He glances to me. “Or?”
I’m relieved he asked. Because it’s killing me to watch Isla struggle on a level I didn’t expect, and deeply suspect is something more than friendly concern.
I find myself wanting to be in her orbit more than is healthy.
Even as I try to convince myself it will pass, I feel like I’m stepping into a place I assured Garrett I wouldn’t go.
“We both admit that we can’t just let her sit there and…ah, shit…she’s crying.” She’s climbed out of the car and is rubbing underneath both her eyes, as if wiping tears away.
I think about the way she looked at me after I helped her with the fence post. Like she wanted to trust me, was grateful for thehelp, and yet can’t help that her brain has been rewired over the years of being disposable to men who promised brotherhood to each other and gave her crumbs.
“Fuck it,” Garrett says, climbing off his bike, and I smile to myself as I watch his mighty fine ass while he stomps down the driveway.
“Stay calm,” I shout after him, and chuckle when he simply flips me the bird over his shoulder.
I dismount and hurry to catch up. “You’re vibrating.”
“Shut up with your poetic nonsense. I’m pissed is what I am. She shouldn’t be driving around in a car that’s unreliable. Shouldn’t be living in this house with that fucked-up uncle of hers being a menace. And how the hell is she going to?—”
“We’ll jump the car. And how’s that ‘not worrying about Isla’ thing working out for you?”
The question is meant as a joke, but I find myself wanting an honest answer as I see Isla raise the hood of her car.
Garrett glances at me from the corner of his eye. “You don’t stop moving that mouth of yours, I’ll give you something to fill it.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You know how much I like it when you stuff my mouth.”
“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters.
We arrive at the top of Isla’s driveway, and where Garrett would have stomped straight under the hood and fixed her car, I put a hand out to stop him from stepping foot on her property.
He grabs for my hand. “What are you?—?”
“Consent,” I remind him. I turn my eyes to Isla who is adorably dressed in scrubs, sneakers, and an unzipped fleece. Her face is clear of make-up and her hair is up high on her head in an elastic that makes her neck even more enticing. “Morning, Isla. Could hear you’re having car trouble. Can we help you get it started?”
“Oh, uh, hi.” Her voice carries the threat of more tears, and I have to fight the urge to go and tug her into my arms. I want to tell her it’s just a fucking car. We’ll fix it. We’ll get her where she needs to go. “No. I’m fine. I just really need to?—”
“God help my mortal soul,” Garrett says, shoving my arm out of the way.
So much for consent.
“Go get the truck,” he says. “We’ll jump it.”
Isla looks between us, frustration and embarrassment warring on her pretty face. “I don’t…I’m not…Shade, I don’t want help.”
Garrett’s tone softens, just for a heartbeat. It’s the same voice he uses with me, and it works every time. “It’s not about want or need, or you versus bikers.” He offers her his hand. “I’m Garrett, Isla. Maybe it’s best if you don’t call me Shade anymore.”
Her throat bobs. I can see it from here. And while it’s killing me to not step forward, I know my man needs to lead her. To help. To fix. To make things right.
I just don’t want his painfully damaged heart to take any more knocks in the process. I’m not sure it has another rejection left in it.
Isla studies the hand for longer than is comfortable, but Garrett never drops it. “Fine,” she whispers finally, and shakes it.
My heart skips a beat.
I’m touched by Garrett’s gesture, and because I love this man, I don’t jump on his moment, whatever this means to him, by telling her my name is Kai.
I step by the two of them to look beneath the hood and go through the obvious checks. Battery wires, alternator connections. And that’s when I see it. There, in the little square plastic blocks, the fuel pump relay. The edges aren’t flush withthe other surrounding relays. It sits a couple of millimeters high. I touch it and it wiggles.
