Page 51 of Ransom

"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.

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