Bluff (Stacked Deck Book 6)

by Emilia Finn

  “Sixty-seven days,” Nora rasps, and draws Sonia’s smiling gaze. “Um… yeah, a month and a bit. What he said.”

  Without warning, she splits away from our little group and follows Mac like a lost puppy. She frowns when her own puppy doesn’t do the same. Instead, he leans against my thigh, and lovingly looks up into my eyes.

  “You’re her therapist?” I swallow when the elderly woman’s eyes come back to me. “She came here this morning?”

  “I absolutely cannot answer that. But it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Morris. It’s nice to put a face to the name.”

  “You know my name?”

  Again, she grins and evades my question. “You’re a mechanic?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I work over at Alesi Auto. I’ve been there for… geez, I don’t know. A decade or more.”

  “Were you raised here?” She reaches up and fixes her hair when a gentle breeze brings a strand over her face. “I feel like everybody knows everybody’s kin around here, but I can’t say I know yours.”

  “No, ma’am.” It absolutely does not take two people to load a car onto our truck, so I keep my ass put with Sonia the therapist, but my eyes remain on Nora’s back as she crowds Mac, and tries to control his every movement. “I moved here when I was a teenager.”

  “Did you go to school here?”

  Is she psychoanalyzing me? Is this what therapists do? “Nope. I walked my butt here back when I was fifteen or so. I was done with school, didn’t quite get my GED, didn’t want to go to college. So I walked into the garage on Main Street, happened across this dude who drives vintage muscle, and I asked for a job.”

  “And he gave it to you, just like that?”

  She’s definitely analyzing me.

  “Well, he told me to fix an engine, prove to him I could do it.”

  She smiles. “And you did?”

  “I did. I fixed a bike when I was just a teen, and I still ride it today. That was my resume and proof in one. Now, Ang is family to me.”

  Finally, her smile changes from teasing to something a little deeper. Kinder. “I believe you. Do you go back home often to visit your blood family?”

  “Nope.” I scratch Galileo’s ears when he bumps my hand for attention. “I don’t have a home in another state. My mom and daddy are deceased, so…”

  “Oh.” Her eyes soften. “I’m terribly sorry to hear that. Angelo and Laine really are your family, then, huh? They’re good family to have.”

  “You know Laine?”

  She takes my hand and squeezes. Gentle and caring, with a little zing like I can feel her kindness in a touch. Then she releases me, and steps away. “It was so nice to meet you, Mr. Morris. Truly.”

  “You too. Did you glean anything from your not-so-subtle analysis of my brain and mental health?”

  She barks out a soft laugh. “It’s habit, sorry. You seem lovely. I hope to see you around.”

  “And you.” I tip my chin in farewell, and watch as she makes her way to Nora’s SUV.

  The women chat for a moment, while Mac lowers the hood – complete with side glances toward me and Galileo – then Sonia steps away with a smile, and heads back inside her building.

  “Chuck!” Mac waves me over. “Nora, can you get in the front seat, release the brake, and steer the car out so it’s in the street behind the tray of the truck? Chuck and I will push.”

  “Oh… sure… okay.” She accepts her keys back and slides into the driver’s seat. “Ready.”

  “Give me two seconds.” Mac slams his hand to my shoulder, hard, so my knees almost buckle. “I’m going to lower the tray. Mess with her,” he murmurs, “and I’ll take you out.”

  I only roll my eyes in answer, and make my way to the hood of her SUV, since she parked at the curb with the nose in.

  Why everyone thinks I’m some kind of monster, I don’t know, but fuck Mac and his protective warnings when I’ve done nothing wrong.

  Nora has already released the brake, because her front wheels rest against the curb after rolling forward, so I stand on the grass, brace my hands on the shiny hood, then I meet her terrified eyes through the windshield. “Ready?”

  Swallowing, she flexes her hands around the steering wheel, and nods.

  I brace my shoulders, lower my head while Mac works with the truck, and I start pushing the SUV back out into the street, while Galileo merely walks beside me.

  “Gonna help?” I grunt as the slight incline of the curb and the weight of the car almost send me backwards.

  “Did you say something?” Nora calls out.

  “I was talking to the dog,” I laugh. “Start turning the wheel so we can straighten up with the truck.”

  “Okay…”

  Nibbling on her bottom lip for concentration, she slowly turns the wheel, just as I ordered, but the new angle makes it harder for me to push.

  Why couldn’t she buy a little fucking hatchback? Why must she buy something that weighs a ton… literally?

  “Like this?” Her voice shakes, and when I glance up, I find her eyes jittery and trying to look everywhere at once. In her mirrors, at me, at Galileo, at Sonia’s practice, at the truck, at Mac, the lowering tray. She’s overwhelming herself, hurting herself, when all she has to do is reverse her damn car.

  “Start to straighten out now. Yeah…” I slow my pushing when we’re in the street and straight. “Put your foot on the brake for a sec,” I coach.

  I was expecting a gentle compression, a slowing. Not a fucking slam that makes the car skid and my kneecaps crash against the fender.

  “Mother—!” Fuuuuuuck.

  “Shit! I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” Breathing through the pain, I stare at the sky and draw in a long breath, then I let it out and look at her through the windshield with my best version of a smile. “We’re good.”

  I hobble around to her side of the car, and slow at her open window. Last night, she was dressed in a fire-engine-red dress. Heels. Wearing something on her eyes, and having done something cute with her hair. Then she was in pyjamas. Pink plaid, because obviously, that’s how the Scottish warriors dressed for battle. She wore socks, a tank, wet hair.

  And now, she’s in jeans, her hair is tied back in such a severe way that she almost gives herself a facelift, and because of that, because there is no hair in her face to hide beneath, I can easily study the way her lips quiver, and her eyes flick around in an almost panic.

  “You can relax, okay? Everything is fine.”

  “I don’t…” She swallows when her voice cracks. “I don’t know how. There’s nothing wrong, nothing to panic about, which means I don’t know how to tell my heart to slow. There’s nothing tangible to grab onto.”

  Something I can help with.

  “How about this?” Instead of taking her hand myself, I lift mine. Palm open, fingers separated and reaching for the sky. Using my other hand, I run my pointer finger along the outside of my palm, slide it to the tip of my thumb while drawing in a deep breath, then when my finger crests, I let my breath out. “Copy me. This is called the five finger breaths.”

  “The…” She frowns. “What?”

  “Just copy.” I smile and start again. Open my palm, show her what I’m doing. I run my pointer finger along the outside of my thumb, draw in a long breath, and let it out as my finger traces along the inside. When I reach the bottom and start up again, I draw in another breath, only to smile and release it when she copies my movements.

  “Five fingers,” I murmur quietly. “Five deep breaths. Count them out, feel them, feel the oxygen fill your diaphragm, and then lie to me and tell me you don’t wanna smile.”

  Her lips twitch when she releases her third breath. Instead of speaking, she continues up the fourth. Lifts her chest, fills it, closes her eyes on the exhale, then she smiles on the last.

  “Better?” Your eyes are better, I think to myself. Less panicky. Less fidgety.

  She’s outside her fucking therapist’s office after spending a little
time with me last night. If that ain’t a kick in the balls, then I don’t know what is.

  “I’m gonna go around the back now. Release the brake when I tell you, try to steer toward the lanes on the truck. Once your wheels touch the tray, you can stop.”

  “You won’t push it up?”

  “Woman, you think I can push a damn SUV up that kind of incline?” I laugh. “No, Mac will get the winch ready and pull it up. You’ll have to climb out before he does that.”

  “Oh… Okay.” She nods, and almost restarts on her trip back into anxiety valley.

  So I break it down for her. “Just steer toward the lanes. That’s all you gotta do. You ready?”

  She nods.

  “Sweet.” I tap her doorframe and move around to the back of the car, and when she releases the brake, I slowly push her forward and smile when her front wheels bounce against where the road and the tray meet.

  The truck engine growls, loud and commanding, only to turn louder when Mac starts the motor for the winch and the hook comes down.

  Patting my jeans out of habit, I come around to Nora’s door, cough to announce my approach, then slowly open it up when she makes no move to get out.

  She wears her seatbelt, like she felt the need for safety for her trip of twenty feet at zero miles per hour. She looks through the windshield, not at me. Studies the hook that Mac sends sliding along the tray, swallows when I say nothing.

  Sensing her distress, Galileo noses his way between me and the door, and rests his chin on her thighs. He breaks her concentration and brings her hands to his ears, rather than maintaining their white-knuckled hold on the steering wheel. And finally, she seems to relax.

  If I could read her mind, I’m certain she’d be chastising herself. I suspect she’s her own worst critic, her own enemy, and her thoughts center around toughening the hell up.

  “You can come out and go sit in the truck if you want.” I offer a hand. Non-threatening, non-demanding. Just a hand. “It’ll take just another minute or two for Mac to get the car up once you’re out, then we’re off.”

  “Off?” she parrots as she takes my hand. Like she needed to speak to draw my attention away from her actions. She lets me pull her out, opens her palm wide even as I hold it, takes a heaving breath in, and lets it out with a smile. “Where to?”

  “The garage?” I smile when she’s on her own two feet and folding her neck back to maintain eye contact. “Unless you’re ready to admit you killed your car, in which case, we can take it straight to the dump.”

  She gives a little roll of her eyes, but it’s teasing, and ends with a grin. “It’s going to be fine. Just needs an oil change or something.”

  “If you say so,” I laugh. “Either way, unless you wanna walk wherever you’re going, you can slide into the truck and wait for Mac to finish.”

  “Okay… What about…” She frowns. “Where will Galileo sit?”

  Shit.

  After leading her to the cab of the truck, and lifting Galileo up after her, I make my way to where Mac stands, and watch as he works the heavy SUV along the tray.

  “You seem awfully chatty with her, Chuck.”

  “She said barely more than three words.”

  “And you said a thousand,” he smarts back. When the car is in place, he locks in the winch, and slowly levers the tray flat. “She was panicking, man. And you being up in her space wasn’t helping.”

  “Bullshit,” I retort in a low voice. The sound of the compressor drowns out our words, but still. “She was panicking, so I helped her find her breath again. I’m not the fucking enemy here, Mac. For some reason that is absolutely no fault of my own, everyone assumes I’m some kind of big bad wolf. No one gives me any context, no one will explain shit. I’m just taking all the side-eyes and overprotective brush-offs from everyone around her.”

  “That probably means you should stay the fuck away.”

  “I didn’t do anything wrong!” I snap. “If this was the mom on the first floor, and I helped push her car, you wouldn’t say a damn thing. If it was the dude in the apartment above mine, no one would say anything. But for some reason, I’m the enemy when it comes to this chick.”

  “Because this chick is special.” He turns away from the controls on the tray motor and meets my eyes. “She just wants a quiet life. She wants to be left alone.” He looks to the cab, then back to me. “And now you’re probably gonna have to walk back to the garage, because there ain’t enough room for you.”

  “Fuck there isn’t.” I race to the driver’s side door, and bound up behind the wheel like this is my show.

  Nora’s eyes, wide and startled, stare as I start the roaring engine and push my foot to the clutch.

  Leaning out the window, I sneer for my friend. “Climb in, Blair, or walk back.”

  “What are you doing?” Nora’s voice shakes, but it’s not like the panic when she was in her car.

  Galileo sits in the middle of the long bench seat, and she is on his other side, on the end.

  “Tucker—” She squeaks when the passenger door swings open, then she stretches away when Mac climbs up and meets her eyes on the same level.

  “Can you scoot over?” he asks her.

  “Oh god.”

  Losing his anger, and replacing it with a playful grin, Mac inclines his chin in my direction. “Scoot a bit so we can all fit.”

  “But I’ll…” Her voice shakes as she turns to me. “It’s gonna be tight.”

  I wink and pretend my life doesn’t flash before my eyes when Galileo stands on my junk and crushes my balls.

  Clumsily, Mac climbs in, Nora scoots, and Galileo tramples us all, until, closing the door with a loud slam, Mac turns to us.

  Fake smile. Gritted teeth when Galileo lays his chin on my thighs, his body on Nora’s legs, and therefore, his ass on Mac’s lap. His tail whips Mac’s chest until, on the tenth sharp crack, Mac grabs the appendage and holds it still. “Drive, motherfucker.”

  I look down at Nora as she touches me from shoulder to knee. The ends of her hair tickle my shoulder, the smell of her shampoo nestles in my nose.

  When Sonia steps out of her building and watches me with something akin to a grin, I shake my head on a laugh and slide the truck into gear.

  “You’ve completely gutted your transmission.” I stand half-folded under Nora’s hood, and study the mess. It’s like a murder scene, but instead of blood and gore, we have metal shavings and leaking oil. “You’ve stripped four of six gears, Nora. Like, straight up stripped the fucking metal from them.”

  “I didn’t mean to!” Gone is the terrified woman, and in her place, the spitfire that shouted at me in the hallway outside our apartments.

  It’s funny how, at the time, I considered her a bitch. Now, I kinda like the idea of her shouting back. It’s better than the shaking woman from an hour ago.

  “Nobody told me that it was doing permanent damage.”

  “That’s because you never bring it to a fucking mechanic.”

  I don’t shout back. I never shout back. I especially don’t shout at customers. But hell, poking her might be my new favorite thing to do.

  “I’ve been here almost half my damn life, Nora, and I’ve never seen this car in here before. You think you get to drive it around, leave a trail of oil everywhere you go, and the car will say ‘Thanks, do it again’?”

  “It was just a click! It was hardly noticeable.”

  “It wasn’t a click. It was a fucking grind,” I jab back.

  Galileo found Deck’s bed the moment we arrived here. His brother spends half of his life in this garage, so it’s natural he’d have his own bed, snacks, and toys set up. Now Galileo makes good use of them, and completely ignores the woman he’s supposed to help in distressing situations.

  I guess she ain’t all that distressed right now.

  “This can’t be fixed,” I tell her firmly.

  “You’re being spiteful,” she hisses. “Just fix the damn thing, and I’ll pay for it. You don
’t have to act all noble and mighty about it. No one is asking you to work for free.”

  “It.” I come closer. “Can’t.” Closer again. “Be fixed.” I stop so our noses are just an inch or so apart. “You need a new gearbox, dummy. And then you need a handwritten slip from Mac or Ang that gives you permission to torture another innocent engine. There should be laws about this!”

  “Torture?” she sputters. How dare I? How dare he? How dare all these motherfuckers up in here? “It’s just a car. The check engine light didn’t even come on. It couldn’t have been in too much pain!”

  “That probably means the light is broken! And you’d know that if you brought the fucking thing in for a service once a decade.”

  She’s kind of adorable when she’s huffing and puffing. Kind of sexy when she lifts her stubborn chin, and jabs right back.

  “It’s an engine. It’s metal, and oil, and rubber, and serves a purpose. It doesn’t have feelings.”

  I turn to Angelo, who stands against the wall with his left ankle kicked over the right, his arms folded while he watches us, and one hand beneath his chin. “Tell me the Charger doesn’t have feelings.”

  He looks to Nora and grins. “The Charger has feelings. It tells me when it’s not feeling so great.”

  “Mac?”

  He stands right beside Ang, ankle kicked over, smiling for the show he had no clue he wanted to see today.

  “Talk to me about the ‘Cuda.”

  “She has feelings.” He wrinkles his nose for Nora. “She definitely has feelings. And when we got back here earlier, I heard the Charger and the ‘Cuda discussing some kind of car-protection-program. They saw their compatriot roll in on the truck, and they kinda, like…” He considers. “If cars could have boners, they just lost theirs.”

  Ang loses his composure, and snickers behind his hand. “It’s true.”

  “You’re all lying.” Nora turns back to me, and presents her stubborn chin. “Fix my car.”

  I lean a little closer and grit out, “Kiss my ass.”