Unsteady (The Torqued Trilogy Book 1)

by Shey Stahl

  Bloody knuckles and bloodshot eyes confirm a couple of things. One, Red has a temper far beyond what I’ve seen, and two, he didn’t get much sleep last night. I want to ask him if everything’s okay but I know the answer. He’s probably upset about me stopping our kiss last night.

  “Hey, sorry I was late this morning.”

  Red stops what he’s doing but doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even look at me. He just turns and walks away. Seriously? He’s just going to ignore me?

  “Reddington!” I call after him.

  His body tenses at me calling him Reddington, but he keeps walking away toward the coffee machine inside the office, so I follow him. If I didn’t know any better, I would think he’s purposely trying to piss me off. And you know, I take the bait because I turn into an idiot around him all of the time.

  I look around, making sure Mia and Raven aren’t in here before I say, “Look, if you’re worried about last night, don’t be. I get that it meant nothing.” I try to keep my voice from shaking around him. “That’s why I left when I did to stop it before we went too far.”

  “What?” He whirls to face me, outraged, and spits the word out in a hiss.

  “That’s why I left.” Numbly, I turn my gaze to his.

  His eyes narrow and I’m reminded of the kiss and the heat from it while I’m under his gaze. “Okay….”

  “It’s just you know, we got caught up in the moment and I assumed it didn’t mean anything to you either.”

  To you either? That implies I thought it didn’t mean anything and that’s a crock of shit. It did mean something to me. It meant the world to be kissed like that.

  He cuts me off immediately, his finger in my face as he steps closer and anger pulsing in his dark eyes. “Stop thinking you know anything about me,” he says, aggravation clear in his tone.

  I swallow hard, anger and humiliation washing over me that I’m actually standing here with him trying to act like it meant nothing.

  Red doesn’t budge, aggression hardening his features as he pours himself a coffee. As beautiful as Red is, this—the angry side—is a sight to behold. Hell, it is damn near fascinating to me.

  He narrows his eyes into slits when he turns to me. “So let me get this straight. You think me kissing you last night meant nothing to me, which is okay with you, because it also meant nothing to you?” he repeats with contempt, pressing me to answer him.

  No!

  I lift a brow, challenging him. “Yes.”

  He steps right in my face, standing directly in front of me. My breathing spikes, like it always does around him. “Believe what you want, then.” His expression clouds with anger. “But know this… I haven’t been with a woman since my wife died.” He pauses, waiting for me to look at him, as if to let that last bit sink in.

  I gasp because it does. It sinks down to my gut and confirms my theory that anything between us is a bad idea. Crossing my arms over my chest defiantly, I stare at the parking lot to see Mia returning to the office. I feel like a complete asshole when I see her coming, like I shouldn’t be in here arguing with her son over a kiss that obviously meant something to the both of us.

  “Just forget it,” Red grumbles, slamming the door behind him as he leaves the office.

  Well, that went horribly.

  IN THE LATE afternoon, after avoiding Red all day, we’re working in a neutral silence when we hear a crash at the end of the shop. I turn my head just as Red takes off toward where Tyler and Colt’s stall are at the far left.

  My eyes scan the shop landing on Tyler’s stall to see him on the ground, blood pouring from the side of his face.

  Immediately, I panic, as do Colt, Daniel, and Rawley, as we rush over to him. He shakes violently, his body convulsing in jerked movements. We surround Tyler and I yell to Red, “Should I call 911?”

  He shakes his head, all his focus on Tyler. He’s completely in control as he tries to keep his head from repeatedly hitting the concrete floor. “No, he has epilepsy. He probably forgot to take his medicine this morning.”

  It seems like the seizure goes on forever when in reality it’s a minute or two. Finally, Tyler goes limp on the ground, blood still flowing from a cut on his head.

  “He hit his head on the car,” Daniel points out, having seen the whole thing, his voice trembling as he stares down at Tyler with wide eyes. “It was really weird. He was just standing there staring at the car and passed out.”

  “He suffers from grand mal seizures. He’s on medication that controls them but this happens when he forgets to take it.” Red reaches beside him for a shop towel and holds it to Tyler’s head as he lays limp with his head supported in Red’s lap. “He’ll be fine. It’s nothing to worry about.” And then he nods to me. “Can you go get my mom and tell her what happened? We need to get him into the office to lay down for a minute.”

  Nodding, I take off running, only to run into both Mia and Raven as they’re rushing out of the office. “What the hell happened?” Raven asks, trying to appear like she’s not worried about Tyler, but the way her eyes widen and her breathing halts, she’s panicking seeing her fuck buddy lying on the ground bleeding.

  “Apparently he had a seizure,” I tell her as we rush back over to Red.

  Red takes another towel and wipes the side of Tyler’s face where blood from his mouth has trickled down his cheek. “He probably bit his tongue.” He looks at his mom next to me. “Can you grab the first-aid kit? He’s got a pretty bad gash on his forehead.”

  Raven leaves to get it. When she returns, she takes over making sure the cut it okay. “Should we take him to the hospital?” Raven asks, kneeling down to their level and touching the side of Tyler’s face tenderly as she applies gauze to the cut.

  It takes Tyler around ten minutes to come back around, his face pale, his expression one of confusion as Colt teases him lightly while handing him a bottle of water. He drinks it slowly and notices his tongue is bleeding. He spits blood on the floor, away from us.

  “Fuck, I’m a mess.” Taking a towel beside him, Tyler covers his lap where his jeans are wet. I can’t imagine this is easy on him. Here we are all staring at him as he sits propped against his toolbox, urine-soaked jeans and bleeding.

  “Why don’t you go upstairs?” Red suggests to Tyler, keeping his hand on his shoulder as he sits next to him on the floor. We were going to move him to the office, but decided against it when he began to come around.

  Tyler stares blankly at him, and then shakes his head slowly. “No, I’m fine. I gotta….” He looks around and clearly doesn’t even remember what he was working on.

  “Tyler, I really appreciate what you’re trying to do here, but we both know you’re not fine.” Red waves to the cars. “Besides, I can’t have you around all this equipment after you’ve just had a seizure. Just go upstairs and rest.”

  “I’ll take him upstairs,” Raven suggests, stepping forward

  Tyler shakes his head immediately. “No.”

  Red nods to his sister and then helps Tyler up. “Let Raven take you home. Go rest.”

  Raven steps forward, her arm around Tyler’s waist. They exchange a passing glance. The first one in public I’ve seen yet. He breathes in deeply at her touch, leaning into her side as if he’s glad she’s here right now. Thankfully, Red doesn’t notice the intimacy of it.

  It takes them twenty minutes to get him up the stairs. While they’re doing that, I pick up the tools that scattered around Tyler’s stall when he fell.

  “You okay?” Red asks when he returns and sees me trying to make sense of what I just saw.

  “I’m fine. That’s just… scary.” I push Tyler’s tool cart out of the way and beside his toolbox. “And I didn’t even know he had epilepsy.”

  Red nods, taking the work order Tyler had and looking it over. “He didn’t want anyone to know. The only reason I know is because it happened once when we were younger.”

  “Why would he hide it though? It’s not a big deal.”

  “T
o you it’s not,” Red points out and turns his attention toward the car Tyler was in the middle of. He was replacing an engine in an old Chevy Blazer and still hadn’t got the engine out. “To him he’s vulnerable when he has them. He has absolutely no control over anything. I mean, he pissed himself right there. Do you think any man would feel comfortable with that?”

  “Well, no.”

  Rawley approaches, his hands buried in the pockets of his jeans, his guitar in hand. “I need to take off early. Like now.”

  I’m in disbelief at the audacity of him to think that would even be an option after what just went down with Tyler’s seizure. I look to Red, waiting on his reaction.

  Red’s jaw flexes, as do the muscles in his forearms as he looks at me, and then Rawley. “Why’s that?”

  “I got a show in Portland tonight.”

  Red snorts and takes the tool cart I’d just pushed out of the way and flips it over with a quick flip of his wrist. The sound resonates off the walls, tools crashing to the concrete floor with a loud bang. “If that’s more important to you, then go!” he roars back at Rawley, keeping at least five feet between them. I think he’s so close to punching his brother the distance is needed.

  Rawley narrows his eyes at Red, glowering at his older brother. And then he walks away without saying anything.

  Red glares at me. “It’s like his fucking mission in life is to piss me off.”

  I’m confused. He said his, but he meant me too.

  I give Red some time alone, mostly because he walked out back and I remember the time in the parts room and that particular verbal lashing. When he walks away, he needs his space.

  “I can stay and help,” I say to Red when he returns. My voice is hesitant because I have no idea what his mood will be like after the seizure and then Rawley and him getting into it again.

  He stops what he’s doing for a second and there’s a flash of surprise. A touch of anger… no, actually, it’s hurt. He catches himself quickly, smooths the expression out. “Are you sure that’s what you want to do? I wouldn’t want you to regret it tomorrow.”

  “Oh, my God.” I groan. “Don’t be an asshole. It’s not the same thing. I tried to be honest with you and you’re just throwing it in my face. If you don’t want my help, fine, I’ll leave, but you don’t have to keep being a dick about it.”

  Where the hell did that all come from?

  I even surprised myself with that rant.

  When he doesn’t say anything, I get visibly flustered as my blood pressure rises. He just stands there and continues to stare at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. I have.

  I decide to try a different approach.

  “You definitely know how to make a girl feel special, don’t you?” There’s a sexiness to my tone that has his attention. Yeah, I’m trying to act that way. I want him to be just as annoyed.

  He turns, walks backward a few steps watching me, and then turns back around. His voice is harsher than before, full of a bitterness that I’m beginning to get used to. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I follow him. “Why are you being mean to me today? I’m trying to help here.” My voice lowers. “Is it because I stopped us from going any further last night?”

  He snorts, picking up a handful of tools from his cart and begins putting them back in his toolbox. “Maybe you should just do your job and stop trying to figure out what my problem is.”

  Jerk. Asshole. Dickhead. I could go on here. And in my head, I do for a few seconds.

  “You don’t—” I’m just about to tell him off for being such an asshole when he beats me to it.

  “Don’t worry about it.” He throws down a wrench and slams the drawer closed, beginning to walk away, again, his shoulders tense. His body language is telling me to stay back, but I’m not a very good listener. Clearly.

  “I will worry about it because you were being nice to me and now this…. I’m only trying to help.”

  He turns on his heel and faces me again, irritation lighting his face. “You’re trying to help? What exactly are you trying to help me with? You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” He stops himself, his brow scrunched. He wants so badly to say more; it’s etched in every single emotion flashing in his eyes. But he doesn’t.

  Suddenly, I blurt out the one question that has been on my mind since last night.

  “Why’d you kiss me?” I ask, wanting to know how he can go from hot to cold so fast.

  “What are you doing?” He ignores my question searching my eyes for an answer he assumes I have. “Why are you so insistent on making this so much harder for me? You told me it was a mistake and that it meant nothing, but you keep bringing it up.”

  “Harder for you? You’re the one who has been treating me like shit and then kisses me like I’m just supposed to spread my legs for you. Is that why? You’re mad because I didn’t fuck you?” It’s a pretty low blow, but I say it anyway. Apparently, I’m losing my mind because I can’t believe I’m saying these things to him.

  His lips purse immediately. His face and the way his eyes are stone cold and bleeding with an invisible pain when we make eye contact give him away. I want to know his pain because finally, I’m not the only one experiencing this.

  “I cannot believe you would say that to me. Is that really who you think I am because if so, then you don’t know anything.” He’s so angry that his confidence and pride waver. He’s breaking a little and I can see it’s making him uneasy. He wants to show me I don’t know what I’m talking about, but his stubbornness gets him too. He’s not one that gives up easily. “I told you I hadn’t been with a woman since my wife died, let alone kissed one and now you’re standing here accusing me of wanting you to fuck me as part of your job description. I can’t believe you would even suggest that to me.” He turns, leaving me with that verbal chastising but I don’t let him and grab his arm.

  “Red.” I sigh. His name on my lips is something he wants to hear because his face twists when I say it, the words washing over him. “Don’t do that.”

  “Don’t do what?” His expression is suddenly livid, as if that one remark sets him off. His eyes search mine, the darkness colliding like waves crashing against a rocky shore.

  “Be this way.” My eyes dip to his chest, so tense his muscles seem tight and rigid underneath his oil smudged, gray T-shirt.

  “What way? This is me.” He backs away about a step, dropping his hands to his side. “You’re the one fooling yourself.”

  I blink at his harshness. “You’re being an asshole.”

  “It’s not a way. It’s me. I am an asshole. Took you long enough to figure it out.” When I take another step back, he knows I’m angry with the words, but he doesn’t stop. “I can’t be anything you’re hoping I will be. It’d be a goddamn disaster.”

  I swallow over my irritation. “I’m not looking for anything from you but a job and maybe a little respect,” I say.

  “You have a job,” he laughs, but it’s condescending. “Respect is earned.”

  “Stop being a jerk to me then.” I’m not about to argue with him about the respect part because I know damn well I’ll probably never have that from him.

  Annoyance flashes in his eyes, and then he walks away. I watch his back and then my eyes drift lower.

  So sexy.

  I’m so damn angry at myself because as mad and hurt as Red makes me, the attraction toward him never fades. We stand here and argue to the point where he turns his back and walks away from me and all I can think is he’s got the best ass, and I’m jealous of every woman he’s ever been with. So jealous.

  When Red returns with three bottles of brake cleaner, he notices I’m still there, leaning against his toolbox.

  “And you’re still here.” Red sets the cans on top of his toolbox and stares at me when I don’t move. “What do you want from me?”

  “You.” You can’t miss the sadness in my tone, but it also doesn’t stop him. Oh God, I said that, didn’t
I?

  He hears me all right, but doesn’t let his emotions show on his face. “Everyone else has gone home for the day. You should too. I’ve got work to do and the last thing I need right now is you standing around. I get you. You didn’t want to kiss me. Message received.”

  He’s trying to hurt me. He wants me to leave him alone, but it doesn’t hurt me. Well, maybe a little, but he doesn’t know my truth and I know he wants to. He does. It’s displayed in his eyes. He wants to know why I’m that way. Why I’m denying what is obviously happening between us. I’m not sure I have an answer for him. I’m not even sure I know anymore. Or if I ever did.

  When I don’t answer, he cocks an eyebrow at me. With a low chuckle, he leans down to pick up the wrench that fell earlier. Tossing it in his tool cart, he waits for a second, giving me another chance to convince him otherwise. I don’t. I’m not sure what to say right then. “Are you just hanging around to torture me?”

  Looking at him now, I see right through his bloodshot eyes. He wants me to believe that nothing happening today is affecting him. The truth is, he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders and it’s pretty obvious by his behavior right now he’s over it.

  I realize I’m being an idiot and say, “I’m not trying to. I’m sorry. I’m just here because I want to help you finish this job. I’ll finish the car in my stall and then help you out, if you want. Let’s just get this done and I’ll get out of your face.”

  “Do whatever you want, Lenny.” And then he turns to walk away.

  Glancing outside, I notice the weather has taken a turn for the worse and Red goes over to close the shop doors and then flips the radio on. The rain and wind pick up, blowing gusts of water under the door just as he’s closing them. Once they’re shut, you can hear them flexing with the wind, creaking, bending and moaning as the metal shifts against the pressure.

  A slow country tune flows through the shop and I begin to relax.

  Wearing my usual jeans and flannel tied up around my waist, an hour later, I finish up the car in my stall after trying to figure out where the rattle is coming from. People and their goddamn rattles. They sometimes forget these are cars made of metal and plastic and when you’re going down the road and all that plastic is flexing, it’s going to fucking rattle.