Page 50 of Ransom

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.

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