Hard to Fight - Bella Jewel Page 0,86
his time with us.
I arrive at the garage and pull my car into the reserved spot that’s always been mine. I throw my booted feet out and then slide my body out at the same time slamming the door behind me. I’m always first to arrive and last to leave. But it’s not just because I love this place. I help out with the cars, but I also have paperwork coming out of my ass on top of it. I don’t mind, though. There’s a certain peace this place brings me, and being here gives me stability. I’d be lost without it.
I walk towards the large, two-bay garage with Pixie Wheels written in bright blue across the top of the old, steel colored walls. My mom used to call me Pixie when I was little so Dad made sure to include it into the name when they started this business. I’ve never had the heart to change it. My parents had so many happy years in this place, and I think it’s part of the reason I hang onto it so tightly. It’s the only happy memories I have left.
I open the door that leads into the office from the workshop, and step inside. There are two offices in the front left-hand corner of the garage, one that has a reception desk and files, and another that has a computer and phone, as well as a crap load of tools and boxes stacked against the wall. The second is where I lock myself away to do most of my work. Matty rotates his time between the garage and reception, because we can’t afford a receptionist right now. I had to install a phone in the workshop so we could take calls out there.
I drop my phone down onto the reception desk and flick on the lights. I open the door leading out to the garage and see we have four cars still needing to be pushed through before we can take on any more today. The locals around here know the business, know me and know my story, so they are loyal and always bring their cars in to us, even still, when you’re so far behind, business has to be better than that to stay afloat.
I sit at the desk booting up the computer and hoping to get through some invoicing before the guys start in two hours. I have a lot to do and it’s the only time we’re quiet enough for me to be able to do anything without interruption. I manage to pore through fifty invoices before Lenny sticks his head in the door, his deep brown eyes softening when he sees me.
“Morning, sweetheart.”
“Hey, Lenny.” I smile, standing.
He studies me and his expression becomes grim. I know he can see that I’m exhausted, hell, I can see that I’m exhausted. I avoided looking in the mirror this morning because I knew that I’d see what resembled a run-over, beaten-up clown looking back at me. I don’t have time for a reminder of what I already know.
Lenny steps through the door, his tall frame taking up most of it. Even in his fifties, Lenny is strong and fit. His hair is more pepper than salt still, giving him that rugged, older hot guy look. I bet the old ducks go nuts over him. That thought makes me scrunch my nose up. Nobody wants to think about old people going at it. Great way to start the morning.
“Rob give you trouble again last night?” he asks as I try to step around him.
I wave a hand. “Nope, I look like a clown because I was out raging all night.”
He gives me a bitter expression. He doesn’t like my humor. He’s too caring. He doesn’t understand that my humor is all I have left.
He reaches out and takes my shoulders in his big hands, looking down at me, his expression dark. “Quinnie, you’re exhausted. You’ve got huge circles under your eyes. You look like shit. Don’t lie to me, honey.”
I frown, he can see right through me. “He got drunk, made a mess, it was fine.”
Lenny shakes his head and his jaw goes tight. “Goin’ to have a word with him again this afternoon.”
“What’s the point, Len?” I throw my hands up. “We’ve all tried and let’s face it, he doesn’t listen. He’ll never listen.”
“You’re running yourself into the ground.”
He’s telling me nothing I don’t already know.
“Don’t worry, I’m made of steel.”
“Quinn…”
“Lenny, I’ll be fine,” I say in a