Page 15 of Beneath the Indigo Sky

Jayce is standing next to his tool bench with a couple of quarts of oil in his hands, and a shiny new pickup has its hood popped a few feet away.He glances in my direction as I walk toward him, and the heaviness that always seems to seep from his every cell lightens briefly as he greets me with a half smile and sets down the oil to take the mug from my outstretched hand.

Win.

"Thanks.”

He studies the ceramic and raises an eyebrow in question.

"I don't like wasting the disposable ones."

Another half smile.

Double win.

I gesture with my head as subtly as possible toward the man I know is still standing at the glass behind me, watching to make sure I don't cause trouble.

"He's going to stare until he's sure I'm not a threat."

Jayce glances up with a frown, and for an instant, anger floods through him as he raises a hand and offers a wave and a pained smile to the man in the waiting room.

“Sorry. I know you don't like people. I just figured since I was going to be here for a bit, I might as well bust out an oil change."

“Don't be sorry. It's your business. And it's not that I don't like people. I mean, I can get overwhelmed when there's a few, but it's more that..."

I force on a smile and shake my head as I realize what I’d been going to say might sound like I feel sorry for myself.

"Never mind."

"No. What?"

"Well, it’s more that most people around here don't like me than I don't like them. No one has ever forgotten how I ended up here. In truth, it’s not going to do your business any favors to have people see me here with you regularly." I shrug and sip my espresso. "I can come alone if that's better for you so that you don't have to come in on Saturdays, and so people don't see me here. If you trust me with a key anyway, I mean, I know you don't really know me or anything."

Jayce stares at me silently, and I wonder if I've overstepped my bounds by suggesting that I'm trustworthy enough to be in his shop on my own.

He takes a step toward me, and I have to fight not to back away. I don't think he'd do anything to hurt me, but he feels upset, and it's just instinctive for someone who’s spent their whole life basically alone.

He's close now, less than arm’s distance.

"You're serious?"

I stare at the lid of my cup and pick at the rim.

“I'm sorry. You don't know me; of course you wouldn't trust me to be here on my…"

His hand falls heavily onto my shoulder, and I jump before I can stop myself.

“That's not what I mean."

His voice is the same deep rumble it always is, but there's a softness to it I've never heard before. Normally, it sounds like he can barely manage to choke out his words through a throat filled with glass. But these flow almost easily. Like they aren’t a fight. Like he means them.

"You think I care if people know you're here? You’re the only one in this entire town who has lifted a finger to do anything other than offer pitying looks since it happened."

I raise my eyes to search his face, overwhelmed by the rush of gratitude and concern that flows through his touch. I think he might actually be concerned for me, not because of me, and I’m not really sure how to process that.

He squeezes my shoulder.

"Come with me."

I follow him through the glass door, helpless to even consider declining. The moment he opens it, his demeanor shifts. His soul is still just as filled with anguish as it’s been since the moment I met him, but on the outside, he appears to be brusque and confident and stubborn and in charge of the world.

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