15. Viper
VIPER
Axel’s garage smells like motor oil, metal, and old coffee.
Honestly, I find it relaxing.
Most people don’t. Most people walk in here and immediately start wondering how many OSHA violations they can count before Axel throws a wrench at them.
The place looks like organized chaos at best. Half-torn engines sit on metal tables beside shelves stacked with parts only Axel can identify while classic rock hums faintly from a speaker somewhere buried beneath tools.
Axel himself stands half inside the hood of a black Camaro wearing grease-stained jeans and a thermal shirt with the sleeves shoved to his elbows. Headphones cover his ears while he works, effectively ignoring the rest of humanity, exactly how he prefers.
Meanwhile, I’m sitting on an overturned crate near the office corner, pretending to organize shipment manifests while actually watching ASL videos on my phone.
Again.
A woman on YouTube slowly signs basic conversational phrases while I repeat them quietly to myself. Across the screen, captions explain hand placement and facial expression, while I practice badly enough that if Blade saw me right now he’d probably develop a stress headache.
Not good exactly, but functional enough now that Paxton doesn’t immediately look confused every time we attempt communication. That alone feels weirdly important to me in a way I’m still trying to fully understand.
I pause the video and practice another phrase slowly.
How was your day?
Wrong hand angle. I sigh and restart it.
Across the garage Axel doesn’t even glance up from the engine. He already knows what I’m doing because he caught me watching videos in here yesterday too. Didn’t comment on it then either.
That’s one of the reasons I like hanging around him.
Silence with Axel never feels awkward.
If Stryker and Blade are busy, I usually end up here. Sometimes I help with shipments or take calls while I’m here. Sometimes I just sit nearby while Axel works, because I hate empty space in my brain and he doesn’t require conversation to coexist.
Today my brain won’t shut off enough for paperwork.
Stryker filled me and Blade in immediately on what happened in Miami.
That whole conversation keeps replaying in loops inside my head.
The way we’ve been working with Calder for nearly two years and never knew how close we all were to the same thing.
There’s added tension because they knew Valentina and that matters to Nora.
Poor fucking Nora.
For six years, she thought the girl who was essentially her sister had vanished into thin air, and now, suddenly, there’s at least a chance somebody saw her afterward. Sometimes hope’s crueler than grief honestly.
I restart the ALS video again. Do you want more ice cream?
That one at least I nail. Small victories.
My phone buzzes briefly with a text from Blade distracting me from my video
Blade:
Storm rolling in. Clubhouse good?
I glance automatically toward the garage windows where dark clouds have started gathering over Black Rock. Wind rattles lightly against the metal siding outside while distant thunder flickers low on the horizon.
Nevada storms hit hard when they actually happen. Fast too.
I type back quickly.
Probably soon.
Before I can send another message, the garage lights flicker once overhead.
The first thing I think is, Nora’s house is old as shit. And just like that I’m already standing before fully deciding to move.
Axel still hasn’t looked up from the Camaro.
“I’m leaving,” I call to him.
He lifts one hand absently without turning around. Ten minutes later rain starts hitting my face halfway across town as I take a turn on my bike.
Wind pushing harder now while thunder rolls somewhere deeper across the desert. I weave through streets toward Nora’s neighborhood trying very hard not to acknowledge how naturally my brain categorized checking on her as priority number one.
The lights are still on when I pull into her driveway. Relief settles instantly, but I’m here now, so might as well check on them right?
The three of us agreed not to overwhelm her, so limit texting, limit popping in. We lucked out that Paxton wanted us around that first time and the excuse of it being his interview day was what we used to justify when Stryker told us to escort them.
Wind and droplets pushes dead leaves across the porch while I jog up the steps and knock firmly against the front door.
A second later it swings open. Paxton stands there barefoot in dinosaur pajama pants and a shirt covered in teal paint smudges. Immediately my brain supplies adorable against my will.
Then another thought hits right behind it.
He cannot hear danger approaching. Cannot hear footsteps or strangers or someone forcing entry. Nora absolutely knows that, which means this is probably excitement overriding rules about opening doors rather than bad parenting, but still.
Mental note. Need to talk to her about that gently later.
Paxton grins the second he sees me.
I crouch slightly before signing carefully and probably too slowly, Hey buddy, where’s mom?
Paxton watches my hands with painful concentration. Then his grin widens.
You sign slow like an old turtle.
I bark out a laugh immediately. That bad?
He nods enthusiastically. Very slow.
Rude, cute little shit.
I point accusingly at him while signing, I’m still learning.
That earns another silent laugh from him while he steps aside to let me inside. Mom is upstairs.
The house smells faintly like paint and grilled cheese when I close the door behind me. New lamps warm the living room softly now while unpacked boxes continue slowly disappearing from corners every time I visit.
It already feels more alive in here than it did a week ago.
Paxton tugs lightly my sleeve to get my attention again before signing, Mom….my room.
I don’t know the middle word, but I nod anyway and I follow him toward the staircase while answering carefully, Show me.
He races ahead immediately. Halfway upstairs I hear movement down the hallway before I actually see Nora. Then I stop walking for a second like an idiot.
She stands inside the bedroom at the far end of the hall, rolling teal paint onto one wall, while rain-dark evening light filters through uncovered windows behind her.
Old black athletic shorts hang low on her hips while a loose gray t-shirt sticks slightly against her back with paint smeared across one shoulder and both thighs.
Her blond hair twisted into a messy knot that’s mostly given up by now.
And Jesus Christ. She looks beautiful and relaxed and at peace and…mine.
I shove that thought back down aggressively. There’s no question what the three of us want from her, but there’s no guarantee she wants the same thing. A kid means nothing when it comes to a woman’s heart.
Paxton darts into the room first.
Nora turns automatically toward him while signing immediately, Please tell me you did not open the front door by yourself.
I was in living room and saw him come to the door! Paxton defends sheepishly.
Then she notices me behind him. She startles slightly, enough that paint flicks from the roller onto the floor. I grin before I can stop myself.
“Sorry to spook you.”
“You scared me,” she replies, while pressing one paint-covered hand lightly against her chest.
Cute. Dangerously cute.
I lean one shoulder against the doorway casually while looking around the room. One wall’s already painted soft teal while dinosaur bedding sits folded near unopened boxes.
“What’re you doing?”
Nora glances around like the answer should be obvious. “Remaking my old room into Paxton’s.”
Paxton climbs onto the bed behind her while she reaches automatically to steady him one-handed without even looking. The tiny unconscious movement hits me harder than it should.
She notices me watching and clears her throat slightly. “Why are you here?”
Good question honestly.
I shrug lightly. “Storm rolled in. Lights flickered at the…warehouse.” I almost say clubhouse automatically, but catch myself in time. “Wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Nora studies me for a second too long after that.
Then she nods once. “Shockingly yes. Hopefully we don’t jinx it.”
“Probably just did.”
“That feels like your fault somehow.”
“Everything’s my fault according to Blade.”
“That seems believable.’
I laugh softly while stepping fully into the room.
Rain starts harder outside then, tapping against windows while thunder rolls low enough that the glass vibrates faintly. Paxton notices none of it obviously. He’s too busy arranging paint samples into “important dinosaur categories” across the bedspread.
Nora bends to reload the paint roller. My eyes snag immediately on the streak of teal across her thigh.
Dangerous. Very dangerous.
I look away before she notices.
“Where do you want me?” I ask her suddenly as I peel off my jean jacket and toss it onto a nearby chair before grabbing the spare roller sitting in the tray beside her.
Nora looks over immediately. “You don’t have to help.”
“I know. Now where to boss?” I dip the roller into paint and look at her with a smirk.
Color rises faintly into her cheeks immediately before she turns back toward the wall like maybe hiding inside paint fumes will save her.
Absolutely adorable.
“Um, you can start on that wall I guess.”
With a nod I start painting and it’s quiet for a minute or two until Paxton suddenly waves both hands wildly to get our attention.
We both look over immediately for him to grin and sign, I think Viper paints like an old turtle too.
I stare at him in mock betrayal while Nora bursts out laughing, hard enough that she nearly drops the paint tray.
“Wow,” I say slowly. “I come here out of concern during dangerous weather and this is the thanks I get?”
Paxton nods solemnly in response to Nora’s translation like the cute tiny menace he is.
Nora shakes her head while smiling into the wall she’s painting now. “You walked right into that one.”
I glance between both of them standing there covered in teal paint and warm light while rain pounds harder outside.
Then I pick up the roller again and sigh dramatically.
“Fine,” I mutter toward Nora while starting on the opposite wall, a grin permanently fixed to my face. “But when this kid starts emotionally bullying me full-time, I’m blaming you specifically.”