic."
This fucking guy. "I appreciate you looking out for her," I say. "But you don't know what the hell you're talking about."
Matt nods, his expression unreadable. "I've worked with her every day for years. I think maybe I know a fuck of a lot more than you do."
Yep, I'm going to fuck him up. I glare at him and shove the sleeves of my hoodie up. Matt watches me with a look of anticipation. Good. Let's do this.
We're interrupted by the growl of an engine. Blair pulls up to the curb, then smoothly backs in, the late-model sedan she's towing ending up right in front of the empty bay.
She hops out, her eyes darting between Matt and me. There's a tightness in her jaw that I recognize all too well.
"Matt, get this on the hoist and check it out for Mrs. Hendricks," Blair says, her tone clipped.
Matt nods, smirking at me, then moves to disconnect the car. Blair circles the truck, stopping a few feet away from me. She crosses her arms over her chest, her gaze boring into mine.
"You're still here."
It's not a question. I can see the walls going up, her body language screaming, "keep away." But I've never been good at backing down from a challenge.
"Thought I might lend a hand," I say, heading for the truck. "For old times' sake."
Blair's eyebrows shoot up. That's not what she was expecting me to say at all. Good. That's the only chance I have of making things right with her. An unbalanced Blair is going to be easier to deal with.
"You're joking."
I ignore her, zipping up my hoodie as I walk over to Matt. "Need a hand?"
Matt cocks an eyebrow. "Sure, take that side."
Together, we maneuver the car onto the hoist and raise it up. I step underneath with Matt, the familiar smell of oil and metal flooding my senses.
"You're not really dressed for this, city boy," Matt says, eyeing my clothes. "You might want to step back."
"Doesn't matter. I have more clothes." Not with me, but that's a small issue. I'm sure there's somewhere in town to buy another shirt. And proving to this colossal asshole that I'm not a fucking useless city boy matters more than my wardrobe.
We get to work, Matt calling out what he needs and me passing tools. It doesn't take him long to figure out that I'm passing him what he needs before he asks for it. Taking a backseat in this garage to anyone but Robert or Blair doesn't sit right, but I can play nice when I need to. And right now, with Blair one bay over, I need to.
"You actually know what you're doing," he says, surprise evident in his voice.
Am I feeling a little smug? Yes. "Don't sound so shocked. I grew up in this garage, remember?"
"Yeah, but that was a long time ago, right?"
"True," I admit, wiping sweat from my brow. "These days I spend more time behind a desk than under a car. But I've always got something to work on back home." We put a hoist in the underground garage at home, so we tinker there. For bigger things on our own cars, we take them to Knight Street. It's familiar. It's home. And it's a good way for me to check in on my brothers. They're more likely to ramble about their lives when they’re tinkering, giving me insight into what's going on in their heads.
Matt nods, focusing on the task at hand. We work in silence for a bit, the only sounds are the clink of tools and the occasional grunt of effort.
"So, what do you do now?" Matt asks eventually. "If you're not getting your hands dirty every day?"
I hesitate for a moment. "I own a company. We do a lot of stuff, but the big one is Brash Auto."
Matt's eyes widen. "Shit, really? We order parts from you guys all the time."
"Small world," I murmur, acutely aware of Blair working on a car nearby. She hasn't said a word, but I can feel her listening. Why do I care what she thinks about what I've accomplished? I’m not surprised they order from us. Most mechanic’s do. We have the best prices and the fastest delivery.
"How'd you end up running a company like that?" Matt asks.
I shrug, focusing on tightening a bolt. "Right place, right time, and a little luck. I wanted to build something that was all mine. Well… ours. I did it with my family." Blair drops something, muttering a curse as she picks it up. She's listening to every word I say, thank fuck. "We started with one garage. Then two. Then it snowballed into hundreds, then parts, and real estate."
"Must be nice," Matt says, a hint of something in his voice. Envy? Curiosity? "Sitting in an office all day, calling the shots."
I laugh, the sound echoing in the garage. "Being the boss is pretty fucking great. But I miss this sometimes, you know? The simplicity of it. Problem, solution, fixed. There's a lot less bullshit under a car."
"Yeah, I get that," Matt nods, brow furrowed. "There's something satisfying about figuring out what's wrong and making it right."
We lapse into silence again, working steadily. Of course, I sneak glances at Blair. She's bent over the engine of another car, her movements sure and efficient. Watching her move around the vehicle is like watching a dance. She's so completely in charge in here. So at home.
And I'm trying to convince her to sell. Why? It's getting hard to justify it, even to myself.
"So, you grew up here?" Matt asks, breaking into my thoughts. He's watching Blair.
I nod. "Yeah, Robert was my foster dad. I lived here from twelve to the time I was fifteen."
"He was a good man," Matt says softly.
The past tense makes my stomach churn. It was easier to imagine him alive and well when I wasn’t standing in this fucking garage. It must kill Blair to be here every day without him. ”Yeah, he was."
More silence. I can feel the weight of unasked questions hanging in the air.
"Look," Matt says finally, his voice low. So low, I doubt Blair can hear. "I don't know what went down between you and Blair. But she's been through a lot."
I meet his eyes. "I know. That's part of why I'm here." Robert's death had to have been difficult. If only she'd let me make things easier for her.
Matt holds my gaze for a long moment, then nods. "Alright then. Hand me that wrench, will you?"
We finish up the job and then step out from under the car. I stretch, my back protesting the unfamiliar work. I haven't spent that long under a car in fifteen years. When I'm with my brothers, I tend to sit back a little more. The busier their hands are, the more they talk. The only exception is Jonas, who's happier sitting in a lawn chair, eating and offering 'helpful' suggestions.
Blair's still at her station, but I catch her watching us in the reflection of the windshield.
"Thanks for the help," Matt says, offering his hand.
I shake it, nodding. "Anytime."
Forcing myself to leave the garage instead of crossing to her like I want to, I swear I feel her eyes on my back. This isn't the time to talk to her. Not with an audience, and not until I straighten shit out for myself.
Being near Blair, despite getting distinct 'fuck off' vibes, felt like home, and it's fucking with my head.
The sun's beating down as I cross the square, making it feel like summer already. My t-shirt is fucked, and I need to find somewhere to buy a clean one before I head back to the garage later.
Because I am going back.
Blair and I still need to talk, and now, thanks to working next to her all afternoon, I have a slight hope that she might not try to kill me.
At least not right away.
Badger Falls hasn't changed much in twenty years. Oh yeah, except for a bunch of boarded-up storefronts. Luckily, I spot a clothing store tucked between the pharmacy and the hair salon. Perfect.
As I push open the door, a little bell chimes overhead. The place is clean but cramped, with a distinct focus on plaid and work clothing. A whole rack of shirts costs less than one of my ties back home.
Everything I wear is expensive. Everything I wear serves a purpose. It's camouflage. It's armor. But here, I stick out. And while I normally don't mind that, I'm fighting an uphill battle here and could do with a bit of blending in.
"Can I help you find something?" A woman in her late twenties approaches, her eyes widening slightly as she looks me over.
"Just need a clean shirt," I say, gesturing to the grease stains. "Got a little carried away helping out at McKenna's."
Her expression softens at the mention of the garage. "Oh, you know Blair? I love her. She's been through so much lately."
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. What has Blair been through? What don't I know? Robert died, yeah, but it's been over a year. Is that what she's talking about? They were really close, so maybe, but it feels like there's more to it.
And the way everyone keeps saying it… maybe it is more.
"Well, let's get you fixed up," she says, leading me toward a rack of button-downs. "You're kind of… big." She clears her throat, cheeks pink. "But we do have a few options that should work for you. Any particular color in mind?"
"Why don't you pick? And while you're at it, any chance you have pants that would fit?"
She takes her glasses off and runs her eyes over my legs in a way that makes me feel flattered and a little violated at the same time. "You're tall, but I think I might have a few options." She hooks her arm through mine and grins up at me. "Let's go, handsome."