Shane (Damage Control 4)

I stare at him. “She said that?”

“Yep. So get your head out of your ass, man, and talk to her. Clear this up. Don’t sulk like a baby because you had a fight. Because she wants to know how you feel. No offense but sometimes I wonder that, too. You don’t exactly wear your heart on your sleeve. She cares about you. Hell, the girl has been following you around, checking up on you, making sure you’re all right for some time now. Only you, Shane. She changed. For you. Now go talk to her. Get!”

Could it be that simple? “What if I’m not what she needs, what if—?”

“Oh shut up.” Seth leans against the wall, and scratches his jaw. “If I thought I was good enough for Manon I’d have married her and had kids with her already. We’re never good enough, cuz, but we learn. We improve. We’re turning ourselves into the men they need, and they love us enough to give us the chance. So take it before it’s too late.”

A smile tugs at my lips for the first time in days. “Fine. I’ll talk to her.”

Seth’s face splits into a grin. “Can’t fucking believe it. Shane is in love. Never thought I’d see the day.”

The burn spreads over my face. Yeah, well. “That doesn’t mean this will work out, though,” I say.

“Because you’re a mess?”

I don’t even reply to that. No need.

“You can do it, Shane. You’re a good guy, and you deserve to be happy. And I think Cassie is good for you.”

Only one way to find out, right? By trying. “I have to go by the construction site. They called to tell me they need the helmet, the boots and the jacket back today.”

“Need a ride?”

“Nah, I’ll take the bus. Then head over to Cassie’s.”

He pushes off the wall and unexpectedly grabs me in a bri

ef hug. “It’ll work out fine. I know it.”

Startled, I say nothing when he pulls back.

“Call me if you need anything. And call me to tell me how it all went. You owe me that much for giving you love advice.”

“Love advice? That what you call your stupid ranting?”

He cuffs me lightly on the head, snickering. “Dickhead.”

Right back at you, I think but don’t say it until after he’s left, closing the door behind him. And I hope you’re damn right about it all.

***

The bus ride is familiar, the same route I took every day for the past year when going to work. It feels weird and a bit unsettling that I’m carrying my helmet, my boots and heavy, reflective jacket and not wearing them. That I get off at my stop and walk through the wind and driving snow toward the chain-link fence with its “no trespassing” signs and know I’m not here to work.

Instinctively I reach for the pendant as I enter through the open gate and shiver when I don’t find it.

What the hell’s there to be afraid of? I’m only here to dump my things and go.

Get it together, Shane. What’s the matter with you?

Wiping snowflakes from my eyelashes, I look around, but the place’s deserted. Can’t see anyone. Strange. Even stranger when I enter the office and nobody’s there, either. Just a couple of hours ago Peter texted me that he’d be here, waiting for me.

I pile the things on a chair and pull out my cell to call him. Can’t just leave the stuff here, in an unlocked office. Anyone could take them. Someone has to be on site. The gates are open, office unlocked…

Peter’s cell rings—from the desk. Frowning, I disconnect the call and reach for it, then stop myself, the back of my neck prickling.

Don’t be paranoid. There’s a perfectly good explanation for all this. Peter went… somewhere. To take a leak. He’ll be back in a minute. As for everyone else, maybe they’re having an early day off.

A scent is winding itself into my senses. Cinnamon. Bleach.