Page 78 of Hellbent
The garage gets busy with spring maintenance jobs, and soon Damian and I are too swamped to waste time on anything but work. The long, lazy stretches of downtime are gone, replaced by a steady flow of cars and back-to-back repairs.
By the time we close up for the day, I’m exhausted. Damian and Jake are still spending their nights at the unfinished house, pushing to get it move-in ready. Some nights, Damian kisses me on the forehead before he heads up to meet Jake, affectionate and familiar. Other nights, it’s more than that—pushed up against a wall, hands rough and eager until Damian is stiffening against me, burying a curse against my neck before he finally forces himself to pull away. We don’t risk the garage floor anymore—lesson learned. Now it’s the office, the bathroom, anywhere with a lock.
But I don’t even care if we get caught. At this point, I’d probably welcome the attention. It’s better than all this time spent alone.
By early June, the summer heat starts to settle in, and Damian shows up to work with someone new.
“This is Luis,” he says. “He’ll be helping out while Wyatt’s gone.”
And just like that, Wyatt’s absence is no longer temporary. It’s something we need to adjust to.
Damian starts managing our jobs and workflow, moving into the office, and I find myself more often than not working in the bay with Luis.
Luis is nice. Funny, laidback, competent. He’s around Damian’s age. But he’s not Damian.
And he’s definitely not Wyatt.
So no matter how easygoing he is, the change unsettles me.
I’m leaning against the workbench, sorting through a box of spare parts, half-listening to Luis curse at a rusted bolt, when Damian drops his car keys into my hands.
“Need you to go up to the house, Finch.”
I frown, looking at the keys in my hand. “Uh, no thanks.”
He gives me a flat look, unimpressed. “Parts shipment got sent to Ryder’s place by mistake. We need it here now.”
I put a hand on my hip. “Then go get it.”
Damian exhales sharply, already turning away. “Nope. Luis is elbow-deep in the transmission swap, and I need the bay cleared for the Lexus.” He waves a hand over his shoulder, done with the conversation. “Just run up there, get the damn box, and bring it back.”
I hesitate.
Just the idea of standing on Ryder’s porch and knocking on his door makes my stomach twist, but Damian’s already closing the office door behind him. The discussion is over.
So I go.
I grip the wheel the whole way, the same way I clench my jaw—anxiety sitting heavy in my chest. Before I know it, I’m pullinginto the gravel driveway, dust kicking up behind me. A creeping unease settles over me as I cut the engine.
Every time Ryder and I are alone, it goes sideways. A sharp comment, a look that lingers too long, a silence that drags with something unspoken. One minute, he’s barely acknowledging me. The next, he’s cutting me down with words that feel like a test I don’t know how to pass.
And I don’t know what’s worse—the fact that everything I do annoys him, or the fact that I still relentlessly want his attention anyway.
Avoiding him is just easier. Easier than pretending I don’t care what he thinks of me. But I can’t avoid him forever. As Ryder said himself, we live in a community. Still, I wish I knew how to keep him from getting under my skin.
I square my shoulders and get out of the truck, kicking gravel as I cross to the covered wooden porch. When I get to the door I hesitate just for a second before I knock. I tell myself I can handle it. That this will be quick. In and out. No sparks. No barbs. No damage.
Seconds stretch. I find myself hoping he’s not home, then hoping he is. And finally—footsteps. The door swings open.
Ryder fills the doorway, his shirt pulled tight across solid shoulders, and barely greets me—no nod, no half-smile, nothing remotely human. He crosses inked forearms over his chest and frowns. A flicker of something shifts in those dark, unreadable eyes.
Surprise.
My stomach tightens. Heat licks up my neck. My pulse trips in my throat. I hate that my body reacts before my brain catches up.
“Hello,” he says, his voice edged with cool irony, a single word meant to convey far too much. That he wasn’t expecting me—ever. That my presence alone says something. A surrender or a challenge. His gaze drags over me, assessing and unapologetic.
I suck in a breath and lift my chin. “A shipment got delivered here by mistake. Damian needs it.”
