day, Abel's Mustang pulls up outside of the Havers Dorm. I unbuckle my seatbelt and reach for the door, only stopping when I hear the locking mechanism click. I glance back to where Abel's fingers are still on the button, but he's not looking at me.
"I'll make you a deal," he says. "You lay off my brother and I'll get him to back down."
I can feel the shock on my face. I couldn't have kept my eyebrows from shooting up towards my hairline if I'd tried. "How are you planning to accomplish that?"
His shoulders tighten as he draws in a breath and blows it out. "You let me deal with him," he replies before turning to look at me. "But if I do, will you honor it?"
I can feel something creeping up my spine. Though what it is, I'm not sure. I push down the urge to shiver and choose my words carefully. "What you do is none of my business," I say. "I don't care to get involved. The only reason I've done what I have is to protect myself. You leave me alone, I leave you alone. That's the best I got."
His blue eyes stare at me and the longer he looks, the more I feel like he's looking through me rather than at me. Abel never gives me a verbal response. Instead, his fingers hit the unlock button and he peels his eyes away, turning back to face the road. I climb out of the vehicle, shutting the door behind me, and watch as he pulls away from the curb.
I'm curious to see if he'll be able to pull it off. From what I've seen of Dean Carter, it doesn't seem like anything can stop him once he's on his warpath. That shiver I'd pushed down moments before comes barreling through me as the surface of my thoughts break free. Do I even really want to see a normal Dean Carter or do I like the man when he's covered in blood and threatening to fuck me against my will?
I don't stick around to find the answer.
26
Dean
The sound of hard rock filters out through the open door of the garage. Abel's legs are splayed beneath the hood of one of his many cars. The Mustang sits in the shade, looking freshly washed. Shit. He just washed that thing last week. If he's doing it again, and working on the cars, it means he's in a mood, and I've got no one to blame but myself.
I kick out a foot, knocking one of the seats lined beneath his workbench out of place so I can sit on it. If he hears me over the wailing of Ronnie Radke, he doesn't show it. I wait, watching him work. His jeans are torn and dirty—hundred dollar fabric now stained with a collection from this very garage. Dirt. Motor oil. Probably other shit too.
My knee begins to bounce. I fucking hate waiting.
"Hey," I finally say as the song ends and another, less angsty one starts. Abel's movements still beneath the car he's working on, and his feet plant on either side of the creeper he's laying on before he slides out, looking up at me.
"What do you want?" he asks. He doesn't look mad, but he also doesn't look too interested in talking.
"To apologize," I admit. "About what I said."
He rolls his eyes and when he moves to slide back beneath the car, I get up, setting my foot on the ground between his legs. "You know I didn't mean it like that," I say.
Abel looks at me. "Yeah, I know, man."
I gesture around us. "If you know, then what's with all this? You only come out here when you're thinking."
He heaves a great sigh and when I remove my foot, he rolls completely out from beneath the vehicle before sitting up and pressing his back against the driver's side door. "I want to talk to you," he says, but when he doesn't elaborate, I take a step back and sit down.
"Alright," I reply. "Talk."
"It's about the girl." A wave of lust and irritation sweeps over me. Shit. Even the mere mention of her—not even her name—has an effect. It pisses me off.
I grit my teeth. "What about her?"
He eyes me. "I want to lay off her," he says.
"The fuck?" My muscles jump beneath my skin, the urge to pound something rising fast.
Abel looks away as he reaches for a nearby rag and begins to wipe off his hands. "She's a