Page 78 of Enzo

“He didn’t say much at first; he just gave me a once-over, and all I could think was that this was a setup. In prison, trust was low—too low to survive without suspicion. Every offer or smile came with danger, and I thought he was some asshole looking to take advantage of me.” I paused. “He said he had a safe place for me to stay, and of course, I got defensive and told him my ass wasn’t for sale. He rolled his eyes at me and was all, ‘do I look like I want your ass?’. There was also some punching, from him not me. Anyway, I took the keys he handed me, climbed into the truck, and drove.”

I didn’t know where I was going or what I’d do. I’d turned twenty-four inside, and stepping back into the world felt loud, sharp, and fast. I got to Redcars, met Logan, had a chance at a different life, end of story. I’d spent so long believing I was just another lost cause, another name in a system that didn’t care whether I made it.

I glanced up at Robbie. “He saved me.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Do you still speak to the Alvarezes?” he asked softly and yawned, burying his face in my neck, growing heavier as he relaxed into me.

I swallowed hard. “Papa A died soon after I was inside,” I said quietly. “Pancreatic cancer, quick. Momma A died not long after. Her sister wrote me a letter to tell me. Said she passed and called it a broken heart.”

I paused, catching my breath. “I wrote back, but her sister never answered. I guess… I wasn’t part of the family after they’d gone. But I have Redcars, I have my brothers. And now…” I stopped, uncertain. “I have you?” It was a question.

Robbie shifted and chuckled. “The demanding little brother you never knew you needed.” His weight grew heavier against me, breath slowing. I felt the exact moment he gave in, falling asleep in my arms like he belonged there, but he didn’t let go of my shirt.

“No, Robbie, not my brother. You’re more than that.” I tapped my heart, then his. “You’re in here. Mine.”

I sat a moment longer, listening to the soft rhythm of his breathing, committing it to memory. Then I stood slowly, careful not to jostle him, and carried him downstairs to his cot. He curled into the blankets without waking and I tucked him in, smoothed the hair from his forehead, and pressed a kiss there—a promise I hoped he felt, even in sleep.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Robbie

I woke up warm,in my own bed, but I didn’t open my eyes straight away as I remembered everything from last night. The story Enzo had told me, all the pieces he’d handed over. What he’d done. What he’d lost. What he still carried. He saidIwas strong. ThatIwas brave. I hadn’t believed him—not at first. I wasn’t like the others at Redcars. I wasn’t hardened, or clever with tools, or sure of myself. I still flinched sometimes at shadows, at memories that felt too close. I’d cried in front of him so many times, but he’d looked at me as if none of that made me weak. He’d held my hand while he told me about the blood on his. And he’d still called me strong.

And now, in the quiet, I tried to let myself believe him because he didn’t say those words lightly. He saw something in me—in my trying, in my staying—that maybe I hadn’t known was there.

Maybe I could be strong. Not the way the others were—but in my own way. For surviving. For still wanting.

Because I wanted Enzo, and I needed to be not quite so broken and ugly before I could do that.

Today, Doc was coming to the garage with his Monte Carlo. He was hard, unapproachable, rude, and apart from a love of cars, and his sideline in under-the-table medical care, I knew nothing about him. Today, I needed him. I didn’t have money to pay him, but I could do a weekly payment. I was nervous when it got closer to eleven a.m., and the rumble of his Monte Carlo entering the garage pulled me from pretending to work. After exiting the car and exchanging nods with Enzo and Jamie, I waved him over. He glanced behind with an expression of hope I wasn’t waving at him, and then sighed.

“What?” he said as he approached me.

I shifted on my feet, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “Can we talk?”

Doc scanned me from head to toe, cataloging everything I wasn’t saying. “You can’t afford me.”

“I can pay you.”

“With what? Buttons?”

I thought about the money I’d hidden away from John, that I could access if I needed, but said nothing.

His mouth pressed into a tight line, then he exhaled. “Ten minutes and it’s coming off my bill for the car.”

“Okay.” It wasn’t up to me to agree that, and I hoped I could arrange something with Logan—I’d rather owe money to him than to Doc.

Heat rushed up my neck. “Can we talk in here?” I asked, pointing at my room.

His brows lifted, but he gave a curt nod. “Clock’s ticking.”

He hovered at the threshold, waiting. I had never had people in here. It was my space, my walls, my safety. The idea of letting someone inside, and closing the door felt foreign—too much, too exposed. But this was private. I needed privacy for this, despite how this made me feel. “Can you come in?”

“Jesus Christ, this is a shoebox,” he muttered, eyes sweeping the room with an expression as though he’d smelled something rotten. His lip curled, disdain dripping from him.

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