Needless to say, Ulysses kept his sexuality on the down-low in Brody’s presence. He didn’t want to lose his friend and then have to continue working together awkwardly, on the same shifts, when they used to have so much fun. Not that it was hard, necessarily. He wasn’t hiding anything, and it didn’t define his existence. He was here to work and enjoy it, not try to bang clueless humans who ignored their Check Engine light until it was too late.
“You want a smoke?” Brody asked, reaching into the pocket on the front of his blue work shirt. The veins in his forearm rippled, bringing attention to a twisted line of ink on his skin that hadn’t been there the last time Ulysses saw him.
Ulysses didn’t smoke unless he was drinking, but he nodded anyway and reached out to accept a cigarette. He held it between two fingers, watching and waiting while Brody attempted to figure out where he’d put his lighter. “New tat?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah! Got it a couple weeks ago. Here. Take a look.” Forgetting his search for the lighter, Brody stretched his arm out in front of him. The line of ink unfolded, came more into view. It was the stylized outline of a wrench, stretching down the approximate middle between his radius and ulna bones.
“Nice,” Ulysses said.
Brody was the proud owner of 15 tattoos, all of which were various instruments of repair. He had been cultivating them since he was a teenager and working as a carpenter’s assistant. It was, he said, a timeline of his trade, and he was absurdly proud of all of them. He had a hammer on the left side of his ribcage, a spilled box of nails on the back of one calf, pliers, nuts on the knuckles of his right hand, bolts on the left, a screwdriver leading down from his navel, and so many more. He had once confided to Ulysses that his secret desire was to be called “The Toolbox.”
So far, that hadn’t happened.
“Looks a little girly, doesn’t it, though?” Brody said, tracing the outline with one oil-stained fingertip. “I’m gonna get it filled in as soon as it finishes losing its scabs.”
Tiny shreds of dried skin stippled the lines of the tattoo. It was just a small reminder of how slowly humans healed in comparison to wolves. Two weeks and he was still dealing with scabs.
“No smoking,” a new voice said.
Ulysses’ heart started pounding again, hammering against the cage of his ribs like a panicked bird. He put the cigarette in his pocket, a little too roughly because he felt it bend, almost break, and turned to face his boss.
Wheeler was an interesting man, of that there was no question. He was in his thirties now, but his story started more than a decade ago when he graduated high school at only 16 years old. He could have gotten out a year sooner, except that he had suffered a bout of tuberculosis. No one knew where he had gotten the disease and could only theorize that he must have picked it up by coming in contact with a tourist who was a carrier.
Luckily, he had been treated early and expertly, and suffered only temporarily.
In short, Wheeler was not only a genius, but also very lucky.
He loved to tell his own life story, would repeat it on the daily if given the chance.
Rather than go to one of the many colleges that was interested in him, he attended a trade school and soon after claimed a job as a mechanic. During his time at that job, he was actively helping to build this very shop. And he had been here ever since, having pursued what he loved without ever looking back.
Ulysses had boatloads of respect for Wheeler, despite the fact that his boss looked odd and occasionally acted even odder. And, in moments like this when his job was on the line, he was also a little afraid of the mouse-faced human.
Wheeler’s small, bright eyes flicked from Ulysses to Brody, who was still holding onto his cigarette as if his life depended on it. “Why don’t you go do that outside, away from the door?”
“You got it, boss.” Brody headed outside. He had found his lighter and was lighting up before he even had a foot outside the door.
Shaking his head, Wheeler turned back to Ulysses. His bright eyes widened a little, his expression becoming one of genuine interest and sympathy. “So,” he said, “how are you feeling?”
“More than ready to get back to work.”
“Are you sure?” Wheeler’s sounded doubtful, his voice deepening slightly in tone. Since he had a rather high voice for a man, this made him sound a little congested rather than intent. “It hasn’t been all that long since you were in your accident.”
“I’m fine,” Ulysses said. It was hard to remember that a human would not have healed as fast as he had, which meant Wheeler had a right to be suspicious, since he had no idea Ulysses was a shifter. “I’m a very fast healer. The key is to eat lots of protein. It’s the building block of the body.”
“I thought you were looking a little tubbier than normal.” Wheeler snickered. “Maybe you should think about laying off all that protein instead.”
Ulysses laughed, feeling his heartbeat start to slow a little the more this conversation continued on. Wheeler was very no-nonsense when he had to do something he considered unpleasant or difficult. The fact he hadn’t immediately told Ulysses to get out of here was reason enough to believe he still had a job.
“I trust your judgment,” Wheeler said. “But I also can’t risk trusting you, as your boss. You understand.”
Unfortunately, yeah. He never took anyone at face value, either.
“I think you’re going to have to deal with some light duty for a couple weeks.”
Light duty meant he would not be allowed to lift more than 15 pounds at a time. That would render him quite useless in the garage stalls connected to the shop, where all the work was done on the vehicles. He was now going to be a glorified cashier.
“You aren’t going to pay me a cashier’s wages, are you?”
“Fuck no,” Wheeler snorted. “Having you at the counter might even save us some unnecessary repairs. We can focus on what’s really important. You’d actually be doing me a favor.”
Warmth formed in Ulysses’ chest at the unexpected praise. His boss really, really trusted him. Nothing could feel better than that.
Right?
For some reason, the warmth didn’t last as long and wasn’t as potent as Ulysses had thought it would be. It was like there was something missing, something important. Yet, he had felt better than this before very recently.
A moment of thought gave him an answer, not that it was an answer he had wanted. He remembered looking at Robbie smiling, the look that had come across his face; he had felt something very intense in that moment, a warmth so potent it was nearly hot. Fierce pleasure and pride and joy, all as a result of making Robbie happy.
He didn’t want to think about what exactly that meant.
“I don’t mind working up front,” Ulysses said, and he meant it. “Can I start right away?”
“You’re hired.”
It was really the perfect day to come back to work after being out of the count for a while. A few customers came in every hour, which was not a demanding workload at all. Ulysses spoke with them and either referred them to another mechanic out in the garage, or he took them through the store and showed them what they needed to do the job themselves. This was, quite honestly, his favorite part of the day. He might not be big on people, but he liked solving problems. He would listen to the person and their complaint, and he would judge their need and competency just by how they spoke and the words they used. The actual intensity of the job didn’t matter. A guy with moderate experience dealing with vehicles might need only a quick reminder on how to change his oil, but a housewife with a baby on either hip might be better off having someone do it for her.
When he wasn’t assisting the customers, he was wandering around the store and straightening up, stocking shelves with what they had and marking down what they needed to get in. One of the other workers would wander over to keep him company, under the pretense of helping. This was usually Brody or Clark. Wheeler didn’t mind if they talked, as long as they weren’t just
actively standing around and jabbering.
The others, outside in the garage, would either be cleaning, performing minor touch-ups on vehicles that were awaiting pick-up, or whatever else they could find to do.
After about five hours of this, Ulysses was of two minds. Rather, he was of a mind and a body.
He felt, inwardly, the most satisfied and content that he had in days. There was really nothing like a good day’s work, even if it was minor work like this.
Outwardly, he felt like a warmed-over piece of shit. Being on his feet was exhausting. He was no longer used to it, even after such a short amount of time. He was aching in parts of his body that hadn’t ached for a very long while, and his right foot was killing him.
Losing a toe hadn’t really been as difficult as a person might think. Once the pain went away, he could forget that anything happened. It was still a shock to look at his foot when he took his sock off, catching a glimpse of that empty place where a toe had once been. The amputation site was in that odd, rough limbo between scab and healed flesh, which looked odd but was ultimately not offensive in any way.
On the other hand, it was very, very hard, and that was because of the phantom sensations. Sometimes he felt like he still had a toe, like he could wiggle it, stretch it, still touch it if he tried. Sometimes the damn thing ached like he’d rammed it against a side table, and other times it itched maddeningly and there was nothing he could do about it because the thing he wanted to itch didn’t really exist anymore.
Right now, his phantom toe was throbbing, sending aching pulses through the rest of his foot, all the way up to his ankle. Every step was like being stabbed, like he was being tortured by someone who wanted to start at the bottom and work their way up.
“Hey,” Ulysses said.
Brody glanced over at him from where he was fondling his packet of cigarettes, stroking them with his fingertips. He was clearly bored and had been taking smoke breaks like crazy for the past hour, bringing the sweet, thick odor inside with him each time. The shop was perfumed with it by now, although Ulysses wasn’t sure if it would be noticeable to humans.
“I think I’m going to take my lunch break. You can cover the counter, right?”
“If I can’t do that, I shouldn’t work here.” Brody lifted up one hand. “Tap me in, man.”
They high-fived, which was about Brody’s limit for touching another man.
Ulysses punched out using the machine by the front register—customers occasionally mistook it for a card reader—and started to limp his way over to the front door. He was lost in thought, not really paying much attention to what was ahead of him. He had half an hour for lunch, which had often seemed like way too much time in the past. Right now, he was wondering if it would even be enough. He first had to actually get to a restaurant, and then he would have to work his way back. And if he sat around, he would probably end up getting stiff and moving would become even more difficult.
As he reached the door to the shop, only a few steps away, the door suddenly opened right in front of him. He stepped back automatically, a little quicker than he would have believed himself to be capable of up until right now. His entire body throbbed, then settled down into a more manageable sort of low-grade pain.
Then, all thoughts of being in pain were forced out of his mind as he realized who had just come in through the door.
It was Robbie, looking as handsome and alluring as ever. He wore a wide smile, which only widened even further when his serene blue eyes landed on Ulysses. “Lee! I’m so glad to see you! I tried to stop by your house, but you weren’t there. I got worried.”
Ulysses started to smile back, and then became abruptly aware of a few things all at once. Brody was watching them from only a few feet away, his attention rapt and unwavering.
And Robbie was carrying what looked to be another of his gifts, a clear plastic container packed full of some sort of unidentifiable food item. He thought he could see tortillas, some sort of sauce, and an enormous quantity of meat that looked like it might be shredded chicken.
As glad as Ulysses was to have food brought right to him, saving him an exhausting journey, this was not the situation he would have preferred.
Robbie opened his mouth to start speaking again and Ulysses cut him off, gesturing roughly back outside. “Let’s talk out there,” he growled.
Some of the light seemed to die from Robbie’s gaze. “Sure,” Robbie said, and turned around to go back outside.
Turning his head, Ulysses glared hard at Brody. Realizing that he had been caught watching, the other man took a small step backward. “Watch the counter, would you?” Though he phrased it as a question, he spoke it as a command.
“Yeah, sure. Of course,” Brody muttered, looking threatened and uncomfortable. Good.
Turning to follow Robbie outside, Ulysses made sure they ended up at the edge of the curb where it was very unlikely Brody would be able to eavesdrop on them. The shop was sound resistant, but not quite perfect.
“What are you doing here?” Ulysses demanded. Even though they were outside and he could no longer see Brody, he knew they could be seen quite clearly from the inside of the building. It would be best for this to be over as soon as possible. He didn’t like to be watched, especially not by a guy like Brody, who would make snap judgments about the situation and insist they were fact.
Robbie lifted up the container, bringing attention to it once more. “I couldn’t find you at your home, and I got worried about you. And I wanted to see how you were doing. I figured this was the only place where I would be able to find you. And since it’s about lunchtime, I figured you might like to not have to deal with going somewhere.”
Solid reasoning that went hand-in-hand with what Ulysses himself had been thinking only minutes ago. Now, however, he was annoyed. “Can’t you mind your own business for once?”
“If you don’t want my help, all you have to do is say so.” Robbie’s eyes narrowed. His fine features lost some of their beautiful daintiness, hardening into something much more wolfish and aggressive. His eyes brightened with coming tears of anger, and he clenched his trembling jaw as if that would hold them back. It never did.
Those tears were annoying, even more so than Robbie’s insistence upon coming here to the place where he worked. They couldn’t even have a real conversation if all Robbie did was bawl.
“I didn’t want your help in the first place,” Ulysses said. “I told you that. You made me accept it.”
“Heaven forbid you let someone else take some of the pressure off. I was just doing something nice for you.”
“Don’t come babying me at the place where I work. What will the guys think? I have to deal with that, and you don’t.” Ulysses suddenly stiffened, straining his hearing. The shop might be resistant to sound, but the garage portion wasn’t. Anyone could be eavesdropping on their conversation.
All he heard was the radio, and the usual sounds of tools.
“You’re worried about your friends? If they can’t understand that you’re hurt, they aren’t your friends.” Robbie looked very bitter now, and the twisted expression sat very uneasy on his face. He wasn’t used to acting like this, and it showed as stress that tightened his muscles, made him square his shoulders. “Here,” he said, and shoved the plastic container at Ulysses so that it thudded into his chest.
Ulysses grunted, more out of surprise than pain. He grabbed onto the container of food, then held it in one hand. He wanted to put it down on the ground, but he didn’t think he could bend over without looking stupid right this moment.
Silence fell between them, the sound of the radio playing in the garage filling the gap. Mechanics and engineers liked to have some sort of inconsequential sound playing in the background, creating a sort of bubble in which it was only them and their work.
Probably why I like listening to Robbie so much, sometimes. When he talks like that, it’s just him and me. The rest of the world goes away.
Right now, a DJ in a loca
l Pensacola station was talking about a stolen car, a black 2016 Nissan Altima. He was commenting on the fact that crimes involving stolen vehicles had risen in the city and its surrounding neighbors over the past several years, and had leveled out in an almost unwavering way. Inconsequential gossip from the mouth of a bored young man, between pushing buttons to play the top hits.
“I guess I’ll go if you don’t want me around anymore,” Robbie said. “I thought we were kind of becoming friends again, but maybe not, if that’s how you feel”
Ulysses was a little taken aback. He hadn’t really been considering anything of the sort, but the way Robbie said it made it seem almost natural.
Could exes be friends?
“It’s not that I don’t want you around,” Ulysses said, feeling extremely awkward. He had no idea where to look, didn’t feel as if he could quite meet Robbie’s gaze. “It’s that I don’t want you to be…here.”
“You’re embarrassed to be seen with me.”
“I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.”
“The wrong idea about what?” Robbie raised his eyebrows, which were in a perfect state, as per usual. He looked genuinely baffled, like he couldn’t even begin to imagine what Ulysses was talking about. And maybe he couldn’t. He was in a field that was more accepting of the differences between people, which welcomed emotions and emotional growth.
Ulysses had a career in a field which was dominated by manly men, who had their own opinions and ideas on what was acceptable from one of their own kind. Being touchy-feely with another guy was frowned on by more people than just Brody.
Since he hadn’t responded fast enough, Robbie spoke up again. “I was going to ask you about the fact that you wanted to build your own bike from scratch. That was what you’d come here to talk about, that day I gave you a ride. I forgot to ask you about it.”
Taming The Alpha: A Wolf Shifter Mpreg Romance (Savage Love Book 3) Page 8
