Page 64 of Enzo
“Shame,” Rio deadpanned. “That would have been my next request.”
“I’ll order the part.”
“It’s that flicky part, with the thing on it, the…” He shrugged.
“PT67/M with the chrome case,” I finished.
“I was going to say that,” he lied. Then he lowered his voice. “I think Jamie broke it.”
“Sure.”
I was only just back into my work when, this time, it was Logan who appeared, worry making him frown, exhaustion in his posture. There was sadness in his eyes, a quiet resignation that made my stomach twist.
He rubbed a hand over his face before checking behind him, then whispering. “Can you cover the phone for an hour?” His voice was steady, but something was fraying at the edges underneath it. “I need to head out to the docs with Tudor.”
I hated answering the phone, but I nodded, and Logan hesitated, then exhaled, glancing toward the floor as if debating something. Finally, he met my gaze again and lowered his voice even further. “Also, can you do your thing and research private care facilities in LA? Keep it to yourself.”
My stomach dropped. The way he said it, the quiet defeat in his tone, told me everything I needed to know. This wasn’t precaution—this was inevitability. We all knew Tudor wasn’t getting younger, and after a prolonged fight with developers who’d wanted the land he lived on had left him with a permanent injury, plus his refusal to eat healthily, he was slowing down way too much. I didn’t have to be a genius to work out that Logan was researching San Diego care facilities, placing Tudor somewhere safe near where Logan’s partner, Gray, worked.
Logan was with Gray now—the sharp-eyed journalist who used to freak me out with how easily he saw through people. But when it came to Logan, he didn’t flinch. He didn’t turn away from the scar that slashed from temple to lip, which gave Logan that hard, dangerous edge even when he was being soft. Gray looked past it. No,throughit. And sometimes, I think he loved Logan more because of it, not less. Like the scar told a story only Gray had the patience and heart to understand.
They were stupid in love. The kind that made people softer around the edges without them even realizing. I’d seen it more than once—Logan’s hand on Gray’s lower back as they moved around each other like they were still learning how to share space and didn’t want to get it wrong. Gray’s eyes tracked Logan when he spoke, as if every word mattered. The way Logan smiled at him—reallysmiled, rare and warm and unguarded.
Sometimes, I watched them with a twist of envy I didn’t want to admit to. Not jealousy exactly—more like hunger. A dull ache in my chest whispered,I want that.Not their exact story, not their perfect moments. Just… to be seen, known, and loved like that.
Maybe one day, someone would look at me and not see the mess or the scars. Maybe one day, they'd seeme.
But that was a thought for another day.
Now, all I could worry about was what would happen if Logan left to build a new life with Gray in San Diego. Did that mean he was leaving us? Leaving Redcars behind? And if he was—what did that mean for the rest of us still trying to hold this place together?
This was my home. My safe space. It wasn’t much, but it was mine. Here, the world outside could wait. Here, I wasn’t running from ghosts—I was Robbie, and after Enzo holding me, saying he’d kill for me, it had almost begun to feel like enough. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead, casting a pale glow over the rows of labeled folders. The scent of old paper, ink, and the faintest trace of motor oil clung to the air. It smelled like safety. It smelled like mine.
This was my space. My order. No one came in unless I let them.
And outside, I had four big men who watched out for me. Men I trusted now, who would do anything to keep me safe.
Jamie. Rio. Logan.
And Enzo.
“Of course I can,” I whispered back, reaching for the last notebook on my shelf, which I used to keep personal notes. Logan passed me the handset, and I took it as though he were handing me a live grenade. I tried hard, but dealing with customers could go one of three ways: moderately okay, bad or really bad.
I was almost done shelving the latest batch of paperwork, trying to make sense of Jamie’s latest attempt at filling out forms, and there had been no calls yet. His careful block capitals were neat, but matching them with purchase orders was a nightmare. Did no one at Redcars listen to me about the information I needed? All purchase orders were required to link to the invoice, yet somehow, I was expected to piece it together like a puzzle.
“Hey.”
Finally, Enzo was here.
He was built like a mountain, solid and strong, but his presence never made me feel small. He moved with an easy confidence, never looming, never crowding. His deep brown eyes were warm, filled with quiet patience that made my breath catch, and his hands—large, calloused, capable—handled delicate engine work with the same gentleness I’d once seen him use to scoop up a stray kitten outside the shop.
He was everything that should have sent me running, yet somehow, he was also the safest place I’d ever known.
He protected me. He stood like a wall between me and the world, and I hid behind him because he never asked why. He just was. And in his presence, I felt safe in a way I hadn’t in years.
“Hi,” I said, my voice softer than I intended, a rare, unguarded smile tugging at my lips as I looked up at him.
“Just wanted to let you know I’m heading out to pick up a car.”
