Page 35 of Enzo

“And there it is,” Tudor said, and his expression softened, his usual hard edges melting away into something I didn’t have the luxury of showing. Compassion, concern, worry—the look you’d give a kid, someone you cared about deeply, like a proud papa.

I felt a sharp pang in my chest—pride at first, seeing how much Robbie had grown, but then something deeper, something that made my throat tighten. It wasn’t just pride anymore. It was something heavier, something that made me want to hold onto him, to make sure he never had to fight alone again.

“You care that Robbie has somewhere safe,” he said smugly. “You love that kid.”

“No.” The words hit me harder than I expected. Love? Like his big brother, like someone responsible. Or like real love, where I was vulnerable and needy and wanted to hold him and kiss him and show him the real me. What the fuck? Why was I thinking that?

I let the thoughts settle in for a moment before I responded, my voice barely above a whisper. “He’s not a kid.” It was true. Robbie wasn’t a naive kid. He was a man, not some helpless child. “He needs someone to hide behind, is all,” I said. And, sometimes, when he stared up at me with those wide eyes, I couldn’t shake the urge to cradle him close and shield him from everything, scoop him up, and hold him there, right against me. But I couldn’t say any of that to Tudor. Not while he looked at me with that knowing expression, as if he could see right through me. See that I was lying to myself about how I felt about Robbie.

“You tell yourself that, son,” Tudor murmured. “He worships the ground you walk on.”

“Yeah, sure,” I muttered, leaning back to the wall, pushing the thoughts down.

“And you care for him, Enzo. And that’s okay.”

Tudor’s words hung in the air, soft but sharp, as though he already knew the truth.

“I don’t.” I tried to make it sound like I believed what I was saying. But even as they left my mouth, I knew I was lying. It was too damn obvious. I cared too much about Robbie—more than I should. And maybe that was the problem. Perhaps that was the thing that would tear everything apart, the thing that would get us both hurt in the end. Did I have any space left to worry about a busy garage and finances, Rio losing his shit and punching the nearest wall, or Jamie going into one of his mute psychotic burn-the-world-down moments?

“You look out for people,” Tudor pressed on, like he could see right through me. “You keep an eye on Jamie and Rio; you’re as much of the safe space as the garage itself is.”

Safe space. I hated that phrase. It felt like a burden I hadn’t asked for, a responsibility I didn’t want. My skin crawled at the thought of it. I didn’t want to be anyone’s protector, no one’s safe place. I didn’t know how to be that. I’d learned how to throw punches and knew how to keep people at a distance, but not this.

“Don’t put that shit on me,” I muttered, my voice lower than I intended. “I’m not a damn safe space.”

But Tudor just shrugged, his eyes filled with something I didn’t want to face. Maybe he saw more of me than I could see in myself, or he understood what I couldn’t admit. But I wasn’t ready to accept that. Not yet.

“Thanks for walking me back,” he said, and with that I was dismissed, and I was sure somewhere in there was a message and lesson Tudor thought I should learn.

“No worries.” I opened the door.

“Enzo?” I stopped and waited. “Love you, kid,” he added.

I grumbled a nondescript answer. “Love you too, old man.”

“Thought you said I wasn’t old.”

And when I closed the door on him, he was chuckling.

THIRTEEN

Robbie

Logan stormed into the garage,tension in every line of his body. His face was red, his eyes hard, and I knew something had happened. He didn’t glance at me as he walked past, stopped, spun on his heel, checked where the other guys were, and then stared at me, his gaze unfocused. I don’t know where he’d been all morning, but he looked as if he needed someone to help.

I could help. But he was searching elsewhere, probably trying to see if one of the others was around, but they were all out back. In the end he sighed, cursed, and then turned to me.

“Robbie, I need a favor,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Some guy might come in looking for a car. Name’s Gray something or other, tall guy with red hair and attitude. Tell him his Corolla is toast, and we’ll call him, and that’s all, no pleasantries, no nothing. I’ll be right there,” he pointed at his office. “Can you do that?”

My heart kicked up a notch. Logan’s trust in me to manage things was huge. I puffed up, straightened my spine, and gripped my notebook like a badge of honor.

“I can do that,” I said, maybe a little too eagerly.

He nodded once, then stalked away to his office, slamming the door behind him.

I opened my notebook, and made a note of what Logan had said. I couldn’t concentrate; I was going to be helping my first customer.

The garage door creaked open, and I froze behind the counter, gripping my black notebook like a lifeline. Footsteps approached, and I tried to steady my breathing. This was simply another customer, another job—no reason to panic.

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