“Uh, no, I’m going to stay here. I’ve got some laundry to do and stuff. Dinner?”
“If I get enough done. I’ll call you.”
“Okay.” I lean up to give him the obligatory kiss on the cheek. Funny, it’s never felt obligatory until right now. He refuses to move toward me even an inch.
“See you later,” he mumbles without meeting my eyes. And then, he’s gone too.
For the first time in months, Marco doesn’t stay at my apartment overnight. He has roommates and I don’t, so we usually stay at my place. Not that we’re knocking boots all night most of the time. We’ve been together for four years, and I guess that part of our relationship has matured. Sex is nice. And weekly, not daily. Marco is finishing up his senior year undergrad and preparing to apply for law school, so he needs quiet and his two roommates don’t always provide that.
But late that night after Gabe showed up at my door, I lie in bed alone, talking to my older sister, Bethany, on the phone.
“Holy crap!” she hollers.
“Relax, Bethy. It’s not that big a deal.” I roll my eyes at her theatrics even though she can’t see me.
“It’s not a big deal?! A guy you knew for what, a month? Comes all the way from Hawaii just to see you after two years. How can you say that’s not a big deal?”
“How do you know he came to see me?” I ask as I file my fingernail, the phone sandwiched between my head and shoulder.
“Didn’t you ask him? I mean, that would be most people’s first question – ‘What are you doing here?’”
“Yeah, I asked him.”
“Annnd?”
I bite my lip, thinking about the way he reeled the words off like he was entitled to say them, like he was entitled to me.
“He said, and I quote, ‘I came for you, babe.’”
My sister is dead silent for a good thirty seconds, something I don’t think has ever happened before.
“He called you babe?”
“I know, right? Can you believe that? When we met in Afghanistan…”
“That is so. Fucking. Hot!” Beth gasps.
“Wait. What?” I scrunch up my nose in confusion. My sister is a diehard feminist. If she’d been born a few decades earlier, she would have been in the middle of Guadalupe Avenue burning her bra and demanding equal pay for equal work.
“I said, that is totally hot. I mean, God, he’s got tattoos, a Harley, and he calls you babe? He traveled thousands of miles to get you back. Could there be anything more romantic? What are you going to do?”
I sputter. “Wh – what? Do? I mean, what is there to do? I’m going to ignore him, of course. In case you forgot, I have a boyfriend. Remember that guy who’s been hanging around me for the last four years? The one I’m going to marry someday?”
Beth gives a short, sharp laugh. “Yeah, right, Lex. When are you going to quit letting Mom and Dad run your life? You and Marco are about as romantic as me and my cat, Diego. Actually, maybe Diego and I are more romantic. He does sit with me while I take candlelit baths. I bet you and Marco haven’t been in a bath together ever.”
I cringe as I pull the emery board across my bare skin. I look down and realize I’ve filed the nail down to the quick. Dammit.
“Beth, are you high? I mean, really. You’re trying to tell me you think the Harley-riding, ex-military, tattooed guy who calls me babe is preferable to my socially-conscious, responsible boyfriend who’s going to law school? What the hell?”
“What I think,” she says quietly, “is that you need to follow your heart again. Afghanistan was the last time you were passionate about anything. Your work with the UN was so important to you, and you followed your passion when you went over there. Then, you came back, and I don’t care what you say, you were in love with him, Lex.
“That is, until Mom and Dad and Marco convinced you he didn’t deserve it. They may have gotten you to toe the line, but I have to believe that passionate you is still in there somewhere, dying to be set free. Maybe if you follow your passion for him, the rest of your passion will come back too. Isn’t it worth thinking about?”
“Hanging up now, Beth.”
“Goodnight, Lex.”
Gabe
Hombre prevenido vale por dos.
Forewarned is forearmed.
THE next morning, I arrive five minutes early for my first day of work. I was an MP in the Army, but we all had to do a lot of work on the Humvees and trucks as part of the regular procedures, so I know my way around an engine. Ramon’s is owned by the cousin of my Army buddy, Benji. Benji has more relatives than most big corporations have employees. From what I can tell, half the Hispanics from Florida across the southern U.S. all the way to California are related to Benji somehow. It’s a huge boon for me, and I knew when I decided to head to Austin that Benji was the guy to call.
I arrive at the local garage south of the State Capital building and pull my bike into the back parking lot. I walk in through the open garage door of the small three-bay building. Talking on the phone by the back wall is a guy in his early thirties with a crew cut and a button-up Dickies shirt with “Ramon’s Repairs” embroidered on the pocket. He holds up a finger, indicating I need to wait a minute.
I look around at the place. It’s clean and simple. A late-model Ford is up on the lift in the farthest bay and the second slot is empty. The bay I’m standing in has a 1970s Oldsmobile Cutlass on the floor. It’s painted Ruby Red and looks like it could have been a contestant on “Pimp My Ride.” Inside the back window are aluminum letters that stand up – East Cesar Car Club they read.
“Hey, you must be Gabe.” I look up from the car to find the guy has hung up the phone and is watching me.
“And you’re Ramon?” I step toward him and put my hand out.
“Yep.” He gives me a handclasp and a chin lift rather than a shake. “So, you were in Afghanistan with Benji?”
“Yeah, man. We did two tours together and basic training too.”
“We’re all real proud of Ben for serving, you know? His brothers were kind of fuck-ups, so Ben’s parents were worried about him.”
“He’s a good soldier,” I say honestly. “It suits him. I feel better knowing a guy like him’s over there watching out for all of us.”
He nods then finally smiles. “So what do think of my baby?” he asks as he motions to the pimped-out Cutlass.
“She’s a beauty. You do all the work yourself?”
“All the mechanical. I let a buddy of mine who’s an artist do the paint job, and my wife picked out the seats.”
I bend to see into the interior and am greeted with sharp charcoal leather seats and door liners. “Sweet, man. Do you drive it around every day?” I don’t know much about tricked-out cars, but I’m willing to bet this one cost a fortune.
“Nah, I brought her in today so you can do an oil change and check out a problem I’ve been having with the hydraulic suspension.”
I shoot him a look to see if he’s joking. He stares back at me blandly. Fuck.
I swallow. “Uh, sure, man.” I scratch my head. “I’m not really too well-versed on hydraulic suspensions though. I mean, we didn’t have a lot of those in the Army.” I laugh. He continues the blank stare.
“Yeah, you’ll figure it out, I’m sure. I’m President of the East Cesar Car Club We get a lot of our business from the guys in the club, so you’ll be seeing a bunch of hydraulics.
“I’ll get Mike to give you a tour of the place and then you can get started. Here’s a uniform shirt. First one’s free, but you’ll need to buy some more once you get a paycheck.”
“Okay,” I answer, sweat trickling down the back of my neck.
Thirty minutes later, the only other employee, Mike, has shown me the break room, the front office, and the layout of the work bays. Mike is a couple of years younger than me but several inches taller and wider. He played football in high school and now works at the garage while he goes to night school to get a degree in Physical Education so he ca
n coach high school ball.
After the tour, he grabs us each a Coke and we take seats on the folding chairs in the middle bay. “So Ramon brought Betty in, I see,” says Mike with a smirk on his face.
“The Cutlass? Yeah.”
Mike chuckles. “He’s such a bastard.”
“What do you mean?”
“He tell you to work on Betty your first day?”
“Yeah, and I got to be honest, man, I don’t know a damn thing about hydraulic suspensions. Is he going to fire me if I fuck something up in there?”
Mike laughs harder. “Oh, dude, he is so screwing with you. There’s nothing wrong with the car. He’ll have you spend your whole damn day under there trying to figure out that suspension, and it’s perfect. This is the hazing. Everyone who works here gets Betty their first day. They all stress themselves out over her, trying to solve the mystery. Most guys quit by noon. Sometimes he calls them to come back, but usually not.”
I shake my head. “Seriously? That is fucked up. So you didn’t tell the other guys about it?”
“Nah. The guy that worked here when I started told me about it, so I knew the deal, but I haven’t felt like paying it forward until now. You seem like a good guy to work with, so now you know the secret. Do with it as you will.”
He stands up and puts his hand out to me. I shake it and then stand myself. “Well, I don’t know what I did to earn it, but thanks a lot for the tip. I won’t let Ramon know you told me.”
Mike laughs again and walks to the far end of the garage, shaking his head. I throw my Coke can away and head to Betty, palms sweating and stomach wobbling.
Five hours, one lunch, two more sodas, and a couple of aspirin later, I stand by while Ramon inspects the oil and filter change I’ve done.
“Oil and filters look good. You could have been a little more careful with this seal here, but it’ll do. So what the hell took you so long?”
“Well, while I was checking out the suspension, I found a couple of cracks in the frame. Looks like one of them was fixed before and split back open along the soldering. Maybe not high enough heat?”
He nods at me. “Yeah, I know that crack. I’ll take a look. Now, what about the suspension?”
I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the sweat and grime there. “Like I said, I’m no expert, but I didn’t see anything wrong with the suspension. I mean, everything seemed to work like it was supposed to and the hydraulics went up and down really well. Nothing loose, no strange noises…”
“Uh huh,” he says squinting at me. “And what would you have said if Mike hadn’t told you it was a trick?”
Fuck. “Well, he didn’t really – I mean – shit.” I look at the floor, absolutely clueless about what to do next.
Then suddenly, laughter explodes out of Ramon like fodder from a cannon. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! You should see your face. Relax, bro. It was a test for him as much as you. See, I figure he ought to have a say in who he works with. I’ve always thought once someone came through here that he liked enough he’d tell them about my bullshit assignment. You’re the first one, so he must really like you. That’s good enough for me. Welcome aboard, guëro.”
He puts his hand out and I shake it, grinning.
“Now, it’s early, but that’s enough for your first day. Be here at seven a.m. tomorrow and we’ll get you started on some simple stuff. I got an old lady bringing her Cadillac in. You’ll love working on that hunk of steel.”
I say goodbye to Ramon and Mike and get on my bike, exhausted from the mental strain of dealing with my new boss but wired because of what’s coming next.
It’s time to move into my new apartment.
Alexis
Si la Montaña no va al Mahoma, Mahoma irá a la Montaña.
If the mountain won’t go to Mohammad, Mohammad will go to the mountain.
I slow my bike down as I coast into the parking lot of my apartment building. My backpack is hurting my shoulders, and as soon as I stop, I take it off, rolling my head from side to side. Then I swing my leg over the bike frame and stand with it leaning against my hip while I fiddle with the buckles on the helmet and remove it, my long hair in a ponytail, but sweaty all the same.
As I roll the bike over to the rack and slide it in to lock it up for the night, I hear a car door slam and a deep voice says, “Here we go. Look who came to welcome me to the neighborhood.”
I whip around to find Gabe standing in the middle of the sidewalk in front of my apartment building, holding a large cardboard box.
“What are you doing here?” I grit out.
He shifts the box to one side so he can stand more comfortably, and I can’t help but note how his biceps flex below the sleeve of his charcoal t-shirt.
“I told you I was in Austin to stay,” he says, smiling his big, hungry lion smile at me. “I just had my first day at my new job, and now I’m moving into my new apartment.”
My eyes shoot up to his. “New apartment? Where?” I already have a very bad feeling rolling through my gut.
“You’re looking at it,” he replies, smiling even bigger and giving his head a little jerk to the side.
“What?”
“Right there, babe. Number 143, behind the bike rack.”
I turn, and there is the open door to apartment 143. Inside, I can see bits and pieces of moving boxes, the edge of a sofa, and crumpled newspapers.
My heart freezes while the rest of me breaks out in a sweat. No. No, this isn’t possible. He has not just moved into my building. This can’t be happening. Not after everything I’ve gone through to get Marco and my parents to forgive me.
“You can’t,” I whisper.
“What was that?” he leans toward me.
I swallow, trying to find my voice again. “I said, you can’t move in here. I’ll talk to the manager. I’ll tell them you’re stalking me. You can’t do this.”
He looks at me for a minute, his brow creased, his eyes narrowed. Then he walks into the apartment and very carefully sets the box down before coming back outside.
“I am not stalking you and you damn well know it,” he growls with barely contained anger.
“Well, what the hell do you call this?” I answer, sounding somewhat hysterical and feeling very hysterical.
“I call it moving into the only apartment building in town that I know of right now. The fact that it’s near you shouldn’t matter. I mean, after all, we never mattered, right?”
A sharp pain lances my midsection at his words, his tone. He sounds hurt. I can’t imagine Gabe ever being anything but fine. Gabe doesn’t do hurt. It has to be my imagination. All the same, it affects me.
“You know that’s not true,” I say softly. “Of course we mattered. But it was a one-off, you know?” I try to make my tone gentle even though I know the words are anything but. “One of those flings you have on vacation or whatever. It would have never survived the real world, Gabe.”
I look him in the eye, willing myself to stare him down. What I see there doesn’t help. It’s pain, and anger and something else so flammable that I’m afraid smoke might roll off his wide shoulders at any moment.
“A one-off,” he says quietly. “A fling?”
I nod my head, suddenly feeling sick and exhausted and more than a little confused.
He takes a step closer, and then another, until he’s looming over me, his eyes flashing, his breath coming rapidly.
“I was in love with you, Alexis Garcia. Heart and soul. Totally and completely in love. I waited for you for months. I was faithful and devoted, and I was ready to live my life for you. That was no fucking one-off.”
He breathes in, almost as if he’s smelling me. My heart beats a tattoo inside my chest, and I can feel the burn behind my eyes as I look at the pain in his. I feel panic rise inside of me, and I step away from his searching, penetrating gaze.
“I can’t,” I whisper. “I just can’t.” And I run.
It takes everything I have to keep the tears at bay. Eve
rything. I lie on my bed with the curtains drawn, knees tucked into my chest in the fetal position for what must be hours. The sun sets outside. My phone rings and beeps and dings with calls and texts and voicemails. And still, I lie there, the only sound in my dark apartment the fan of the air conditioning unit flipping on and off as the room cools then heats back up.
After Gabe showed up the day before, I set it aside, did what I’d been doing for two long years – pretended it was nothing more than a random occurrence that would do nothing to upset the order of my life. I lied to myself, but now I can’t. Can’t pretend he doesn’t exist, can’t ignore his presence in my world. I can feel him again. Like I did in Afghanistan. Feel the beat of his heart, the rhythm of his breath, the heat of his body. It’s like I’m a fish on the end of the line and he’s the fisherman. Every time he pulls the line tauter, I feel it, and it hurts like hell.
Finally, after the streetlights in the parking lot outside have already turned on, I hear pounding on my front door.
“Alexis! Lex! Are you in there?” Marco’s voice echoes around the courtyard of my building.
I take one deep, shuddering breath and sit up, smooth my hair, and go to open the door.
“Jesus, Lex, I’ve been calling you for hours,” Marco nearly shouts as he walks past me into the apartment.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t feeling well, and I guess I fell asleep.” This new lying thing I have going on is not good.
“What’s wrong? Do you need me to get you some medicine or something?”
“No, just a headache. I’m okay now I think.”
He looks at me for a minute before he starts pacing around the living room. “Well, I’m sorry to have to give you bad news when you aren’t feeling well, but you’ll never believe who I just saw getting out of a pickup truck down in the parking lot.”
Concealed - A Hiding From Love Novel #2 Page 2
